John Katzenbach - The Wrong Man

The lo mein had started to drip through the paper bag when he came through the door and heard the telephone ring. He dumped it on the kitchen counter and grabbed the phone.

“Yeah, hello?” he said abruptly.

“Scott, it’s Sally. He was here, he killed Nameless, and now he knows where Ashley is and I can’t reach them on the phone.”

Her voice burst over the line, the words rushing toward him.

“Sally, calm down,” he said. “One thing at a time.”

He could hear his own tones. Calm. Reasonable.

Inside, he could feel his heart, his breathing, his head, all spinning and accelerating, as if he were dropping suddenly through a sullen, windswept sky.

Ashley and Catherine walked slowly through Brattleboro back to Catherine’s car, coffees in hand, observing a row of artisans’ studios, hardware stores, outdoor-gear outlets, and bookstores. It reminded Ashley of the college town where she had grown up, a place defined by the seasons and their modest pace. It was hard to feel uncomfortable or even threatened in a town that bent over backward to accommodate differing points of view.

It was a twenty-minute drive from the town out into the countryside where Catherine’s house was nestled between hills and fields, isolated from the neighbors. Catherine made Ashley drive, complaining that her eyesight wasn’t nearly as sharp at night as it once was, although Ashley figured that she just wanted to enjoy her latte in peace. Ashley was happy to hear the older woman go on this way; there was something fierce about Catherine. She wasn’t willing to allow any of the aches and pains of aging limit anything she did, as long as she got to rail against the process.

As they drove, Catherine gestured toward the road ahead. “Don’t nail some deer. Bad for the deer. Bad for the car. Bad for us.”

Ashley dutifully slowed the car and took a glance in the rearview mirror. She could see a set of headlights coming up fast behind them. “Someone seems to be in a hurry.”

She tapped her brakes once, just to make sure that the car behind them saw their lights.

“Jesus Christ!” she burst out.

The car behind them had roared up to their rear bumper, closing the distance with a screech, tailgating them, only inches back.

“What the hell?” Ashley shouted. “Hey, get back!”

“Stay calm,” Catherine said coldly. But she had dug her fingernails into the seat.

“Stop it!” Ashley shouted as the car behind them suddenly flicked on its high beams, filling up the interior with light. “God damn it, what are you doing?”

She could not see who was in the car, nor could she make out the make and model. She seized hold of her steering wheel as they maneuvered down the isolated country road.

“Let him pass,” Catherine said, keeping as much alarm out of her voice as she could. She pivoted in her seat, trying to look out the back, but she was blinded by the headlights and restricted by her seat belt. “Just pull to the side, first place you see. The road gets a little wider up ahead.” She was trying to remain calm at the same moment that her head was calculating rapidly. Catherine knew the roads in her community well; she was trying to think ahead, trying to envision how much space they might have.

Ashley tried to speed up, just to gain some separation, but the road was too narrow and twisted. The car behind them accelerated, keeping pace. She started to slow down.

“What the hell does he want?” she shouted again.

“Don’t stop,” Catherine said. “Whatever you do, don’t stop. Son of a bitch!”

“What if he hits us?” Ashley asked, to prevent herself from screaming.

“Just slow down enough so he goes by us. If he hits us, hang on. The road forks right, a mile ahead, and we can take that turn and head back towards town. It’ll take us towards the fire station, and maybe the cops, too.”

Ashley grunted in agreement.

Catherine did not tell Ashley that nearby Brattleboro might have twenty-four-hour police, ambulance, and fire service, but her little town relied on the state police after 10 p.m. or volunteers, who had to be summoned by radio. She wanted to check her watch, but was scared to release her grip on the handholds.

“Up there, on the right!” Catherine cried out. She knew there was a small turnoff a quarter mile ahead, designed to give school buses just enough room to turn around. “Head for that!”

Ashley nodded and pushed down on the gas once again. The car behind them jumped with them, sticking close as Ashley swerved the car onto a small dirt patch by the road She tried to move suddenly enough so that the car behind them would have no choice but to pass.

Except it didn’t.

Both women heard the squealing sound of brakes, and the screeching noise of tires complaining against the highway.

“Hang on!” Ashley shouted.

Both braced for impact, and Ashley crunched her foot down on the brake. The car was immediately enveloped in a cloud of dirt and dust, and they could hear gravel pinging off the undercarriage and spitting into the nearby trees.

Catherine threw one hand up to shield her face, and Ashley thrust herself back in the seat as the car skidded on the loose-packed dirt. Ashley spun the wheel into the skid, just as her father had taught her, seizing control before they slammed into an embankment. The rear end fishtailed for an instant, but Ashley was able to subdue it, wrestling with the wheel. She looked up, expecting to see the car behind them roar past, but she saw nothing.

The car shuddered and stopped, and Ashley pivoted, expecting headlights and collision.

Catherine slammed back in the passenger seat, bumped her head against the window, grunting hard. “Hang on!” she yelled again, expecting another impact.

But all that greeted them was silence.

Scott listened to the empty ringing, knowing no one was picking up the line.

The first thing he told himself was not to read too much into the failure to connect. They were probably just out for a meal and not yet home. Ashley was something of a night owl, he reminded himself, and more than likely she’d enlisted Catherine in a late showing at a movie theater, or maybe a drink at a bar. There were dozens of reasons why they could still be out. Do not panic, he told himself. Getting hysterical for no real reason wouldn’t help anyone or anything and would only irritate Ashley when they did manage to reach her. And probably irritate Catherine, as well, because she wasn’t the sort that ever liked being thought of as incompetent.

He breathed in sharply and called his ex-wife back.

“Sally? There’s still no answer.”

“I think she’s in danger, Scott. I really think so.”

“Why? Why this time?”

Sally’s head was filled with some perverse equation: dead dog times dead detective, divided by splintered doorjamb, multiplied to the missing photograph power. And it equals…But instead she said, “Look, a bunch of things have happened. I can’t fill you in, but-”

“Why can’t you fill me in?” Scott asked, as pedantic as ever.

“Because,” Sally spoke between gritted teeth, “every second we delay could prove-”

She didn’t finish. For a moment, the two of them were silent, the gulf between them cavernous.

“Let me speak with Hope,” Scott said abruptly.

This took Sally by surprise. “She’s right here, but-”

“Put her on.”

There was a momentary telephone fumbling before Hope picked up the line. “Scott?”

“I can’t get through, either. Not even the answering machine.”

“She doesn’t have one. She believes in making people call her back.”

“Do you think-”

“Yes, I do.”

“Should we call the police?” Scott asked.

Hope paused. “I will. I know most of the cops up there, sort of. Hell, a couple of them were high school classmates of mine. I can get one of them to drive over there and check on things.”