by Thomas Perry
She was silent, not willing to concede anything.
“Our time is up,” he said. “I’ll let you off, and then you’ll never see me again. I’m very sorry that I answered your ad for the apartment. It wasn’t fair to you. You’re a good person who didn’t deserve to run into me. Now I’ve got to get moving.”
“You’re leaving me here?” she said. “How would you like to be a woman taped up and dropped off in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar part of Chicago?”
“If you’ll promise not to call the cops or tell them anything about where I went, I’ll leave you somewhere safer.”
“Just get us both out of here now.”
He drove to the front of the nearby garage, got out, unlocked the door, and opened it. He went inside, drove the new BMW that was inside into the alley, and then replaced it with the old Toyota. He let the dogs out and ordered them into the backseat of the BMW. Then he lifted Zoe out of the Toyota.
She said, “If I promise to go quietly will you please get rid of the tape?”
“No.” He carried her to the BMW, put her in the passenger seat, and strapped her in. He went to the garage, closed it, and locked the door on the Toyota. Then he got into the BMW, restarted it, and drove.
After about fifteen minutes he turned down another nearly deserted commercial street that was lined with warehouses and parking lots. He took out his pocketknife and cut the tape on Zoe’s legs and then leaned across to free her from the seat belt so he could cut the tape on her wrists. He put the car in gear again and drove on. “I’m doing this to be kind. Don’t make me sorry.”
In a moment they were heading southwest on Interstate 55, away from the city. Zoe began the business of pulling the tape off her long hair. “This is really painful. I’m pulling out handfuls of hair.”
He said, “You didn’t give me any choice. It will be light in about two hours. I’ll let you off outside the city with plenty of money so you can take a cab or something. Just don’t go right back to the apartment. There will be people watching it, maybe waiting inside. If there’s a cleanup crew, you’ll be one of the things they’ll want to get rid of.”
Zoe finished taking the tape out of her hair and began pulling the tape from the ankles of her jeans. Her face was close to the dashboard. “Nice car,” she said. “I guess you planned for this night a while ago.”
He shrugged. “Once you realize that you can never let them find you, the rest is obvious. I figured this wasn’t the kind of car they’d be looking for if I moved on. My last two cars were older Toyotas.”
“If you’re so smart, how did they find you?”
“I don’t really know how they found me in Vermont. Probably I made a mistake. I know they searched the Chicago area for five months before a young operator spotted me.”
“The young guy lying by the garage?”
“Yes. I think he figured out that I would try to hide in a neighborhood where there were lots of people who looked like me. He’s smart.”
“Was smart.”
“Huh?”
“You killed him.”
“No I didn’t. He’s the reason I had the duct tape. I wrapped his wrists and ankles. He’s tied to a tree by the garage.”
“You killed two and left the third behind?”
“The first two shot at me. With him, I had a choice. His people will find him and he’ll be okay.”
He drove on in silence for a few minutes, and then noticed that Zoe was staring at him with a strange look on her face, as though she were trying to see through his skull. He turned to look at her. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you off soon. There should be something along this route.”
“It’s still dark.”
“The longer you stay with me, the longer your ride back will be.”
“I’m certainly not going back to that apartment. But if I don’t come home, they’ll start looking for me, won’t they?”
“I’m not sure. The two Libyan assassins are dead. I don’t know who is making the next decision, or even where in the world he is. You could go straight to a police station as soon as you get to Chicago and report the shooting. They’ll examine the crime scene and ask you a lot of questions.”
“The police? Why would you want them involved?”
“I don’t. But once the police have talked to you, they’ll know you didn’t shoot anybody, and you should be safer. The people chasing me can’t very well make you disappear if the police think you’re a witness to a homicide.”
“Oh my God,” she muttered.
She fell silent. She stared out the car window at the flat countryside for twenty minutes before she spoke again. “Were you really expecting me to come with you?”
“I talked myself into believing this wasn’t going to happen. When it did, I was concentrating on making sure you got out alive.”
“Is that all?”
“Of course I hoped you would want to be with me if I had to move on, but this wasn’t the way I thought it would happen. I can’t say coming with me would be a good idea, so I can’t blame you for not doing it.”
“No, you can’t.” She went back to staring out the window. “I hate these tinted windows.”
“Me too. But I figured they’d make it harder to recognize me.” He kept his eyes on the road for a minute or two, and then looked into the rearview mirrors to check for cars that might be following them.
Zoe waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to tell her anything more, she said, “What will you do with the dogs?”
“I have someone who will take them.”
“Where will you go?”
He seemed to come out of a reverie. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you off this morning.”
“I didn’t ask that. I asked where.”
He said, “You should realize that I’m a very big catch for these people, and I’m getting bigger every hour. Knowing things can hurt you a lot.”
“I suppose.”
“If they think you know where I am, they’ll do what they can to get you to tell them.”
“Do you believe they’d torture me or something?”
He glanced at her and turned his eyes back on the road. “I don’t know. I’ve been out of that world for over thirty-five years. But making people like them think you’re an accomplice instead of a victim is a bad idea.”
Zoe stared out the window for the next hour, looking at the increasingly open country while they cleared the circle of dense population around Chicago. The car left the interstate just at dawn. She could see that they were surrounded by farmland, and Caldwell seemed to be on his way deeper into the country. The road he had chosen was deserted. It intersected now and then with unmarked narrow asphalt roads with gravel shoulders, but in the weak gray light she saw no houses.
Then she felt a deceleration as Caldwell took his foot off the gas pedal. She saw they were coasting onto the gravel shoulder. When he stopped, a cloud of dust caught up with them and blew past.
She looked for signs. “Where are we?”
“We’re outside Springfield,” he said.
He turned off the engine. “I’m sorry to stop so far from the city. But I’ve got to give myself a little head start before you talk to the police.” He reached into his coat pocket and took out a thick envelope. He held the envelope open while he pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills.
Her eyes weren’t on the money, but on the envelope. “What’s that?”
He held out the money.
“Not that,” she said. She reached for the envelope. “This.” She held the envelope open and took out a California driver’s license. “That’s my picture. It’s the one you took with your phone in the living room.” She reached in and took out a passport. She opened it, and looked at the front page, where there was another picture of her. “This looks so real.”
“That’s because it is,” he said.
“How did you get this?”
“A long time
ago I got my wife to apply for a passport in that name, so this was just a renewal. When you renew they ask for fresh pictures, so I sent yours. You don’t look that much like her, but she had long brown hair and blue eyes like yours. The passport had never been used, and there was no reason for them to think Marcia Dixon was up to something after all these years of good behavior.”
She took out a credit card, then another. “Marcia Dixon. Marcia Dixon. When did you do all this?”
“When I took those pictures. You can keep the passport and license. Maybe they’ll come in handy. Just don’t let anybody catch you with passports in two different names.” He set the stack of money on the console beside her. “And put this money away in your overnight bag. Walk back up the road the way we came, and you’ll get to the interstate. There are gas stations and fast-food places where you can call a cab. What you want is a ride into Springfield. Tell the driver to let you off at the state capitol building. It’s a good place, because there will be hotels and restaurants nearby. If he asks how you got to the interstate, tell him your car broke down and got towed. Your husband is going to wait for the car at the dealer’s and meet you in Springfield when it’s ready. Mentioning a husband means you don’t have to know all the details. Do you understand?”
“You’re good at this stuff.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean you’re a good liar.”
“Yes, I know. You’d better get started now.”
“I’m not going,” she said.
“I told you I’d set you free. This is a perfectly good place.”
“I’m sure it is. I told you I could see how clever you are. But I’ve thought this through again since you woke me up in the middle of the night. At that moment I thought you were completely different from the man I knew. But you’re the same.”
“I don’t want you to go with me, Zoe.”
“When you did all this to get me a new identity, you must have expected me to run away with you, right? You must have at least hoped I would.”
“This isn’t a productive conversation. We’re wasting time.”
“Then let’s get going. I’ll drive if you’re tired.”
“Zoe, this isn’t something you want to get in on. You picked right the first time. When I got you those papers and cards I didn’t know this was going to happen. I thought I’d lost the hunters again, probably for good. The forgeries were just a precaution, and if all went well, we’d never need them.” He paused. “It’s stupid to even talk about this.”
“Probably,” she said. “Let’s go. Do you not want me to drive your new car, or what?”
“A week from now I’m more likely to be dead than alive. If you’re with me, so are you. A hostage is never more likely to die than when the authorities are trying to rescue her. This is your way out.”
“I don’t want a way out. I want to go with you. I’ll be anyone you want, and I’ll do anything you say, without question. You can even change the terms, and I won’t complain. Just take me along.”
“Zoe—”
“Sorry. I don’t know her. I’m Marcia Dixon. I’m on a road trip with my husband, What’s-His-Name Dixon.”
“Henry.”
“Henry? Really?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a respectable name, I guess. So who’s driving?”
“Please think about this, Zoe.”
“I’ve thought of nothing else all morning. I’m thinking we have a long drive ahead of us. I know that if you want to get rid of me you can hurt me, throw me out on the pavement, and drive off. If you kill me they couldn’t punish you worse than they will already.”
“I can’t waste any more time right now.” He reached across her, pushed open her door, and waited.
“Look, I know that you stayed with me for your own practical reasons. You needed a hiding place, and a woman made it look real and settled and normal—not like a hideout, but like a life. I get it. At first you liked the place, and then you liked the sex, and I wasn’t demanding or bitchy or anything, so you stayed, maybe longer than you should have. But I had reasons of my own, and maybe they were mostly selfish too. But over time, something changed for me. It changed for you too. Otherwise you wouldn’t have taken extra risks to make sure I could go with you.”
“You’re right. I did use you. So get out.”
“I know being anywhere near you is a huge risk. But I’d rather take that risk than go back to have the life I would have if I let you drive away without me now. It would be giving up life to give myself a longer time to exist. I would always remember what I gave up. You used me, and I used you too. So keep on using me. I love you, and I can be really useful, and I will be.” She reached for the door handle and shut the door.
He sighed in frustration, put the car in gear, and drove. When they reached the junction with Interstate 72, they swung onto it and headed east. After another hour he left the interstate and kept going, taking the back roads, the long, straight highways that had been replaced by interstates but still carried local traffic.
When they reached the first small, pretty town that had a large park, they stopped to feed the dogs and give them a walk. At another town he sent Marcia Dixon into a small store to buy bottled water, bags of nuts, a box of protein bars, a bag of fruit, and more dog food.
Henry Dixon watched her through the front window. He was aware that a woman in her position might have decided to come along solely to get her kidnapper caught. Right now she could easily be telling the store clerk to call the local police. The television news people would call her a plucky little heroine, and she would be invited on morning talk shows. Maybe they would show footage of her in the foreground with the commander of the SWAT team, and on the pavement in the background there would be a body covered with a sheet. This was the test. Either she was telling him the truth or she wasn’t. He wasn’t sure now why he was so confident that she wouldn’t betray him.
He watched her return to the car carrying the bags of supplies. As she approached, he popped open the trunk and took his time putting the bags inside and moving snacks and dog treats and bottled water to the front seat where they could reach them. Then he let the dogs out to urinate again. As he watched them, he kept listening for the whine of distant police sirens.
She said, “I thought we were in more of a hurry than this. Am I wrong?”
He opened the back door and let the dogs onto the backseat. He stood still for another moment, but he still heard nothing. “No, you’re right,” he said, got into the car, and drove.
After a few minutes of staring into the rearview mirror to reassure himself that there were no cars following, he took out one of his prepaid cell phones and held it out to her. “Call your daughter.”
“Really?” She took the phone.
“Yes. Tell her that you’re leaving the country for a while. Tell her not to call the police, and not to go to your apartment for any reason. Tell her to let your son know you’re okay, and your ex-husband. Tell her you’ll call when you’re back.”
When she was finished, he took the phone apart and tossed the pieces beside the road, one by one.
After another two hours on the road he stopped again and they ate a snack while they let the dogs run. As they were preparing to leave again she said, “I’d like to call you Hank. Is that all right?”
“I guess so. Why?” He let the dogs jump in and closed the back door.
“You look more like a Hank to me. And you were always more of a Pete than a Peter, too. I would have told you eventually.” She got behind the wheel of the car and held out her hand for the keys. “Nobody else will call you Hank but me.”
He got in beside her. “You know we’ll probably be dead very soon.”
“It was never going to end any other way. Lovers all die. And no matter when, it was always going to be sooner than we wanted.”
13
Three days later at dusk Henry Dixon pulled the BMW into the deserted parking lot for a small vista point off Ro
ute 9N on the west side of Lake George in upstate New York. Henry and Marcia Dixon were a few minutes early for the rendezvous, so Henry fed his dogs and let them run free for a while. They sniffed everything in the area with special attention to the trash barrels, and then trotted off to investigate the trees and brush around the lot, but kept returning to Henry and Marcia, who were out of the car and on their feet after a day of driving. Henry knew that they could tell he was sad about something, but they couldn’t imagine what made him sad. They smelled no enemies, and their noses told them nothing nearby had died.
The black BMW was pulled back near the hillside leading down from the main road hidden from view. Henry and Marcia were quiet, waiting.
When Emily’s Volvo turned down the drive and coasted into the lot, Henry stood still and watched. Emily stopped, turned the car around to face the driveway, and backed up close to the BMW before she parked and got out. She wore jeans and a bulky sweater and a pair of loafers, and her hair was pulled back tight, so the dark hair she inherited from her mother looked shiny and perfectly smooth.
The boys pushed the back door open, ran to their grandfather, and hugged him. Henry swung Adam, the eight-year-old, into the air and held him for a moment, and then put him down. He did the same to Mark, the six-year-old. The two eager dogs galloped up, bumped their shoulders against the boys, ran a few steps off, and then ran back to them. They had always loved the boys’ visits to the house in Vermont.
His daughter stepped up and hugged him. “Hi, Dad,” said Emily. “I’m so glad I got a chance to see you in person, and not just pick up Dave and Carol somewhere after you’ve driven off.”
“I’m glad to see you too,” he said. “But I can’t believe you brought the boys with you. You know this is a very dangerous place to be.”
Emily shrugged. “Mothers have to make impossible decisions. I decided I had to put them at risk for these few minutes. I want them to remember this.” Emily kissed her father’s cheek, then let go of him and turned her head. “You’re Zoe?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s not going to be my name after this. I’m working on getting used to the new one.”