“All right. I’ll call you right back. Where are you at?”
“I’m at the Saunders’ house.”
“Okay. Stay by the phone.”
I looked up. Mrs. Saunders stood in the doorway strangling a dish towel. Hope fluttered in her eyes despite all her denials. “Do you think it’s the one who did it? Do you think you can find him?”
“I don’t know. Let’s see what Pete says.” I went by her to the kitchen to get some more coffee and squeezed her wrist. She smiled, something I hadn’t seen before. It was a nice smile.
Molasses minutes dripped by and hardened into a pool of the past. I had to take a leak, but was afraid to leave the phone. Renal failure backoned when it finally rang.
“Yes?”
“You were right, Haggerty. We used the reverse directories to get a name and address. I’m going out there now after we get a search warrant signed. Want to come along?”
“You bet.”
“I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes. We’re rousting a magistrate right now.”
“Okay.” I hung up. Maggie was still in the doorway, still doing murder with her hands.
“We may have a lead. Pete is coming by for me. Do you want to come too?”
She nodded her head. “Yes, yes I do.”
“Let’s get you a coat.” I steered her to the closet, picked one out for her. She didn’t dispute my choice, and I slipped it on her. If her hopes were doing their one hundred twenty-first performance as Lazarus, she was also retreating into herself. Keeping the ember alive and far from the wind. We went to the door and down to the street. I tossed the file in my car. In a few minutes DeVito pulled up. He rolled down his window. “Hello, Maggie. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes, Pete. I’m sure. Let’s go. Please.”
I pulled open the door and we got in. DeVito turned to speak to us. “Guy’s name is Justin Randolph. Lives over in Rockville. A complete forensics team is assembling over there. Everyone came, Maggie, everyone. I didn’t have to ask twice.”
“Thank you, Pete.”
“This is how I want to do things Leo. It’s an official police investigation. I’ve got my paperwork letter-perfect. We’re going to do this one by the book. No loopholes. None. You understand?”
“Yeah. I stay outside until it’s all over, and on the side you’ll tell me anything I can use.”
“You got it. Maggie, you too. Outside. As soon as we know anything, I’ll tell you. I promise. You know that, right?”
“I know, Pete. Thank you.”
Fifteen minutes later we pulled up to the house along with the lab truck and two other unmarked cars. As we all got out, DeVito grabbed my wrist. “Keep her out here, okay? God knows what we may find in there.”
“I will, don’t worry.” DeVito nodded thanks and went to confer with his men. They were deployed around the house. I guided Mrs. Saunders back to the car.
DeVito unbuttoned his coat, pulled out his warrant, and began to approach the house.
I decided that standing out in the open under a streetlight was pretty dumb so I moved Mrs. Saunders behind the lab truck. A firefight was not impossible.
DeVito was talking to someone at the door. Then he and his men disappeared inside. Maggie Saunders clutched at my coat sleeve. I felt pity for her dish rang. No sounds. The house had just absorbed the men. Then lights came on everywhere. Men were tromping up and down the stairs. DeVito came out and trotted back to us.
“He’s not here, but Herb was. He said he was a computer salesman. The guy’s on vacation. A little Carolina beach town near a ferry. We found a map in his study. He’s in Bogue Beach. Here’s his description from the cleaning woman.
“Why don’t you do down there and try to find Herb. I’m going to try to get an okay from the chief to go down and look for Randolph, also get the paperwork going to get the Carolina cops looking for this guy. The lab guys are going to tear this place apart.”
I looked at Maggie. “What do you say? I can fly down tonight. I don’t have any paperwork to do or okays to get but yours. Don’t worry about the cost. I still have twenty-four hours to try to earn my fee.”
“Okay. Go ahead.”
I had turned back to Pete when she said. “Can I go along?”
“I really don’t think that would be wise. I know you want to be there, but frankly, this could get pretty wild down there. I’d function a lot better without worrying about you. I’ll call as soon as I know anything. I promise.” A litany of optimism everyone seemed to use around her.
She seemed to accept that, and I asked DeVito to drop us off back at her house so I could arrange a flight to North Carolina.
Chapter 11
At the house I decided not to go back in.
“Stay by the phone, Mrs. Saunders.”
She squeezed my hands. She didn’t want to let go. People had a habit of not coming back to her. “It’s a small town. I’ll find him.” I didn’t say anything about what would happen if he found Randolph first. She let go and trudged back to her house. I went off to mine.
I packed my bag quickly and called National Airport. There was only one flight a day down to Jacksonville, North Carolina, about an hour’s drive away from Bogue Beach. It left each day at 3:30. Too long a wait. I could drive there in six hours or so. Worst case, I wouldn’t get a motel room and I’d have to spend a night in my car. I threw together a bag of clothes, a shaving kit, a book, and some tools of the trade. Checked out a map, drew a route to the ocean, told my service I was going, locked up, and left. The Camaro was tanked up. I tossed in my bag, spread out the map, tucked it under the bag, and headed out into the night. ETA Bogue Beach: 2 A.M.
Three-and-a-half hours later I crossed the Carolina line, got off I-95 at Weldon, and started my back-roads trek. A sixty mile slant through Carolina farmland to the Ocean Highway through Halifax, Scotland Neck, Hamilton, to Williamston. I blew through the night at a steady seventy with pauses for the one light in each town. I had only the darkness for company. Around midnight I hit the Ocean Highway, a strangely named piece of road that never sees the sea. At a light I checked the map: Washington, Chocowinity, Vanceboro to New Bern. Another hour to Carolina 70. The light changed and I was gone. A one-man razorblade cutting along the dotted white line of caution. Moving smoothly through time and space, shearing through memory and desire.
All my life I’d used my cars as ambulances; Rescue from all my emotional emergencies. I rolled down the window. I could feel the wind through my hair, up my arm. Alone with that friction and the abrasive darkness, trying only to hold the line, I felt my cares being scrubbed away. I was a seventy-mile-an-hour bullet aimed right at the heart of eternity. For a dizzying moment I almost thought I’d get free. I wasn’t even sure I knew what I was running from. But like all the times before it would be there in the morning when I arrived. Just another appointment in Samarra.
I re-entered at New Bern, got onto Carolina 70, and headed into the Croatan National Forest. Eight years ago, somewhere in those woods, somebody set fire to the bodies of Bradford Bishops’ mother, wife, and three kids. A lot of cops think old Bradford did it. They sure want to ask him about it. When he disappeared into the Great Smoky Mountains, he left the pages of history and became one of Washington, D.C.’s legends.
Around two I pulled into the outskirts of Morehead City and started to look for motels. Morehead’s a small town of about 4,000 souls on the way to Bogue Beach. Everything was dark. I went down Main Street until I saw the sign for the beach towns. Turning right I figured I’d give Bogue Beach itself a try. If worst came to worst, park on a side street and get some shut-eye in the car. Only the darkness awaited me.
I pulled up to the main intersection in town, nothing down either side road. Straight ahead, opposite the gas station, some lights were on. I pulled around to the far side. It wasn’t a motel, but a bar: The Rebel Yell. Funny that it was still lit. All the others were dark. The owner probably forgot to hit the lights on the way out. Too bad.
I could really use a bathroom. As I rolled by it, a guy came out of the bar and hurried out to the lone car in the parking lot. He had the whitewalls of a Marine.
I remembered that LeJeune was nearby. Since Lebanon and Grenada, they’d be all over this town on leave like they were on standby for the ark. The guy fumbled with a ring of keys for the door. He was probably so fucked up he shouldn’t be driving, but at this time of night he’d most likely just kill himself. I pulled up alongside him. The car had California tags and a UC-Berkeley sticker. Probably family visiting. I slid out of the car, stretched and walked up to the bar door. The guy was startled to see me. He looked away immediately and kept fumbling with the keys. I checked to see if I had forgotten my pants or something, and pulled at the door. It felt stuck so I pulled harder. It popped open and I was facing another man. His eyes were open wide, also surprised to see me. Like I was the Easter Bunny and damned early. He let go of the door, and I slid past him. There were four good old boys with their boots up on the table sucking at beers. Another one was staring at the jukebox looking no brighter than the RCA dog. Lynyrd Skynyrd poured out of the box. The bartender had company: another country boy, shirt sleeves rolled up showing a tattoo of the Marine insignia or a serpent crawling around some other damned foolishness. He had his hands on the old man’s forearm. He wouldn’t look at me. Everything was freeze frame with high resolution paranoia. My chest was starting to knit cross hairs. These boys had firing-squad eyes.
“Boy, I’m glad you’re still open. My bladder was ready to bust.” I unbuttoned my jacket and cricked my back like I had kidney pains. My shit-eating grin hadn’t defused anyone. If this was a clandestine meeting I could give a shit. I saw the bathroom signs and made for them.
One of the boys kicked back his chair, “Hey, man, we’re—”
Then the guy behind the bar spoke up. “Watchya want?”
“I just want to take a leak and I’m gone.” I kept moving to the back.
“Men’s room’s broken. Sorry.” He smiled and put both his hands on the bar.
“All right. I’ll use the ladies’ head. I ain’t particular.”
“All right. Hurry up. We gotta close.”
He started to say something else, and I was around the corner. In the dark a cigarette glowed. Another one, with his leg extended across the hallway. He pointed to my right. I saw “Ladies” on the door, smiled at him, put my hands up, and backed into it. I unzipped my fly and took a leak. Shit. Something smelled rotten a long way from Denmark. A dope deal? Who gave a fuck? Not me. I searched the wall with my eyes. No openings. Bars on the window to the outside. I went to the sink to wash my hands. The bathroom was clean. Probably a lot better than the men’s room would have been. I’ll have to thank them on the way out.
There was a thump against the wall, then another. I squatted down and saw a small gap in the wall around the sink pipes. I put my face up against it. There was a face on the floor. The one eye I could see was purple and closed. There was a trickle of blood from the corner of the mouth. Fuck. I go into a bar to take a leak and find a stiff. Be cool. I’m leaving while I can.
The eye opened. Wide. There was another dull thump. A wince. Shit, it’s alive. Worse yet. I stood up and ran the water for no reason at all. I took a deep breath and got none. The gentle hand of fear was on me. I looked around. Time for a Riggo drill. Coming straight at you. A hog, a hog. My kingdom for a hog. I pushed back my jacket and drew out my .45. The sieve of judgment was growing finer all the time. Once drawn you’d best be ready to use it. I pulled open the door with my arm behind me.
“You got a light?”
“Yeah.” The guy in the hall reached into his pants pocket, and I pistol-whipped him right there. His head snapped back like a Dutch door. First down and goal. He sagged into my arms. I put Dutch in front of me as a shield, cocked my gun, and gently pushed the men’s room door open. A man on his knees was thrusting and grunting into a very unwilling woman. Her head thumped against the sink stand. The woman looked barely conscious. I dropped Dutch, slid up behind Thumper, and grabbed him. “Make a sound and I’ll pull them off like grapes.”
He nodded. A quick study.
“Party’s over, sport. We’re leaving now.”
Another nod.
“Listen good. You give me any trouble going out of here and your buddies are gonna have your brains in their beer. Got it? Good.”
“You the heat?”
“Don’t worry about the heat, sport. As far as you’re concerned, I’m the fire itself.”
He moved away at my gentle tug and stayed on all fours. I shook the girl. One eye opened. She pushed over on to her side. Curled up with her bruised belly, she looked like a battered fetus. The other eye was closed, her nose caked with blood. One earlobe was torn. She reached up to her face, opened her mouth, and pulled out her wadded up underpants. I pushed the gun against Thumper’s head and almost killed him. Instead, I rapped him across the collarbone. It broke like a dry twig. The girl had pulled her legs up in front of her and was scuttling away from me. Her eyes were looking for her clothes.
I shucked off my coat. “I’m sorry, but we ain’t got time for you to get dressed. Put this on. We’ve gotta go now.” Her back was still to me. Company had to be coming soon. Nobody took this long to piss.
“Do you hear me?” Nothing
I looked square at Thumper, “Sit.” I reached down and got an arm around the girl’s waist and pulled her up to her feet. She groaned as I pressed on her ribs. She was dead weight.
“Put an arm around my neck. I’ll carry you out of here. Let’s go.” I waved my gun at the guy. He wavered. “Walk or die.”
Naked, he got up and went out the door in front of me. We’d just made it. No delay of game. Two of the residents were in the doorway to the hall. I fired once over their heads. Barely. They backed off. I maneuvered out into the room with my companions. “Into the corner everyone. Hands high.”
The one behind the bar barked, “Jesus, man. What’re you doin? That whore made a deal …”
I put a hole in the wall behind him. “Shove it.”
I counted heads. All present and accounted for. We backed up toward the door. I turned the knob. It was locked. “Not smart, not smart at all. Guess I wasn’t expected to leave, huh?” I got flat glassy stares. I pointed the gun at the one on the left. “Okay. We’ll start with you. You want to die for a door key?”
He flinched and looked back at the bar. “Jesus, Beau, give him the key already.”
Beau went for his pants pocket. “Easy, Beau. Go slow or die fast.”
He came up with the key, looked sadly at it, and tossed it to me. It hit me in the chest. I waved at Thumper. “Pick it up and put it in the door. Now.”
He bent down, all pale white and goosefleshy, picked up the key, and unlocked the door. I pointed the gun at his head. “Back out slow with me.” As we went through the door I looked straight at Beau. “First one through the door gets a .45 caliber forget-me-not.”
I hobbled with the girl over to the car, draped her across the hood, pulled out my keys, opened the trunk, and motioned for the guy to climb in.
“Ah, Jesus. Not in there, I’ll die. I mean I can’t take it. Anything else. Don’t lock me up in there.”
“Shut up, asshole, and get in. I’m losing my sunny disposition all of a sudden.”
He slowly climbed in and huddled up. I slammed the lid on him. Christ. I went around the car and opened my door and pushed the girl across the seat. She went in like a sack. I climbed in and kept my eye on the bar door. The Camaro turned over, and we backed away from the bar. I headed back down the road toward the center of town.
The road was straight and narrow. Sea oats moved in the breeze on the windward side. The roll of the breakers beyond the dunes gave me no peace at all. I looked over at my traveling companion swathed in my coat. She was curled up away from me, her head on the door frame.
“Can you hear me? I’m taking you to the police station and then we’ll
get you to a doctor, get you looked at.” Nothing. “You hear me? It’s all over. All over.” Nothing. All over, my ass. This was syndicated rerun time now playing in the theatre of your mind.
Chapter 12
We came upon a blue sign that read Coastal Emergency Clinic. I pulled into the entrance road. She’d get taken care of first. Country boy could wait. I pulled up to the sliding glass doors, killed the car, hopped out, ran through the overhead eye beam. A nurse on duty behind the desk looked up, said quizzically, “Yes?”
“I’ve got a girl in my car. She’s been raped. Head injuries and abdominal injuries.”
She pushed an intercom button. “Dr. Lefcort, this is Lee. We have an admission. Rape with head injuries.”
“On my way.”
I looked back at the car and saw a tall stoop-shouldered hippy man with a laurel wreath of graying hair heading that way. I walked out to the car and opened the door. As I stepped back, he slid in next to the girl.
“Young lady, my name is Dr. Lefcort. Can you hear me? If you can, please say so. If you cannot speak, nod.”
Her eyes were still welded shut, but she spoke very softly, “I hear you.”
“Very good. I’m going to ask you to do some things before we try to move you. Okay?” She nodded to that.
“Move your toes. Wiggle them.” We looked down. “Very good. Now I’m going to put out my hands, please take them in your hands and squeeze them as hard as you can. Will you do that?” She was still huddled up. I looked back at the gurney that was now behind Lefcort, took a gown off it, and draped it over her.
“Try now, okay?”
She looked up at me for an instant and fixed me with eyes one shade too blue. I saw a broad high forehead tapering past cheekbones that would cut paper to a once thin-lipped mouth and faintly cleft chin. She had short black hair parted high, one wing swept back over her ear the other hung insolently over one eye. Her skin, where it wasn’t purple yellow, was skim milk white and her nose, once aquiline, was swelling like bread. She unhugged herself and squeezed Lefcort’s hand. “Good, Okay. I’m going to touch you with a stethoscope to check your lungs and then take your pulse. Okay?” He warmed up the stethoscope and checked her breathing. “Good, good. Lungs sound okay.” He held her pulse and counted silently to himself.
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