“So you do have people out looking?” Chris didn’t trouble hiding his irony.
“Naturally we do, sir.”
“Thank Christ for that.”
The officer was amiable. “This is the end of the line for the Keys, sir. They can’t go any further, unless they rent a boat, and we’d hear about that, so the only thing we have to worry about is getting a hold of them before they get back on the highway and head back the way they came.”
Chris went to the payphone and called Joe Duval collect.
“I’m in Key West, and they’re here, too.”
“Thank God.”
“But we don’t have them yet,” Chris said quickly. “Duval, how much do the local police know about what’s going on?”
“The cops on the street know they need to find Lally fast.”
“But they don’t know she’s in danger.”
“Not exactly.”
“Can I tell them?”
Joe took a breath before answering. “No.”
“I think it might help if they knew.”
“It might help Lally, but it wouldn’t help anyone else.” Joe’s voice was tight with the strain.
“She’s your sister, Duval,” Chris protested.
“You think you have to point that out to me?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t waste time being sorry,” Joe said. “We have a clinic on red-alert here in Chicago, waiting for Lally.” John Morrissey, Marie Ferguson’s partner, had called Joe direct to place the Howe Clinic at Lally’s disposal for the explantation of her pacemaker. “Just get back on the street, Webber, buy yourself a street map, and start walking. Go to every café, every hotel, every restaurant, every tourist attraction. Show people the photograph, keep your eyes open – ”
“Believe me, my eyes are open.”
“Find her, Webber. Time’s running out.”
Chris’s stomach dipped. “You’ve heard from the doctor.”
“It was made by Hagen. They’re still crosschecking to see if it belongs to any of the other batches we know for sure were tampered with.”
“But it’s a possibility.”
“I wouldn’t still be telling you to find her if it weren’t.”
Chris followed the tourist trail blindly, playing a half-crazed game of hide and seek, with no cries of ‘hot’ or ‘cold’ to aid him. He went to the aquarium, scanning the backs of the heads of people watching sharks being fed; he visited a house that had originally been owned by a US marshal who’d saved a neighbour from Key West’s fire of 1886 by dynamiting their street; he went to the Hemingway House and saw the six-toed cats rumoured to be descended from the writer’s own animals; guessing that Lally might feel like a break from commercialism, he drove to a wildlife refuge outside town, and then he drove back again to visit a bizarre cemetery where stone caskets rested above the ground and many of the epitaphs were more humorous than poignant. “At Least I Know Where He’s Sleeping Tonight” seemed one of the favourites, but Chris hardly read any of them as he half walked, half ran from grave to grave, looking at faces and backs and tuning into voices, trying but failing to find the one he sought.
“They haven’t checked in to a hotel or guesthouse yet – though of course most of them are full – but we’ll be doing the rounds again in an hour or two.”
Chris was back in the police station. It was five minutes before six o’clock, and the sun was going down.
“Have you been showing the photograph?” he asked the officer on duty.
“Yes, sir, we have.”
Chris raked his hair with one hand and suppressed an urge to hoist the other man by his collar. “This is crazy. I mean, you told me they were here, and you’ve supposedly been searching for them since three o’clock – what are you people doing, for Christ’s sake?”
“Everything we can, sir.” The officer was as cordial and maddening as his predecessor had been almost two hours before. “And we’ll have a couple of men at the Mallory Docks in about ten minutes.”
“What happens there?”
“Sunset, sir.” The officer smiled. “If your friend’s in Key West, it’s a fair bet that’s where she and most every other tourist’ll be.”
“How do I find it?” Chris was already halfway to the door.
“North-west end of Duval Street.” The other man grinned again. “Even named the street after her.”
The place was jammed with life and noise. Men, women and children from everywhere, some there to entertain or to sell their wares, most there to be entertained and to spend money. Chris’s eyes were dry and sore with staring, and he’d never especially enjoyed large crowds, but now he loathed them, had a wish to wipe them out, wanted them all to lie down and shut the hell up so that he could yell out her name and have her hear him.
He saw jugglers and acrobats, mime artists and fire-eaters. He saw clowns and street vendors, and dogs wearing bonnets and two men with tattoos over every visible inch of their bodies. Twice, he saw young women with long dark brown hair, and he sprinted towards them only to brake sharply when he saw they weren’t Lally, and once he thought – he swore – he saw Hugo eating ice cream and laughing, but then he was gone, vanished off the street like one of Kirk’s crew beamed up to the Enterprise. And Chris wanted to scream, wanted to tear his hair out and scream like a madman, and if he’d thought it might have helped, might have drawn Lally from the mass, he’d have done it without hesitation, but there was so much going on, so much fun, so much pleasure and music and laughter and squealing, he doubted she’d even have noticed.
“It’s going!” someone yelled.
The sun gave a final dip, and hit the horizon, and the crowd cheered as if all their home teams had simultaneously scored the greatest winning touchdown of all time.
And Chris heard a bang.
Everyone around him heard it, too, craned their heads to see what had caused it, then lost interest, shrugging and smiling and gazing back at the ever-darkening horizon.
But Chris was terrified that he knew what it was, and he saw two police officers less than a hundred yards away, and they were looking, too, trying to fathom where it had come from, and he felt the blood roaring through his arteries into his head, thought that if he was right, he might die too, and he couldn’t bear it if he was right, he just couldn’t stand it –
He saw the cops start walking, fast, away from the square, and he started running like a demented thing, crashing into people, knocking over a postcard rack and a bicycle, almost sending a small girl flying, stopping just for a second to check that she was unhurt and to pacify her enraged mother. The cops were moving up Duval Street, turning into Caroline, and Chris was almost on top of them when there was another bang, and they all ground to a halt, and it was just a kid, a teenaged boy, letting off firecrackers, and the two cops laughed – he heard them laugh, and okay, he felt relieved, too, more than he could easily express, but still he wanted to bang their heads together for laughing, and he couldn’t understand what was happening to him, because he was such a peaceable man as a rule, but then again he’d never experienced such frustration, never felt such fear for anyone, not even Katy, as he felt for Lally Duval, for this woman he hardly knew.
“What a circus,” Hugo said.
“Fun, though,” Lally said. They linked arms as they strolled, leisurely, out of Mallory Square. “Where to now?”
“Food?”
“Sounds good.”
“And we still need somewhere to sleep,” Hugo pointed out.
They’d stopped in at a few places, but the prices were insane, and most of them were fully booked anyway, though some people had suggested they return later on in case of no-shows.
“We can always leave town and camp again,” Lally said.
“I think I’d rather sleep on the beach.”
“I think we might be arrested.”
Hugo shrugged easily, and they strolled on.
“If I were any more relaxed,” Lally said, softly,
“I’d be comatose.”
Hugo looked down at her fondly. “You feel good, don’t you?”
She smiled up at him. “I feel wonderful.”
“God bless Lucas Ash,” Hugo said.
“Amen.”
The red Sunbird had been found parked in a lot not too far from Mallory Square, but the Key West Police Force still insisted that neither Lally nor Hugo had checked into any known hotel, motel, resort, guesthouse or bed-and-breakfast establishment on the island.
“At least we’ll make contact when they return to the car,” a sergeant told Chris. “Until then, there’s not too much more we can do except keep our eyes open.” The officer looked at his exhausted face. “If I were you, sir, I’d try to grab a little shuteye.”
Chris ignored the advice and went back outside. He located the parking lot, found the car, saw the note from the police and added one of his own, wrote it in bold marker pen and taped it right over the driver’s side of the windshield, where they couldn’t miss it. He began walking again. By the time all this was over, he reckoned, he’d probably have tramped every foot of Key West several times over, and yet he doubted if he’d have noted anything of the slightest consequence about the place itself. He thought of calling Joe Duval again, could have used a conversation with someone who knew what he was feeling, but it wasn’t fair to bother Duval when he had nothing to tell him.
He went into a bar, had a Coke, then hit the streets again. There were fewer folk out now, since most people were eating dinner. Chris had a restaurant guide in his pocket, and a blister on his right big toe. He walked into five places in and around Duval Street, scanning the diners and walking out again. In the sixth, he saw another pair of cops showing Lally’s picture around, and he felt a sudden rush of warmth for them, felt just a little bit less alone, but still, they hadn’t found her, and by now he was beginning to wonder if they ever would, if Lally and Hugo hadn’t perhaps just dropped off the edge of the world, never to be seen again.
He didn’t know what took him back to that particular section of that particular harbour. He’d visited it three times since he’d arrived that afternoon, and now it was almost midnight, and aside from a few perfectly laid-back glamorous types sipping nightcaps on the decks of their yachts, there were hardly any other people around.
There was a fishing boat up ahead, a beautiful old vessel, its sails neatly furled. It was pale in the moonlight, graceful and peaceful. An old grey cat sat on a ledge near the stern, washing itself in silent concentration. All cats are grey in the dark. Chris stood very still, watching it. It was the first time in days that he’d consciously taken time out to look at anything, really at it, and he realized that for tonight, at least, he’d about given up. He supposed he was too tired to look any more. He supposed there was nothing more he could do, except maybe catch some sleep somewhere, even if it was only back in his car.
The cat stopped washing. It looked at him.
“Hi,” Chris said.
It stiffened a little, not actually rising, but still looking.
“Don’t mind me,” Chris said.
And then he realized that it wasn’t looking at him, but past him, to a spot somewhere behind him.
“Chris? Is that you?”
He didn’t move. He thought he was hallucinating.
“Chris?”
He turned. She was there. No more than ten feet behind him. She wore a flowing skirt and a dark, halter-necked top. Her arms were bare and her long slender legs showed through the diaphanous fabric of the skirt. Her long straight hair blew in the gentle breeze off the Gulf of Mexico, and the moon, behind her, surrounded her with an aura of silver. She was the most incredibly lovely sight he had ever seen.
“It is you,” Lally said, softly, unable to believe her eyes.
“I thought – ” He stopped, his throat so dry that the words were almost too husky to hear. He swallowed. “I thought you were a ghost.”
She stepped closer. “No ghost.”
“Thank God,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was so sweetly puzzled, so calm. “I couldn’t believe it was you. Are you on vacation, too? Is Katy with you?”
Chris licked his lips. “Where’s Hugo?”
“Having a nightcap with some people we met.” She turned her head, nodded in the direction of one of the smaller yachts moored some way back. “I felt like strolling a little, and – ” She stopped, seeing his expression. “Chris, what’s wrong?”
He managed to smile, though his heart was pumping, and every last fragment of weariness had vanished. He’d been dreaming of this moment for the last two days, had fantasized about finding Lally, about sweeping her into his arms and keeping her safe and never letting her go again. Yet now, seeing her standing there just a few feet away, they were like polite half-strangers bumping into one another on vacation, and she looked so happy, so well, so normal, and he knew he had to rip it all apart, to bring terror, not safety, into her life, and he didn’t know how to do it, and he wished to God that Joe Duval were there instead of him, and he experienced a sudden and intense urge to run.
Instead, he stood absolutely still.
“Lally,” he said, “I’ve come here to find you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Monday, January 25th
Chris refused to tell her anything until they’d fetched Hugo, and were all sitting down, away from other people, on a pier wall. The stone felt cool and solid beneath her, and the sky was still clear and beautiful, littered with brilliant stars and that magnificent moon.
“There’s a problem,” he said, at last, “with your pacemaker.”
“What kind of problem?” Hugo sounded half afraid, half aggressive, as if a part of him suspected that Chris Webber had come haring down to Florida just to break up his vacation with Lally.
“Of course, it may be nothing at all – ”
“What kind of problem?” Lally asked.
Even in the darkness, Chris’s face was white. “They’re recalling all the recipients of pacemakers manufactured by the company who made yours. There’s probably no problem with it at all, but your brother felt – ”
“Joe?” Lally was bewildered. “What does Joe have to do with it? I didn’t even tell him I was sick.”
“I know.” Chris had repeatedly rehearsed the way he would break the news to Lally, the way he would try not to frighten her too much, but he knew now that that was an impossibility. “The manufacturers asked the police to help track down all the patients. Your brother saw your name on a computer printout.”
“How did you get involved?” Hugo asked.
“Lieutenant Duval came to Stockbridge on Friday, looking for Lally.” He mustered a smile. “And we’ve both been trying to find you ever since.”
“Is he here, too?” Lally asked, suddenly icy. The prospect of Joe taking time off work, and leaving Jess and Sal, seemed more alarming than anything else Chris had said.
Chris shook his head. “He wanted to be, but he had to go back to Chicago. He’s waiting to hear from you.”
“You still haven’t told us what kind of problem this is,” Hugo said.
“That’s because I don’t really know the facts. All I know is that it’s urgent that we get you to Chicago.”
“Why Chicago?” Hugo asked. “Why not home?”
“If it’s so urgent,” Lally said, very softly, “wouldn’t it be safer to deal with it in Florida, quickly?”
Chris’s insides wrenched with pity and fear. “According to your brother, there’s some special equipment in Chicago they wouldn’t have here.”
“Nor in New England?” Hugo was openly suspicious.
“That’s right.” Chris willed Hugo to shut up. “Okay with you, Lally?”
“No. Not unless you tell me the truth.” She saw the dismay on Chris’s face, and grew gentler. “I can cope with trouble better when I know what I’m up against.”
Chris didn’t speak.
“Tell me, Chris.”
Her voice was surprisingly calm. “You didn’t leave Katy and Andrea to come chasing us all over Florida because of some possible problem with my pacemaker. It’s worse than that, isn’t it?”
Still Chris didn’t trust himself to speak.
“It’s my heart, Chris. I have a right to know.”
“Tell her.” Hugo was shivering in spite of the night’s warmth.
Chris focused on Lally’s grey eyes. Even in the darkness, they were every bit as beautiful as he’d remembered.
“Okay,” he said. “But I swear to you, the odds are heavily against your pacemaker being affected. I swear that by all that’s holy.”
All Lally’s calm went away. “Go on,” she said.
He told her everything he knew.
They drove through the night to Miami, abandoning the red Sunbird in favour of Chris’s larger, faster, smoother Mercedes. Hugo wanted Lally to lie down and rest on the rear seat, but she was a million miles from sleep, felt wired enough to power the whole state of Florida single-handedly.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
They kept asking her that, trying, but failing, to mask their fear, and she kept responding, though she no longer really knew how she did feel. It was simply too insane to take in, too terrifying to cope with. The anxiety, when she had first been taken ill, that her heart might stop beating, had been awful enough. The knowledge that there was a possibility – no matter how remote – that it might actually be on the point of being blown to kingdom come, was, when all was said and done, too much to contemplate.
Hearing Joe’s voice on the phone, when they’d called him from Key West, had lent her only a grain of comfort.
“Don’t think,” he’d told her. “Thinking’ll make you crazy. Just get to Miami and get on that plane and come to me, and we’ll take care of it.”
“Why can’t I go to a hospital here?” she’d asked, her voice thin and unfamiliar to her own ears. “Why can’t they just take it out here?”
“They’re not equipped there, sweetheart. You have to come to Chicago. Everything’s all set for you here.”
If I Should Die Page 18