Linwood Barclay - Fear The Worst

“You think she’s hiding there?”

“I think… I think she’s dead.”

Jennings waited.

“Gary said she was dead,” I said.

Jennings was silent. “Detective?” I said.

“I’m here,” she said.

“You got anything to say?”

Another pause, then, “We obtained Patty’s cell phone records.”

“I’ve been calling her cell,” I said. “She’s not answering.”

“There’ve been several calls, over the last few weeks, to her phone from a number in Vermont. From Stowe, specifically.”

I tried to keep my voice even. “Whose phone?”

“Pay phones. A couple of different numbers, actually. Someone made the calls using prepaid phone cards.”

“What about the other way?” I asked. “Were there any calls from Patty’s phone to Stowe?”

“No,” Jennings said.

“Well, I suppose it could have been anyone,” I said. “A boyfriend, a relative.”

“Mr. Blake, is that where you’re headed? To Stowe?”

“No,” I said. “I have to go, Detective.” And I flipped the phone shut. Seconds later, it started to ring. Jennings calling back.

“You’re not going to answer that?” Bob asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

A FEW MILES LATER, Bob shouted, “Tim!”

“Huh?” I said.

The Mustang had rolled onto the shoulder. I jerked hard on the wheel, bringing the car back onto the road.

“Jesus Christ!” Bob shouted. “You fell asleep!”

I blinked furiously, shook my head. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” I said.

“Let me drive for a while,” he said.

I was going to argue, but realized it was the smartest thing to do. I pulled the car over to the side, left it running as I got out and stretched in the cool night air. Bob came around, got behind the wheel. I slipped into the passenger seat and was doing up the seat belt as Bob pulled back onto the road.

“You know the way?” I said.

Bob looked at me. “I know you think I’m a fucking moron, but I know how to drive.”

“The thing is, now I’m awake,” I said.

Thirty seconds later, I was out cold.

SOMEWHERE AROUND BRATTLEBORO, Bob decided we needed to start looking for a gas station. It was the middle of the night and it was clear we weren’t going to make it all the way to Stowe without refilling. Holding the car at ninety was sucking up the fuel pretty quickly.

We found an all-night station, a run-down place that was light on the amenities, including a working restroom. Bob ran off into the bushes to take a whiz while I filled the tank at the self-serve. When he came back, I ran off into those same bushes.

Bob, pretty tired himself now, tossed me the keys. When I got into the car, he handed me a Mars bar and held up a coffee, which he then fit into the cup holder. “This, along with your nap, should keep you going.”

“You know how I take it?” I asked.

“Black, I know. Half the time Susanne makes me coffee, she serves it to me that way, leaves out the cream, thinks she’s still married to you.”

I tore off the end of the candy bar wrapper as I barreled up the ramp and back onto the highway. I took a huge bite and chewed contentedly while Bob sipped his own coffee. I could not remember when I’d last eaten. I set the bar down on my lap and carefully brought the coffee up to my lips. Bob had already pried back the plastic lid so I could get at it.

I took a sip.

“Wow,” I said. “That has to be the worst coffee I’ve ever had in my entire life.” I had to suppress a gag reflex as it went down my throat.

“Yeah,” said Bob, nodding. “If that won’t keep you awake, nothing will.”

I took my eyes off the road for a second, still holding the cup close to my mouth. “Thanks,” I said.

Another mile on, I said, “I know I’ve sometimes been, you know, where you’re concerned, a bit-”

“Of an asshole?” Bob said.

“I was going to say, a bit reluctant to show you much respect.”

“Sort of the same thing,” he said, leaning back in his seat, glancing into the passenger door mirror.

“Well, I don’t really think that’s going to change any,” I said. Bob found himself unable to stifle a laugh. “But I want to thank you for taking such good care of Susanne.”

“Shit,” he said.

“No, really,” I said. “I mean it.”

“And I mean shit, you’ve got a cop on your ass.”

I glanced into the rearview mirror. Flashing lights. Way back there, maybe as far as a mile, but unmistakably cruiser lights. I felt my heart hammer in my chest. After all I’d been through today, I was worried now about a speeding ticket?

Unless it was worse than that. Maybe Jennings had figured out where we were going, and what kind of car we were in, and put the word out.

“Shit,” I concurred. The thing was, we were lucky to have gotten this far along without getting pulled over.

There was nowhere to go, out here on the interstate, and no upcoming exits that might allow me to lose the police. I eased my foot off the gas, allowing the car to coast back down to something close to the legal speed limit, hoping that by the time the cop caught up with us, he’d think he’d made a mistake about how fast we were going.

And if he did pull us over for something as simple as speeding-and wasn’t after me for the mayhem I’d left behind-I’d take the damn ticket.

“What are you doing?” Bob asked as the car slowed. First to eighty, then seventy-five.

“I’m dropping down to the speed limit,” I said.

“No no, you’ve got to lose him,” Bob said.

“How am I supposed to lose him? Which side street would you like me to turn down?”

“Okay, here’s the thing,” he said, measuring his words. “I’m not sure, technically speaking, whether the registration for this car will hold up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying it would be better, all around, if we weren’t pulled over.”

“Bob, is this car stolen?”

“I’m not saying that,” he said. “I’m just saying the registration might not hold up to close scrutiny.”

I was still letting the car slow down. The flashing light behind me was getting closer. “Honest to God, Bob, you told me your days of Katrina cars were over. That you were on the up-and-up. I swear-”

“Calm down,” he said. “It might be okay, I don’t know.”

“This is a stolen car,” I said.

“I do not have personal knowledge that this car is stolen,” he said.

“Those are fucking weasel words if I ever heard them,” I said.

I felt sweat breaking out on my forehead. I didn’t see as we had any choice but to pull over and see how this played out.

We could hear the siren now.

“I’m just saying, while this is a legitimate car, its history is a bit clouded,” Bob continued.

“How many cars on your lot are like this?” I asked. “Have you got them grouped? These cars over here, they were in a flood, these ones over here were stolen, these ones over here come with a free fire extinguisher because they’re likely to burst into flames?”

“This is what I mean about you being an asshole,” Bob said.

The cruiser was nearly on top of us now, lights flashing, siren wailing.

“You know,” Bob said, “there’s also the matter of these two guns we’ve got.”

“Oh God,” I said. “Speeding, a car with a murky registration, and weapons we don’t have licenses for that can be traced back to actual murders.”

“Nice going,” Bob said.

And then a miracle happened. The cop car moved out into the passing lane and blasted past us.

“What the hell?” said Bob.

About another mile on, we came upon a pickup truck that had rolled over into the median. The cruiser was pulled over onto the left shoulder, the officer helping a couple of people standing about, apparently not seriously injured.