Linwood Barclay: A Tap on the Window

“Really,” I said. We were sitting at the light where I was supposed to turn left. The truck that had been behind us was to our right, waiting to go straight. It was an SUV, not a pickup, like the vehicle I’d seen at Iggy’s.

Before the light turned green, I said calmly, “How long do you want to do this?”

“Huh?” She almost turned her head to look at me, but resisted.

“This act. How long do you want to go on like I don’t know you’re not Claire?”

Now she looked at me, and her fear was instantly palpable. She didn’t say anything.

“It was a nice try,” I said. “The hair, the clothes, it’s all pretty convincing. But Claire had a cut on her left hand. She’d just got it, at Patchett’s.”

“The cut doesn’t matter,” the girl said quietly. “It just has to work from a distance. It wasn’t meant to work close up.”

“What are you talking about?”

She bit her lower lip. “Just make like you think I’m Claire, okay? Don’t do anything weird.”

“Why? You think someone’s watching us?” I raised one hand, a gesture to the world around us. “Someone tracking us on satellite?”

“There was that truck a while ago. Maybe him. I don’t know. Could be a different guy.”

I could see why they thought they could pull it off. Judging from the oversized purse she had down by her feet, she’d come out to the car with a similar red bag. It might have been the same one.

This girl’s skin tone was about the same as Claire’s, almost porcelain. Her facial features were only slightly different. Maybe slightly more oval, but Claire’s nose was a little shorter, I thought, even though I’d never gotten a really good look at her. But they were about the same height and build. Skinny, about five six. It would be easy enough for them to pass themselves off as each other on a dark, rainy night, from a distance, especially with the wig, similar clothes, a nearly identical bag. If they’d said they were sisters, I’d have believed it. So I asked.

“You two sisters?”

“What? No.”

“You look it,” I said. “Although you need to work on the hair. It’s a bit crooked.”

“What?”

“The wig. It’s off-kilter.” She fiddled around with it. “That’s better. Pretty darn close to Claire’s. Not bad.”

“She got this at a Halloween place in Buffalo,” she said. “Please, just drive me to Claire’s house, like you were going to do. It’s not far.”

“I’m trying to figure it out. You must have been waiting for her in the bathroom. She goes in, you come out, wearing pretty much the same clothes. You went out the side door as I was going in. I popped into the ladies’ washroom.” The girl gave me a startled look. “Was Claire hiding in there until the two of us drove off?” I could picture her perched on the toilet in the second or third stall, so her legs wouldn’t show. I should have kept going after I’d pushed open that first door.

“I guess,” she said sullenly.

“So the idea was, whoever’s following her will start following you? And now Claire’s free to run off and do whatever it is she wants to do without whoever’s following her knowing about it.”

“Wow,” she said. “You’re like a genius.”

“Boyfriend stuff?” I asked.

“Huh?”

“Is some boy stalking Claire? She wants to ditch him and meet up with a new guy?”

The girl made a soft snorting noise. “Yeah, sure, that’s what it’s all about.”

“But you said it could be a different guy. Has she got more than one guy stalking her?”

“I said that? I don’t remember.”

“What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, forget your name. If it’s not a boyfriend thing, what the hell is it?”

“Look, don’t worry about it. It’s got nothing to do with me, and it’s sure got nothing to do with you.”

“Is Claire in some kind of trouble?”

“Listen, mister — it’s Mr. Weaver, right? Claire said you’re Scott’s dad.”

I nodded. “You knew Scott, too?”

“Yeah, sure. Everyone kinda knew who he was.”

“Did you know him well?”

“A little. Look, like, I don’t know anything. Okay? Just let me out. Anywhere. Right here. Forget any of this ever happened. It’s none of your business.”

I watched the wipers repeat their rhythmic swipes across the glass. “It is my business. You and Claire’ve involved me.”

“We didn’t mean to, okay?”

“Was someone else supposed to pick Claire up at Patchett’s? They didn’t show so she grabbed a ride with me? Who picked her up at Iggy’s?”

“Stop the car.”

“Come on. I can’t let you out here. This is the middle of nowhere.”

She unbuckled her seat belt and grabbed for the door handle. The car was doing about thirty. I didn’t think she’d actually open it, but she did. Just an inch or so, enough to cause a huge rush of air.

“Jesus!” I shouted, reaching across her and scrambling for the handle. I couldn’t reach it and shouted, “Close it!” She did. “You out of your goddamn mind?”

“I want to get out!” she screamed, loud enough to make my ears ring. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway! Claire’s gotten away.”

“Gotten away from what?”

“Stop the car and let me out! This is kidnapping!”

I hit the brakes and swung the car over to the curb. We were in an area where residential met commercial, where old homes sat cheek by jowl with furniture-stripping and electrical-supply stores. There was a cross street just ahead where a suspended traffic light lazily turned from yellow to red to green and then did it all over again.

“Look, I can take you wherever you want,” I said. “You don’t have to get out. It’s pouring. Just—”

She threw open the door, swung her legs out, and bolted from the car, snatching her purse at the last second. She stumbled, went down onto one knee on the grass, yanked the wig from her head, and threw it by some bushes. Her own hair was blond, too, but it only fell to her shoulders, about half the length of Claire’s.

I couldn’t reach the passenger door from where I sat, so I got out, engine running, went around the vehicle, and slammed it shut.

“Stop!” I shouted. “Come on! No more questions! Let me drive you home!”

She looked back, just for a second, and waved her hand in the air. It looked like she was holding a cell phone. Telling me not to worry, she’d get someone to pick her up.

Her feet splashed through the puddles, and as she got to the corner, she turned right, disappearing down the far side of a television repair shop that looked as though it had gone out of business years ago.

I felt a sense of unease as she vanished from view. Rainwater filled my eyes, dripped into my ears.

I tried to convince myself she was right. This wasn’t about me. This wasn’t my problem.

I got back in my car, did a U-turn.

Drove past a black pickup parked on the other side, lights out. I hadn’t remembered seeing it there before hitting the brakes to keep the girl from jumping out of the car.

I drove on another half a mile, that damn truck niggling at me. Finally, I pulled over to the shoulder, checked my mirrors, and swung the car around. In a minute I was back to the spot where I’d seen the truck.

It was gone.

I let the car roll to a stop at the light, looked ahead, to the left and then the right. I didn’t see any sign of the truck, or the girl.

So I turned around again and headed for home.

Used to be, when I’d get home after something crazy like that, the first thing I’d have said would have been “You’re not going to believe what just happened.”

But that was then, and this was now.