Daddy's Girl

by Lisa Scottoline

  Almost two hours later, she came out of the hole with a plan an no time to waste. She brushed dirt from her pants and coat, ripped the blue tarp off the Neon, and yanked open the barn door. A lone car traveled down the road, headlights coming and taillights going. Sunday night traffic would be light. She'd be more exposed, vulnerable to the cops, but she didn't have any choice. At least it was dark out, a frigid night so piercingly clear that the stars scattered across the night sky looked like diamonds on a jeweler's black velvet.

  She jumped in the car, started the engine, and reversed out of the barn and down the driveway to the road, where she ran over the broken electric fence and drove forward. She hit the gas and tore up the road. She'd need a phone. She slowed past one house and considered asking to use theirs, but rejected the idea. She couldn't take the risk. She kept driving and up ahead spotted the single light of a country store, but it was closed. She traveled down the road, passing houses until she finally found a gas station with a pay phone.

  She pulled in, parked with her license plate away from the road, jumped out of the car, and ran into the phone booth. She left the door partway open so the light wouldn't go on and used the penlight to call 911. The call connected, and Nat said, "I want to report that there's going to be an escape at the Chester County Correctional Institution tonight—"

  "Who's calling?" the dispatcher asked.

  "It doesn't matter. I know for a fact that an inmate named Richard Williams is going to escape from—"

  "Miss, where are you calling from?"

  "Please, just listen. If you don't, a very dangerous criminal will escape from prison."

  "Miss, I'm sorry, what is the nature of your emergency?"

  "It's at the prison."

  "You're at the prison, Miss?"

  "No, there's about to be a crime committed at the prison. You have to send the police—"

  "Are you in any danger, Miss?"

  "No, but there's going to be a crime—"

  "I'm sorry. This line is for emergency services only. If you wish to report a crime, please call—"

  Nat repeated the number, hung up, and fished another quarter out of her pocket, then called the State Police station. When the call connected, she disguised her voice, just in case Milroy, Mundy, or one of the other troopers happened to answer the phone. "Is Trooper Mundy there?" she asked.

  "No, he's not. Who's calling?"

  "I can't say. There's going to be a prison break tonight at Chester County Correctional and—"

  "Ginny, honey, who are you kidding with that voice? You sound like a rookie tranny." The trooper chuckled. "I told you, stop with the prank calls or it's your last sleepover. Now cut it out."

  "No, please listen. I'm not Ginny. It's the truth."

  "Who are you then, if you're not Ginny?"

  "It doesn't matter, just listen to me. Send a car over to the prison right away."

  "Ginny, I told you to stay off. Cut it out." He hung up.

  Nat held the dead phone, desperate. Who else could she call? She watched the road nervously. A minivan went by. She dialed information for the number, fished another quarter out of her pocket, then placed a call to the federal marshals in Philly. When the call connected, she said, "I'm not sure whom I should be speaking with, but I have information that there's going to be a prison break—"

  "Excuse me, who is this?" the marshal asked.

  "I can't say. Please, you have to believe me. You have a car guarding Richard Williams at Chester County Correctional, right?"

  "Who wants to know?"

  "Okay. There's going to be a prison break there tonight. There’s conspiracy between a CO., the assistant warden, and a drug dealer to get Williams out—"

  "A conspiracy, huh?" The marshal sighed. "How do you know about this conspiracy?"

  "I figured it out. I was in a hole from the Underground Railroad and—"

  "I'm very sorry, Miss, but we're busy here. I urge you to seek professional help."

  "No, I'm not crazy! Please, listen, Richard Williams—"

  "Please, seek help." The line went dead.

  Nat hung up the phone. She didn't know what to do. She aimed the penlight and read the inky cell phone number she'd written on her hand, fainter since her shower, and called Angus. She watched another car going down the road as the phone rang, feeling her emotions well up. The call connected, and she was about to speak, but his voicemail came on. She bit back her feelings and waited for the beep.

  "Angus, I don't know where you are or when you'll get this." Nat paused. She considered telling him about the tunnel, but she didn't know what he'd do. "Bye."

  She hung up, emotionally shaky. Something made her want to call her father, which was palpably insane. But she couldn't go backward, so she had to go forward. She had to stop the escape and if she couldn't get anyone to help, she'd have to do it herself. But she didn't feel brave enough to go into the belly of the beast. It wasn't like her, and she knew it. They were right, when they said that, all of them. She was a scholar, a historian at heart. This wasn't just bleaching your hair and wearing dumb hats. This could get dangerous.

  Her thoughts strayed to the hidden room under the ground and all those carved initials, each one a person who had summoned extraordinary courage. They fought for justice, in far worse circumstances. If they could do it, she could do it. She'd been teaching the History of Justice for three years, and she had never understood why before. It was for history to repeat itself. Right now.

  She set her jaw, left the phone booth, and hurried back to the car. She drove with an eye on the rearview mirror and slowed when she turned the curve and spotted the prison, set in the middle of a field of melting snow. She drew closer and saw the razorwire and the lights, and near the entrance door, the dark sedan of the federal marshals. She couldn't get to them without going past the guardhouse, but she couldn't do that. She had no idea which C.O.s were in the conspiracy, and Graf might have one of his guys on lookout, since tonight was the night of the escape.

  Nat eyeballed the prison layout as she drove past at a reasonable speed, not wanting to draw undue attention. The building was located far from the road and she couldn't sneak up to it on foot. The prison's design ensured that anyone who tried to break out of prison would be exposed; of course, any idiot who tried to break into the prison would be exposed as well. She figured that the tunnel had to run from the prison to the road, or at least near enough to it. Digging the tunnel would have been doable in a year's time, or less. She had to assume Parrat would be here tonight to make the pickup, wherever the tunnel ended. Graf and Machik would be on duty, too, and they'd undoubtedly make up some story in the morning about how Williams had escaped. And overnight, they'd become rich men.

  She drove by the entrance to the prison, looking for any sign of a tunnel's exit. She followed the curve of the road around a grove of evergreen trees, then traveled uphill, using the blue water tower as her guide. The grade steepened, and she drove around the back of the water tower, then slowed when she got to the back of the prison. She looked through the trees.

  She didn't see the tunnel's exit, but in the next minute, she saw another way to execute Plan B.

  Chapter 41

  Nat had to work quickly. She drove farther up the road until she found a break in the evergreens, then pulled the car onto high ground, using the trees on the right as cover from the guardhouse. She opened the glove compartment and ransacked it. Old Trident gum pieces, loose CDs, two condoms, a tube of Bath & Body hand cream, and a pack of matches fell onto the passenger seat.

  Bingo. But she needed a few more items. She got out of the car and started looking. It was dark but she pulled out the penlight and cast it around the side of the road. Gravel, melting snow, and mud appeared in the penlight s circle of moonshade, but no luck. She kept looking, then saw a large grayish rock. She kicked it hard with her foot, once, then again. She succeeded only in shifting it slightly, which meant it would do fine. She got down on all fours and clawed at the sn
ow around the rock until she finally unseated it, then lifted it up with a tiny grunt and hurried back to the car as fast as she could.

  She retrieved her purse, with the construction file still in it, and slung it over her shoulder, then picked up the rock, edged out of the driver's seat with it, and set it on the floor of the car. She gathered all the stray branches; old leaves, and sticks she could find, stuffed them in the passenger seat, then took the manila folder from the construction file and set it in the middle of the sticks. She struck a match and lit the folder, which caught fire quickly. Then the kindling began to flame, too.

  Last, she assessed the condition of the field. Much of the snow had melted, but the ground was still cold enough to stay firm. Dark gray smoke filled the car. Fire warmed her face. It was time. She steeled her nerves and got her target in sight. Near the prison, off by itself, sat the row of white propane tanks, next to one of the construction trailers. She felt her heart thudding in her chest. The propane tanks were too far from the road to endanger the houses on the street and too far from the prison building to endanger it, either. She was taking a page from Graf's book. If he could create chaos, so could she.

  She double-checked that the emergency brake was engaged, then rolled the heavy rock onto the gas pedal. The engine gunned in angry response and the tires spun in protest, spraying mud, wet snow, and gravel. She counted to three and released the emergency brake, and the Neon took off like a shot, heading downhill for the propane tanks. The car zoomed into the field at speed, with orange flames leaping from its windows. The guard ran out of the guardhouse, but he was too late. In the next minute, the Neon smashed into the propane tanks, knocking over the tall white tanks like so many bowling pins.

  KABOOM! KABOOM! The tanks exploded with a deafening blast, sending a geyser of orange flame shooting into the night. Sparks flew skyward like fireworks. Bits of metal spiraled into the air. Smoke billowed from the flames. KABOOM!

  Nat hid behind the trees. Emergency sirens erupted from the prison. Floodlights sprang to life and blasted cones of light on the perimeter fences. The guard came running to the fire. Two marshals leapt from the dark sedan in the parking lot. C.O.s poured from the prison. The scene looked every bit the bedlam of the prison riot. But Nat couldn't make her next move yet.

  Suddenly, she heard shouts behind her and turned. Front doors were opening in the houses on the other side of the street. Residents were stepping outside to see what was going on. A middle-aged couple hurried down their front walk and across the street.

  "Look!" Nat said, pointing. She kept her face to the fire. "The propane tanks exploded at the prison!"

  "My goodness gracious!" The woman wrapped a blue quilted coat closer around her and looked down the hill, orange flames dancing in her hooded eyes. Her graying husband came up behind her in a long parka, and she turned to him. "George, shouldn't we get our propane tanks checked?"

  "Nah, they don't spontaneously combust, honey."

  "Then what causes that?"

  "God only knows," Nat answered, fake-watching as other neighbors walked toward her and the older couple, beginning to collect in the street. When would the police come? What was taking so long? She couldn't risk being spotted. Her hair was so bright it glowed in the dark. She couldn't wait another minute. She started to walk toward the field and ignored the new shouts behind her.

  "Hey, wait!" a man's voice yelled. "That blonde! I just saw her near a car when I took out the trash."

  No! Nat heard a scuffing noise behind her, and turned just as an angry middle-aged man grabbed her jacket.

  "Get back here. What were you doing anyway?"

  "Lemme go!" Nat wrenched herself free and took off down the hill. She couldn't let anybody stop her now. Not after she'd come this far.

  "Stop!" the man shouted, chasing her downhill toward the prison. In the next minute she heard the blare of distant sirens. She ran as fast as she could across the field, her feet churning in mud and snow, barely ahead of the man.

  "Stop right there! I'm calling the police!"

  Nat screamed, as suddenly her collar got yanked back, throttling her. The man grabbed her, jerked her backward off her feet, and threw her to the wet snow. Her head hit the cold ground and she lay almost choking as the man stood over her. She kicked him in the leg as hard as she could.

  "Ow!" the man doubled over and crumpled to the snow, and Nat scrambled to her feet and started running. The sirens grew louder, closer. Police. Fire. Help was on the way. The blaze raged at the propane tanks, burning into the sky around the blackening shell of the Neon. She raced past the heat and toward the prison while all hell broke loose.

  More C.O.s streamed outside the prison. The SWAT team ran at the fire with portable extinguishers. The Neon blazed away. The air smelled like burning rubber. Everybody shouted warnings and directions and ran this way and that. In the emergency, nobody noticed the little blonde streaking for the prison entrance.

  Nat kept running. In the next minute, she saw a trio of state police cars zooming down the road from the right. They tore around the curve and drove up the prison driveway. Two yellow fire trucks powered right behind them, their red lights flashing and sirens screaming. She bolted to the prison entrance. Floodlights blasted the driveway around the entrance, and she recognized the familiar figure of a woman CO. Tanisa. Nat ran to intercept her.

  "Tanisa, it's me, Angus's friend!" she shouted over the din, grabbing Tanisa's arms. "Williams is going to escape tonight! Graf's behind it and Machik, too!"

  "You?" Tanisa's eyes focused on her face in astonishment, then outrage. "You shot Barb Saunders!"

  "No, I didn't! It was Richards, he's—"

  "You killed that trooper!" Tanisa shrieked, about to punch her, but Nat bolted away. Tanisa called to another CO., "Stop her! Catch that blonde!"

  Nat darted ahead in the melee. Police cars pulled up, their sirens screaming. Uniformed troopers leapt from the cars. Firefighters in heavy canvas coats jumped from the fire trucks and unrolled hoses. People hurried in all directions, a stricken crowd.

  Nat bolted for the entrance in the mob scene but noticed a uniformed cop on the other side of the crowd, also running to the entrance. She caught a glimpse of the side of his face. She recognized the face and the cornrows. He had on a gray uniform but he wasn't a trooper.

  It was Mark Parrat, the pickup driver. The man in Houlihan's and probably in the ski mask, too. She was about to scream when she got tackled from behind by a pair of strong arms. Before she knew what was happening, she was falling face first to the hard, wet driveway with someone on her back. Her forehead exploded in pain.

  "You're not so smart after all, huh, professor?" a man said in Nat's ear.

  Just before she lost consciousness.

  Chapter 42

  "

  Wake up!" a man was saying. "You're fine, kid. Walk it off, walk it off."

  Who let my father in?

  "Wake up! Come on, I didn't hit you that hard."

  Nat felt someone patting her cheek. Her forehead thundered, her ears rang. The tunnel. The escape. She flashed on Saunders, bleeding on the floor. She heard herself say, "It's under the floor."

  "Wake up, professor. You're gonna be fine."

  Nat opened her eyes. She found herself flat on her back on the prison driveway. Noise surrounded her. Firefighters, cops, and C.O.s ran and shouted. Shadows shifted everywhere around her. One face hovered above her, his features clear in the floodlights. Trooper Mundy.

  "Good morning, professor. Now that you're awake, you're under arrest."

  "No, please, listen." Nat felt herself hoisted to her feet. She fought the fog in her head. Warm blood ran down her face. She struggled to stand on wobbly knees. "There's a tunnel under the floor. They were gonna get Williams out tonight. Parrat is here. He's gonna—"

  "You're coming with me."

  "Trooper, just check it! There's a tunnel under the floor! I started the fire to stop them! I messed up their plans! Parrat is going to get Will
iams out!"

  "You started the fire? You're a disgrace!" Mundy thundered, pulling her through the crowd. "I stuck up for you with Duffy. You made a fool outta me."

  "He's wearing a fake cop outfit!" Nat writhed in Mundy's grip, pummeling his arms, using every ounce of strength to get back to the entrance. "He killed the trooper! He shot Barb!"

  "Fake cops now? You've lost your mind."

  "No, I swear, Graf is in on it, with Machik and—"

  "I heard you called my office, asking for me, pretending you were a man. I don't know your deal, but you're effin crazy!"

  Mundy kept pulling Nat away, but she couldn't let this happen. God only knew what Parrat was doing now. She would lose her chance. Williams would go free. She couldn't make Mundy listen. She couldn't make anybody listen. Not her students, not her family, not her father. She felt a wellspring of anger bubble to the surface. Rage that had been building her whole life, spontaneously combusting. Gnat. Book smart. Why couldn't she make anybody hear her?