Linwood Barclay - The Twenty-Three

“If I need your help, I’ll be in touch,” I said. I started to turn to get back into my car, but Randy grabbed my arm.

“Don’t you get it?” he asked. “You think I’m playing you, don’t you? That this is some new stunt I’ve dreamed up. Barry, this son of a bitch, whoever did this, he killed my wife.”

He wouldn’t let go of my arm. “He killed Jane. He killed my Jane.”

Gently, I freed myself from his grasp. “I know.”

“I’ll be looking for you,” he said. “Anytime I see you around town, I’m going to be bugging you, seeing if I can help. I’m going to be a huge pain in the ass.”

It was impossible not to smile. “Randy, you’ve always been that.”

Even he smiled. “You’re a straight shooter, Barry. Always have been. When I said you’d make a good chief, it was for real. You know how they say even a busted clock gives you the right time twice a day? Well, even when you’re a nonstop bullshit artist, occasionally the truth slips out by accident.”

DAVIDHarwood made a couple of wrong turns, but eventually found his way to Call of the Loon Acres. There was no formal gate similar to the one at the previous campsite, but there was a sign directing guests to a parking lot. It read: ONE VEHICLE PER SIGHT, ALL OTHERS HERE. PLEASE LIMIT YOU’RE DRIVING THREW THE PARK.

He pulled into the graveled lot and parked among a dozen other vehicles. He did not see Sam’s among them, and figured if she was staying here, she was parked by her tent. Once out of the car, he marveled at how quiet it was. The odd chirping of birds, muffled voices of some early risers drifting out from the woods.

The smell of smoke and bacon.

He and Sam had talked about taking their boys, together, on such a trip, and it had sounded like such a good idea. But being here now neither relaxed David nor gave him an appreciation of the great outdoors.

He was wired. He’d had no coffee but felt as though he’d overdosed on caffeine. Aside from those troubles a few years ago involving his late wife, and his recent entanglement in his cousin Marla’s tragedy, David had little experience with dangerous people. Okay, years ago, there was that hired killer, but that hadn’t exactly ended well.

But he’d never come up against an escaped convict before. And he was hoping he wouldn’t now.

His only goal at the moment was to find Sam, and be reassured she was okay. He hadn’t thought about what the next step might be.

Would he stay with her, either at the campsite or back in Promise Falls, until Brandon Worthington had been caught and returned to prison? Be her protector? Her bodyguard? And was he kidding himself that he could play that role? Did he think he was Liam Neeson or something?

He would be happy to put her and Carl up at his house, where they might feel less vulnerable. It’d be crowded, what with his parents there, but their own home was supposed to be ready for them to move back into any day now.

He also knew Sam might tell him to mind his own business. He could hear her saying, “I can look after myself, thank you very much.” After all, she’d left without telling him where she was going.

Next to the sign for the parking lot, there was a map of Call of the Loon Acres, which showed a tangle of roads, the location of the bathrooms, the lake, a store where you could buy ice and other provisions.

David started walking.

He trekked up a road that was little more than two ruts with a strip of grass in the center. About every fifty feet on either side, nestled back in between the trees, he saw a tent or a trailer, plus a car.

David didn’t know the shape or color of Sam’s tent, so he was looking for her car.

It turned out he didn’t need to know that either.

He saw Sam. And a man he’d never seen before, but was pretty sure he recognized from the Boston TV news report he’d found online.

He heard voices first, about fifty yards up the road. That was when he stopped.

The man was standing just off the road, about thirty feet from a picnic table where a woman was working at a camp stove. They were having a conversation.

Brandon had found her.

David underwent a brief paralysis, a weakness in the knees. How should he respond? Stride right up? Find the camp office and get someone to call the police? But if he did the latter, and Brandon did something in the meantime-like attacking Sam, or making a grab for Carl-David wouldn’t be there to help.

Shit, shit, shit.

He needed to get closer, hear what was going on without Brandon knowing he was there.

David ducked left, off the road and into the woods. He was three or four campsites away from where Sam had pitched her tent. He tiptoed past someone else’s tent trailer and went into thicker forest, twigs snapping and leaves rustling under his feet. Using the trees as cover, he worked his way as quietly as he could until he was behind Sam’s tent. Parked behind it was her car.

He crouched as he emerged from the woods, blocked by not only the tent but by the car, too. He could see neither Sam nor Brandon, but he could still hear them talking. He wasn’t able to make out anything they were saying.

He poked his head above the sill of the back window of Sam’s car, but all he could see was the tent.

Something in the backseat caught his eye. Something extending out from under a blanket.

Four inches of a shotgun barrel.

The same shotgun Sam had pointed at him the first time he had knocked on her door.

David reached up for the door handle, lifted, and pulled, testing to see whether it was locked. It wasn’t.

Slowly, he opened the door, worried that it would creak or squeak. He needed to get it open only a few inches. He got it as far as he needed to without making any noise. He slid the blanket off the shotgun, took hold of the barrel near the end, and slowly pulled it toward him.

He realized he had the barrel pointing straight at his chest, so he shifted a few inches to the left so that he wouldn’t kill himself if the damn thing went off.

He didn’t even know if it was loaded. But then, maybe it wouldn’t have to be.

Just having it would be enough to defuse the situation, if it came to that.

He got the weapon all the way out, held it in his arms, got a sense of its heft.

David didn’t know a lot about guns. But didn’t you have to-what did they call it-rack it? To put a shell in the chamber, if there were any shells in it to begin with?

But he didn’t see anything to rack. There was something under the barrel that looked like you had to slide it back and forth.

He decided not to touch it. Just waving the gun around would be threatening enough, wouldn’t it?

Sweat was beaded on his forehead, running into his eyes and stinging. His heart was pounding. It was a drum beating in his ears.

Take a breath, take a breath, take a breath.

He could do this. He could save Sam.

All he had to do now was get into a position where he could see what was going on.

THEmeeting was set up on a lightly traveled road that ran behind the Five Mountains theme park.

Cal had picked the spot because he could see the better part of a mile in each direction. If Harry was followed to the location, they’d know.

He was in the passenger seat of Dwayne’s pickup, Dwayne behind the wheel. His leg was swollen where Cal had hit it, but the bone wasn’t broken and he was able to drive.

“I really appreciate this,” Dwayne said. “Considering.”

Cal’s eyes kept moving from the road ahead to the oversized mirror bolted to the passenger door. He was looking for the rusted blue Aerostar van he’d seen Harry driving the day before.