She was a few feet behind the two men, her head down to watch her footing, when suddenly she bumped into Zach, who had stopped. He reached around to grip her arm, then pointed ahead of them and to the right.
They had been climbing a gradual rise, but she saw that the land dropped away sharply from the top. And at the bottom, in a dense thicket of blackberry bushes and tall, dead weeds, lay a truck.
It was still upright, but its bed was higher than its cab as its front bumper rested against an ancient oak. Obviously, it had been pushed over the hilltop where they stood.
They stared at it and then at each other, each seeing the doubts that had been silently tormenting them. Then they began to pick their way carefully down the steep slope, seeking footholds among the roots and bushes and rocks.
Up close, the old truck was little more than a rusted hulk, hardly the sort of thing one would choose to pin one’s hopes on. And yet, as she stared at it, it seemed to her that it was in better condition than she would have expected after all this time. That thought, of course, led to still more doubts. But Zach apparently had had the same thought.
“They didn’t choose their spot too wisely,” he commented as he began to pick his way gingerly through the blackberry bushes. “It’s actually been pretty well protected in here.”
She saw what he meant as she looked at the huge trees that formed a canopy over the wreck, a mixture of oak and fir that would have sheltered the truck from both the summer sun and the winter storms.
Zach reached the front of the truck while she was still making her way carefully through the grasping blackberry thorns. She stopped as he made a sudden sound, not the whoop of joy she might have expected, but rather a quiet sound of satisfaction. When she reached him, it was she who cried out in sheer relief.
Only the big front bumper of the truck was touching the tree trunk, right in the center. But the left front of the truck was crumpled—and amidst the dents were traces of paint, the distinctive yellow of a school bus.
They both stared at it as raptly as they might have gazed upon the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Even the rain gave the appearance of having let up under the sheltering trees.
Then C.Z. recalled Mary’s story about the spilled bleach and dragged her gaze from the yellow paint to tug at Zach’s arm. She didn’t have to say anything because she could see that he was remembering, too.
They pushed their way through the bushes to the passenger door. C.Z. reached it first and tried to open it, but the door handle refused to budge. So she stepped aside and Zach tugged at it until the door finally swung open with a loud groan of rusted hinges.
He reached in and picked up the floor mat—and there was the final proof, a large yellowed area where the pooled bleach had washed out the black carpeting. With Mary’s testimony, there could be no doubt this was the truck her husband had sold to Harvey Summers.
They backed away from the truck, and Davy Crockett looked a question at them. Zach nodded and clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“That’s it! You found our proof!”
Davy grinned for the first time, lending an almost boyish quality to his craggy features. “We’ve got him, then?”
“We’ve got him,” Zach assured him. “Now…”
He broke off abruptly and frowned into the distance. Davy Crockett did the same, but it was a second or two before C.Z. heard it—the sound of an engine, barely audible above the rain.
“Come on!” Zach said, taking her arm. “Let’s get out of here and into hiding.”
Instead of climbing the steep hillside, they hurried into the woods on the far side of the truck where the ground dropped off gradually. Flinging themselves down on the semifrozen, slick ground, they peered over the top of the bank as the sound of the engine grew steadily louder.
“Damn!” Zach swore as a dark blue vehicle came into view off to their left. “It’s Summers himself!”
The vehicle lurched to a stop at the top of the hill at the same place Summers had pushed the truck into its present resting place.
“Nice of them to come along just when we need a ride,” Zach observed dryly as they watched both front doors open.
Harvey Summers came into view first, standing at the crest of the hill and staring at the wreck with a look of triumph on his face. His words carried to them clearly.
“I shouldn’t have listened to Colby. I knew it was back here.”
Then the other man came into view, a small wiry man with a face that immediately made C.Z. think of a rat. Zach leaned close to her ear.
“That’s Neil, the one whose voice I recognized at Davy’s place. It’s going to be a pleasure to put him away.”
The two men turned toward their vehicle, out of sight beyond the crest of the hill. C.Z. could hear their voices but not what they were saying.
A few moments later, the two men were back, making their way carefully down the slick hillside, carrying two huge red gasoline cans whose weight made their progress slow and clumsy. She could feel the tension in Zach as he lay beside her, a coiled spring ready to erupt into action. His gun was in his hand. On his other side, Davy stared impassively at the struggling men, but she could sense tension in him, as well.
They reached the bottom of the hill and approached the truck. Summers began to walk around it, putting out a hand to touch the side and then the fender.
“It’ll burn. It isn’t that wet down here, and this way, we won’t have to worry about the fire spreading and drawing any attention.”
The other man, Neil, was walking around the truck, as well, and he stopped at the front. “Shoulda got rid of that paint, Harvey.”
Harvey Summers glanced at it and swore disgustedly. “We were both so drunk we didn’t even notice it. All we wanted to do was to get rid of it.”
“Well, that’s what we’re here to do now,” Neil said as he started to the gas cans.
But Harvey Summers continued to stand there, staring at that smear of yellow paint. C.Z. couldn’t see his face, but there was something in his stance and his utter stillness that might have elicited her sympathy if he had not gone on to commit further crimes.
As Summers turned toward the gas cans, Zach stood up in one fluid motion that startled C.Z.
“Just stop right there!” he ordered, all hard, cold cop.
Summers froze, then turned slowly, his expression stunned. The other man did nothing except to slowly raise his hands above his head.
“Hollis!” Summers cried hoarsely, then turned to his accomplice. “You said they all died in the fire!”
The other man shrugged, his arms still raised above his head. “We thought they did.”
Zach advanced toward them. “If I were you two, I’d watch what I’m saying. I’d read you your rights, but I’m not back on the job—yet.” He turned to Davy. “I don’t think they’re carrying, but you’d better check them anyway.”
Davy Crockett stepped forward and patted both men down, then shook his head. “Nothing. They might have something in the Bronco.”
“Yeah, you’d better check it, too.” Zach stepped closer to Harvey Summers. “We’ve got you, Summers. Mary Williams can identify the truck as the one her husband sold to you. Maybe you never noticed that bleach stain under the floor mat.”
Summers’s gaze went from Zach to the truck, and C.Z. thought his face was beginning to crumple. His skin was ashen.
“Then there’s conspiracy to commit murder,” Zach went on in a calm, almost pleasant tone. “I think Zeke here might be willing to talk to save his hide.” He turned to the other man. “Killing a police officer is sure as hell going to be a capital offense, but if you tell the D.A. Summers paid you to do it, you might get off with life instead.”
C.Z. was confused. She expected Neil to deny that he’d killed anyone. After all, they were standing there as living proof that his murderous scheme hadn’t worked. But then, just as Harvey Summers began to speak, she realized that Zach had said police officer. He wasn’
t one at the moment. That could only mean—
“Shut up, Zeke!” Harvey Summers ordered. “He’s bluffing. He doesn’t know anything!”
“Wrong, Summers. Davy here saw Zeke on the grounds of Tom Morrison’s camp that day—and he was carrying the same kind of rifle that killed Morrison. You paid him to do it because you knew Tom was getting close to the truth.”
Zach turned contemptuously to Neil. “And you probably had a grudge against Morrison yourself, didn’t you? I know he arrested you a couple of times.”
Neil’s little eyes swiveled from Zach to Summers and back again. “You telling me the truth? If I say he paid me, they’ll go easy on me?”
Summers tried to interrupt, but Davy Crockett stepped behind him and clamped a big hand over his mouth.
“All I’m saying, Neil, is that you should tell the D.A. the truth. Otherwise, you’re gonna go down for it and old Harvey here is probably going to get nothing more than a suspended driver’s license.”
Neil’s head bobbed. “He paid me, paid me for that and for torching the cabin.”
C.Z. remained silent, her gaze going from Harvey Summers to the other man and back again. Together, they had murdered her father, and yet their only concern at the moment was who would get the blame.
She was somewhere beyond rage at the moment, unable to comprehend the working of two minds that could care so little about having taken a life. She’d encountered such men in her short-lived prison career, of course, but none of them had killed someone she loved.
But it was Harvey Summers who was the focus of her attention, not Zeke Neil, whom she didn’t know—even though he had been the one who’d actually killed her father. Neil was little more than a deadly tool for Harvey Summers, and if he’d refused, then Summers would have found another tool.
C.Z. knew something deep within her had shifted, something inexplicable. It occurred to her that some part of her had, right up to this moment, refused to accept Summers’s part in all this despite the overwhelming evidence. And if she felt this way when she barely knew the man, how would those who did know him feel?
It was, she thought, betrayal of a particularly repellent sort. This man had walked among them all his life, smiling, helping everyone, demonstrating his concern for the community. The parents of the children who had died because of him had undoubtedly accepted his sympathy, commiserated with him over their terrible loss. Perhaps some of them had benefited from the many small favors he’d done over the years.
The end of innocence, she thought sadly. As a result of his betrayal, people would lose their faith and their trust in their fellow human beings—and they might never regain it.
Davy Crockett returned from his inspection of the Bronco carrying a handgun and a rifle. “Found these,” he said. “There’s some heavy rope, too.”
Zach nodded. “Let’s get them in the Bronco, then. You can drive, C.Z., so Davy and I can keep an eye on them. We’ll go back and pull the Jeep out first.”
She didn’t move as Zach and Davy herded the men into the Bronco. Davy got into the back seat between them while Zach climbed into the front passenger seat, then turned around and kept his gun aimed at them. She wanted Zach’s arms around her, needed his comfort right now. But she understood, finally. They would have their time, but there was still work to do.
As soon as she had slid into the driver’s seat, Zach reached out with his free hand to grasp hers. “Hang in there, Charlie girl. It’s nearly over. You’re doing fine.”
She wasn’t, but she knew she didn’t have to tell him that. His love and his concern were in his eyes and in his voice, which temporarily lost its hardness.
She drove the big, clumsy vehicle carefully over slick trails and through the woods until at last they reached the spot where the Jeep lay on its side on the icy bank. Their two prisoners remained silent. Once, she glanced in the rearview mirror to see Harvey Summers watching her, his expression unreadable. She wondered if it would make any difference if she could see some remorse there.
When she had brought the Bronco to a halt, Zach ordered the two men to get out. Then Davy used his wicked-looking knife to cut off two short pieces from the coil of rope he’d found, and he and Zach bound the men’s feet. After that, he handed her his gun.
“If they cause any trouble, aim at their legs,” he told her.
She nodded, though in truth, she didn’t think she could bring herself to fire the gun—even at them. She kept her distance from them as they all stood there in the driving rain.
The Jeep was hauled quickly up the slope to the trail, and Zach cut more rope and bound the men’s hands, as well, before pushing them into the back seat of the Bronco.
“Davy will ride with you to keep an eye on them,” he told her. “I’ll follow in the Jeep.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Davy says he can get us to the highway pretty quickly—not far from that closed gas station where there’s a pay phone. Then we can call Sam.”
She had more questions, but it seemed pointless to stand here in the rain asking them, so she did as he asked. It took nearly an hour for them to reach the highway, and the entire trip was accomplished in a heavy silence.
C.Z. kept glancing into the rearview mirror even though she couldn’t see Zach’s face behind the rain-smeared windshield of the Jeep. How were they going to manage this? What would happen to Zach? She was terrified at the possibility that he might be forced to return to prison until it could all be sorted out.
When they reached the highway, Davy broke the long silence to tell her to turn left, and within a few minutes she could see the abandoned gas station. She pulled in, her mind busy at work on various scenarios to bring an end to their ordeal.
When she saw the Jeep speed past and disappear quickly around a curve, she was too stunned to believe her eyes. She started to put the key in the ignition, but Davy’s big, callused hand stopped her.
“He’s got to disappear for a while,” Davy told her. “Just till things get settled. He says they’d send him back to prison, and he doesn’t want that.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “But they won’t! He’s innocent!”
“He was innocent the first time, too,” Davy reminded her. “And he knows the law better than we do.” He paused. “Now you go call that lawyer.”
She wanted to go after him, but she realized that Zach had set it up very well, saddling her with the responsibility of their two prisoners, not to mention Davy. Half-blind with tears of anger and pain, she got out and ran through the rain to the phone booth.
Sam wasn’t in his office, but when she identified herself, his secretary asked for her number and said that Sam was carrying a pager and would get back to her right away. So she waited impatiently in the booth, trying to get a firm grip on all the emotions that were buffeting her.
Why couldn’t Zach have taken her with him? They could have made the call to Sam and left the prisoners with Davy. Then she realized that Zach had done what he’d done out of concern for Davy, as well. He seemed to be okay, but how well could he function when all the police arrived? Besides, the man was homeless now, without anything other than the clothes on his back and the box of photographs that were still in the Jeep.
He could have pointed all that out to me, she grumbled to herself as the phone began to ring. He didn’t have to do it this way.
The moment Sam identified himself, she started talking and didn’t stop until she’d told him everything, ending with the fact that Zach had disappeared.
“Good idea,” Sam said. “There’s no way I could have gotten him out on bail, and it’ll probably take a couple of days to get things sorted out.”
“But he’s innocent, Sam!” she protested.
“We know that, but the system doesn’t know it yet. If it were just the conviction for attempted murder, I could get him out once they hear our story. But he escaped from prison, and they’d insist on getting him back until it’s all cleared up. He knew that, and that�
�s why he did it. I don’t blame him.”
IN LESS THAN half an hour, the state police descended upon them in force. Sam had called them rather than the Ondago County police for the obvious reason that Chief Colby was soon to be arrested, as well, for leaving the scene of an accident, not to mention burglarizing her place.
C.Z. saw very quickly just how right Zach was to be concerned about Davy. He was very uneasy—especially when the officers asked him to produce some ID and he couldn’t. She drew the officer aside and explained about him.
“Davy Crockett?” the officer echoed, then nodded. “I’ve heard about him. I understand that he’s been living illegally on state land for years.”
“Not anymore,” C.Z. said, gesturing to their prisoners. “They burned down his cabin—and nearly killed us, as well.”
“Can’t he talk?” the officer asked.
“He can, but I think he’s decided not to. He’ll talk to me, though. Just don’t arrest him. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
The officer swept an arm around to encompass them all. “We’re going to have to take all of you over to the barracks until we get this sorted out, but you can stay with him as interpreter.”
By the time they reached the state police barracks, some thirty miles away, Sam was already there—and so was Mary Williams. Their presence was reassuring to C.Z., but it didn’t prevent her from having to tell her story over and over again.
Then the county D.A. arrived, and she had to go over it all one more time, even though Sam had already talked to him. She was still chilled, despite the cups of coffee that had been provided to them, and the caffeine was kicking in and making her jittery, to boot. More than once, she decided she would have answered differently if Zach had asked her again the question he’d asked earlier. She loved him, there was no question of that. But that love was being sorely tried.
Runaway Heart Page 22
