by Geonn Cannon
She heard tires approaching cautiously on the road behind her, but she couldn't look away. The back of the van was sticking out of the water, as still as if it had been a part of the landscape since the beginning of time. Water rushed past the upturned vehicle, but there were no bubbles, no signs of life.
Something warm dropped onto her back and she looked up to see Detective Camden.
"Where is Claire Lance?" he asked.
Mallory looked down at the water. "She's dead."
#
Interlude
Shepherd, Washington
Jodie finished washing her tools and placed them back in the toolbox. She was tired of watching the news for the sporadic reports of hostages being released. They continued to show the footage of Lance taking off her mask, along with 'new information about Claire Lance's criminal past.' Daphne had told her to take the rest of the day off, since no one in their right mind would be coming in for a tune-up during the storm of the century, when the anchor on the news interrupted her thoughts.
"We have word that Chicago FBI Agent Faye Mallory has left the premises in the van the police acquired per the hostage takers demands. Reports from the scene are sketchy, but it seems as if she left with Claire Lance. If you've been following our reports, you'll recognize Claire Lance as..."
Jodie clenched her fists at her sides. She changed the channel and saw Lindsay Le interviewing Simon Hatcher. He looked pale, beaten, and rain dripped off his chin as he spoke. Someone was holding an umbrella over his head, but it didn't seem to be doing much good. "...several prominent local celebrities are named in the book, along with an explicit detailing of the services they requested. The names in the book will be released to every local station, as well as to CNN, for no charge. This isn't about money, or blackmail, or increasing my own celebrity."
She switched back and forth between several stations until she saw the breaking news banner reappear. "Folks, we've been following this increasingly bizarre bank robbery in downtown Shepherd for, for almost six hours now. A few minutes ago, an FBI agent left the bank with one of the bank robbers." He looked at his papers. "A fugitive named Claire Lance. We're receiving a report now that the van they were in has gone off the road just outside of town..."
Jodie swooned. Her hip hit the edge of the table and her eyes rolled toward the top of her head. She held herself together and blinked rapidly at the television screen.
"...the fugitive, Claire Lance, is believed dead at this hour."
Jodie went down to her knees and collapsed unconscious on the garage floor.
#
Mallory stared at the steam swirling up from her coffee mug. Camden had also brought her cookies shaped like pilgrims. She didn't understand until she realized it was a week until Thanksgiving. She reached out, decapitated one of the pilgrims, and crushed his head in her hand. The door opened and Camden stepped inside. He had changed into a new suit, but his hair was slicked down against his skull like a sixth grader on picture day.
"Warm enough? I got a couple guys outside complaining about it, but let them spend a couple minutes outside wearing just a tank top." He sat down and looked at her coffee. "Would you have preferred decaf?"
"No," she said.
He nodded and read the file he'd brought in. "I have some news. The Chief and the District Attorney have been following the case. They read that book Mr. Hatcher brought out of the bank. Weighing the fact that none of the hostages were hurt, the robbers gave themselves up willingly, and no money was taken—"
Mallory closed her eyes. She knew what was coming.
"—the only federal charges filed will be against Simon Hatcher. Gina Cutler, Lucy Gerard and Oliver Lyle will be taken in on criminal conspiracy charges, but it's a slap on the wrist comparatively."
"Yeah," Mallory said. "What about me? Leaving the scene with a suspect."
Camden tapped his index finger on the table. "An unfortunate misunderstanding. You cleared it with me, I just forgot to tell anyone with the sudden rush of hostages being released."
"You forgot?"
"I don't like it," he said, "but what's done is done. We've talked with your superior in Chicago, and he agreed. The accident was an act of God. You're not responsible for the prisoner's death. I could tell people what really happened, but all that would do is prolong this hellstorm. I'm already sick to death of talking about it. You got lucky, Mallory."
Mallory looked at him. "Thank you. I'm free to go?"
"Yeah, you're covered." She stood up and started for the door. Camden looked at her reflection in the two-way mirror. He waited until she opened the door before he said, "What are you going to do now?"
Mallory looked down at her borrowed Shepherd Police Department windbreaker. She shrugged, stuffed her hands into her pockets and said, "I don't have a clue." She turned and left the interrogation room.
#
Interlude
Road Ends, Montana
Andrea Tyler came downstairs in her uniform, her hair loose, to the smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen. She hummed and pushed through the swinging door to the dining room. "Hey, babe," she said. "I'm taking mine to go again." She opened the newspaper that was folded next to her plate and tugged the crossword free. "And I'm taking the crossword." She picked up a piece of toast and bit off a corner.
"Babe?" she said. Breakfast was starting to smell burnt. She walked into the kitchen and found Kelsey sitting on the floor in front of the stove, hands clasped in front of her face. She was sobbing.
Tyler dropped to the floor, ignoring the pain as her knees hit the tile, and put her hands on Kelsey's shoulders. "What happened? What is it?"
"The radio," Kelsey said. Her voice was barely a whisper.
Tyler turned and looked at the radio on the counter. "What...?"
"Claire Lance is dead."
"What?" The blood rushed from Tyler's face and Kelsey began crying again. She leaned forward to press her face to Tyler's shoulder. Tyler dropped her butt onto the ground, all the strength gone from her legs, and pulled Kelsey onto her lap. She wrapped her arms around her and stared into the dining room as their breakfast burned on the stove.
When Kelsey's sobs subsided, Tyler turned her head and kissed her temple. "Okay?" she whispered. Kelsey nodded and leaned back, resting against the stove. Tyler moved next to her, one arm across Kelsey's shoulders, and looked across the kitchen.
They listened to the rest of the news broadcast. "There's no body, Kels. They can't prove anything without a body. You know Lance. You saw how resourceful she is. But even if she is gone, then she's finally at peace. She can stop running."
Kelsey brought Tyler's hand to her lips and kissed it. "Thank God for that," she whispered. She rested her head on Tyler's shoulder and closed her eyes.
#
Interlude
Saxe, Texas
"Come back to bed."
Gwen Cleary, formerly Morse, chuckled and stopped at the bedroom door. "We're never going to get anywhere if you won't let me recharge. I have got to eat something."
The brunette flopped onto her back, her arms spread out to either side of her. "Make it something spreadable. And bring it back up here."
Gwen turned and blinked. "Really, Kelly? Food?"
"Oh, yeah," Kelly said. Gwen smiled, shrugged, and went down the hall to the kitchen. She turned on the little television on top of the fridge, a giddy smile plastered on her face as she looked for something to eat. Something spreadable. She was still 'exploring her sexuality,' a phrase that let her spend the night with as many women as she wanted without feeling like a slut. She had spent her entire life smothered by Roy, and she wasn't in any rush to settle down again.
But still, after two years, she sometimes found herself surprised. She looked in the fridge and took out a jar of strawberry jam. Would that work? She put it on the counter and kept searching.
"...in national news, three boys who went missing in Saskatchewan were found just over the border in Road Ends, Montana. Local sh
eriff Andrea Tyler says the boys..."
Gwen put a few slices of bread in the toaster and picked up the jar of jam. She turned it over the read the nutritional information, wishing she had some honey. Of course, that would be awfully sticky.
"...bank hold-up turned hostage situation yesterday resolved peacefully after nearly six hours. One of the bank robbers, Claire Lance, was revealed very early on to be a fugitive wanted for murder in Chicago and Oklahoma."
Gwen slowly turned to look up at the TV.
"While no hostages were injured during the stand-off, two of the hostage takers were killed. Adrian Durant and Claire Lance..."
The reporter disappeared, replaced with side by side photographs of Lance and a fierce looking black man.
The jar shattered around Gwen's feet, splattering strawberry jam across the floor in a wide fan that looked like blood.
#
Interlude
Denison, Colorado
Cecilia Lance stepped out onto her front porch and hugged herself against the cold. The neighbors had already hung Christmas decorations despite the fact Thanksgiving was still a week away, and the air smelled of snow. The phone call was cordial enough—"Mrs. Lance, I regret to inform you," and so on—but it still left her feeling as if she'd been gutted.
She walked to her porch swing and sat down. She would go in when the cold got to be too much, but that would probably be a while. She gathered her shawl around her and looked out at the street, trusting the cold to keep her from crying.
#
Interlude
Dallas, Texas
She almost didn't open the door. Finally, she relented and turned the lock, but she left the security chain on. "What do you want?"
Mallory refused to meet Toni's eyes. She held up a cashier's check. "I have a job with the FBI again, and they gave me an advance on my paycheck. This is the money I stole from you. With interest."
"Good," Toni said. "Because the money is what I was most worried about."
Mallory flinched.
"Good-bye, Faye."
"Lance is dead."
Toni hesitated, released the chain, and opened the door wide. "Did you—"
"No. I don't know. It was my fault she died. I watched her die. And do you know what her last act on this Earth was? She saved my life. She pushed me out of harm's way. I think she may have had time to save herself. I don't know. But she saved me, and it cost her life. I don't know...how...to process that. I don't know how I'm supposed to live with that.
"I'm sick, Toni. I know that now. I had the whole life flashing before my eyes thing when I was freezing to death on the bridge, and I'm a monster. I need help." She reached into her breast pocket and handed a card to Toni. "It's a psychiatrist here in Dallas. I've asked for a transfer so I can keep seeing her. I've only been to one session so far. But it's good. It's going to help. I think. I don't know." She scoffed. "I don't know anything, apparently."
"Seems to me as if you know a lot," Toni said. She handed back the card. "I'm happy for you, Faye. But you can't come in."
"I know."
"Not yet."
Mallory looked up and finally met her eyes. She nodded her understanding.
"Would you like to go get a cup of coffee?"
"Yes," Mallory said. "I'd like that a lot, Toni."
"Let me get my coat."
Toni shut the door and went past the radio. She ignored the newscaster's voice that followed her into the bedroom. "...a television actor, a Washington state senator, and a Presidential hopeful, all named in what has been called the single most damning book in modern history. As more names come to light, and as more arrests are made, the one question on everybody's mind is 'who will be next?'"
Toni returned with her coat and turned off the radio when she went past.
#
Interlude
Shepherd, Washington
Camden left the police station just before midnight. He hated reporters, hated talking about Hatcher and that damned book. There was a rumor that the police commissioner was on it, but there were no facts to back that up. He knew that, for a while, rumors would be thick. The book was Pandora's Box, and he was starting to regret letting Hatcher open it on the air. The fact that the book was acquired during a bank robbery was little more than a footnote. The only criminal charges were to be filed against Hatcher, a man the nation was currently touting as a hero.
He tugged his coat tighter around him, holding it closed with one hand. The rain had stopped, but the chill remained. Everything was crystalline, reflecting the moonlight like thousands of diamonds. He rubbed his hands together as he entered the parking lot, slowing when he realized someone was leaning against the driver's side door of his car. "Can I help you?"
"Depends." Jeremiah Roland turned. His nose and cheeks were beet red, and he was hugging himself against the cold. "You got a warm place for me to stay tonight?"
Camden smiled and said, "Thought it was a one time thing."
Roland shrugged. "You can't trust a guy like me. Don't you know anything?"
Camden cupped Roland's face and said, "Jesus. You're freezing."
"I spent all day outside. So, what do you say? A nice hot meal, maybe a bed with a lot of blankets."
"I'll see what I can come up with," Camden said. He pulled Roland to him and they kissed in the darkness.
#
Interlude
Squire's Isle
On Christmas Eve, Jodie turned on the heat so Danica would be comfortable, packed some things into her duffel bag, and hooked it over her shoulder. She asked a neighbor to check in on the cat if she wasn't home by dusk and climbed into the Mustang. It still felt like she was wearing someone else's clothes to drive the car, but she knew it was right. The police auction had been her one social event since Lance left, and she spent more than she wanted to make sure she was the final bidder. It was Lance's car, and that was all that mattered. She would have gone into debt to get it for herself.
The roads were still dangerously icy, but she made good time to Anacortes. She rode the ferry through the islands, watching the ice patches slid past the ship's hull, fiercely determined not to think about what was waiting on the other end of her journey.
When the ferry docked, Jodie stayed by her window, watching the island town that seemed lifted right out of a postcard. She scanned the faces on the boardwalk and finally turned away, went down the stairs and climbed into her car.
She drove down Front Street until she found a wide parking lot nestled between a group of restaurants. She parked and sat behind the wheel for a long time, watching the waves in the harbor. There was snow on the trees, and the water looked just slightly iced over. She couldn't bring herself to enjoy the sight, no matter how tranquil. She brought her fists up to her hands, blew into them, and climbed from the car.
Jodie wandered across the boardwalk, pausing to window shop for Christmas gifts. She only had to shop for Daphne and Rebecca, but she couldn't even begin to think of what to buy for either of them. And Daphne deserved something special; weathering Jodie's temper tantrums, closing the garage so Jodie could sit and sulk in her apartment over another relationship gone bad. Daphne deserved something nice, not a stuffed orca toy.
The boardwalk ended with a series of benches that faced the harbor. Several of them were empty, but the one on the far end seated a blonde woman bundled up against the cold, a knit cap with a furry bobble on top and a scarf loosely draped over her shoulders. Jodie sat next to the blonde and looked at the newspaper between them. "Can I read this?"
"Help yourself."
Jodie picked up the paper, folded it in half and read the front page. It was the local paper, so the main stories were about the local high school's Christmas pageant and an annual boat parade. Jodie feigned interest in the story for a while and then looked up, scanning the boardwalk. "I don't think anyone followed me."
"No. I was watching."
Jodie folded the newspaper, sniffed against the cold, and looked out at the
harbor. "You make a terrible blonde."
Claire Lance smiled.
#
Epilogue
Lance regained consciousness when the first freezing wave of water washed over her. She gasped, fought as the current tried to pull her out of the van, and wrapped both arms around the driver's seat. The front and side windows were shattered, the side door still standing open. The water rushed over her again and she lost her grip on the seat, pulled back under water. She fought her way to the surface, spluttering when she came up in a small air pocket.
She knew she couldn't stay in the van; the police would come and retrieve her any minute. This was her chance to make a clean getaway. She reluctantly went back under water and swam toward the broken windshield. She pulled her arms close to her body to avoid the shards of safety glass and tried to make sure she never broke the surface. She had to move slowly and stay low if this was going to work.
Lance stayed low to the streambed, the world invisible to her, finding her way by touch alone. She grabbed handfuls of the muddy bottom and pushed herself forward like climbing a ladder. Reach, grab, pull. Repeat with other arm. Her head pounded as she slowly made her way along with the tide. She wondered if she'd been hurt in the fall; she was so cold that any number of bones could have been broken and she wouldn't know.
When she judged she had gone far enough, she pushed herself to the surface. She gulped down air, gasping and lightheaded. She turned and looked back the way she'd come. Three police cars stood on the bridge, and their headlights illuminated several dark silhouettes. Lance wiped the water from her face and swam to shore.
She stripped off her tie, and left the jacket thinking it would provide her some warmth. It didn't take long before she decided to drop that as well. Shivering, her teeth clacking, Lance hugged herself and began to walk. The leaves on the ground were frosted with ice and shattered when she stepped on them. Her legs felt like rubber, but she knew she had to keep moving forward.