Thomas Perry - The Face-Changers

“I’m not sure if I should tell you. But I will as soon as I’ve gotten a better look at who’s doing the watching.”

“Jane?”

“No, I won’t give you advice on how to find the women. Find your own women.”

“I’m being serious.”

“All right.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you know that, but I have to say it anyway. If I had known what was going to happen—that this was going to destroy our lives—I would never have gotten you into it.” He looked at her sadly. “I’m sure you know that, too.”

She shrugged. “There’s always more than one way to look at it. If we hadn’t done this, you would have found Dahlman murdered in his hospital bed. That’s not speculation—I saw the two men on their way to do it. Then we would have had to try to live with the knowledge that a man you admired and owed a big debt came to us for help, but you refused because you wanted to keep your nice, safe life. Could you do it? Could I? It wouldn’t have killed us, but that wasn’t the person I wanted to marry. I wanted to give myself to a big, strapping, manly blockhead who could be counted on to sacrifice himself to my every whim. But if you wouldn’t for Dahlman, you wouldn’t for me either. This sort of behavior is what I wanted, I guess. So I deserve it.”

“Thanks,” said Carey. “I knew I could find comfort in there somewhere.”

“Where?”

“ ‘Manly.’ It has a positive, endearing connotation, and definite sexual overtones.”

“It does not.”

“Oh?” said Carey. “It certainly does. Try the reversal test. What if I were describing you and used the word ‘womanly’?”

She thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, you got me. I must have been thinking about you in shameful, lustful ways. Pull over there at the curb.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“You’re a prude all of a sudden?” She laughed. “No, but I’d like to drive. This is probably the last time when there can’t possibly be anybody spying on us or eavesdropping. If they happened to spot us on the way to the hotel I picked out, I would be a very disappointed girl.”

16

Marshall sat behind the cashier’s counter of the little gas station on a chair that must have been purchased in the sixties. The burlap-colored upholstery had a texture like military webbing, and six cigarette burns that were becoming familiar to him. The chrome on the frame had worn thin and begun to show rust specks. He said, “So you were sitting right where I am now?”

Dale Honecker said, “Yes sir,” and nodded his head emphatically. “I heard a car, so I stood up to look.”

“What could you see from here?”

“The old guy, and a woman driving. She gets out—”

“Wait,” said Marshall. “She gets out. Which side?”

“This side. He’s on the other side.” Marshall thought about it. The gas cap on a Toyota Camry was on the left side, so she should have been on the other side of the pumps, where she wouldn’t have to drag the hose across the car to fill it.

“Are you sure?”

“Uh … yes.” So she was trying to keep the passenger away from the gas station, where the boy couldn’t see him, thought Marshall.

“Then what?”

“Then she gets out, walks in, hands me a twenty, and says she’s going to fill it.”

“Describe her,” said Marshall.

“Long, dark hair …”

“How old?”

“I don’t know. Maybe twenty-five. Thin, pretty.”

“Eye color?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I … I don’t understand.”

“It’s very late at night. A car pulls up. You probably haven’t seen many cars since around midnight. You look out the window. Why?”

“Because you get kind of jumpy sitting here alone in this lighted room all night. When somebody pulls in, I take a look to see if they look like they might rob me.”

“Good. So what did you think when you saw this car?”

“I guess I felt kind of relieved. An old guy and this woman probably aren’t about to stick me up.”

“It’s kind of an odd combination, though, isn’t it? You didn’t recognize Dahlman right away, did you?”

“No.”

“So you had to think they were something else, right?”

“I guess so.” Then he amended it. “I didn’t really think.”

“You’re a night cashier in a self-service station,” said Marshall. “When I used to work dull night shifts, and somebody came in, I used to play a little game, and sort of make up stories about them. You’ve got an old guy who pulls in with a woman maybe a third of his age, it’s kind of interesting.”

The young man looked alarmed. “I didn’t make none of this up.”

“I don’t mean that,” said Marshall. “I meant you might have thought, ‘This is a father and daughter. He’s sick, and she’s taking him to the emergency room, but suddenly she sees she’s out of gas. So she’s in a hurry, maybe looking scared.’ Or, ‘This is some rich old guy who’s making a fool of himself with a woman who’s probably a hooker.’ Or, ‘This is an undercover policewoman who’s taking the editor of the local paper on a ride-along to show him a crime scene.’ ” Marshall paused and waited. The young man’s blue eyes were opaque, like marbles.

“I guess the last one.”

Marshall wondered if he had heard correctly. “You mean you thought the woman was a police officer?”

“No,” said Dale. “I didn’t think anything. But if it was one of them, that would probably be the one. She wasn’t scared or nervous, and she seemed kind of … tough. Not like prostitutes.”

“Have you seen prostitutes?”

“Yes … not exactly. I mean I think I’ve seen them, but seeing them on a street isn’t proof that’s what they are. What I mean is she didn’t look like the ones looked that I thought might be.”

“Was she carrying a purse?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He blinked and seemed to achieve clarity. “No. She pulled the money out of her jacket pocket.”

“Wearing jewelry?”

“No.”

“Not even a ring or a watch?”

“Maybe.”

Marshall felt sorry for the boy. He said, “Okay. We’ll get back to her. You took her money, turned on the pump, and sat down again to watch TV.”

“No. She asked for the men’s room key. I gave it to her, then sat down. The news was on. I saw the picture of Dr. Dahlman, and he looked familiar. It was because I’d just seen this old guy in the car. But I wasn’t sure. So I took the mop like I was going to swab the men’s room. When he came out I got a good look. It was him.”

“You’re forgetting something.”

“I am?”

“The gun. It’s usually hidden by the cash register, over here?”

The boy nodded.

“What made you decide to take it with you?”

“I thought it was the smart thing to do. I mean, the guy was supposed to be a killer, right?”

“That’s what I hear.” Marshall felt tired, but he decided that it was part of his job. The kid was nineteen, and he had a long way to go. “Let’s talk about that for a minute. You’re alone. You see a man who’s a killer, so you pick up a gun. What were you planning, a citizen’s arrest?”

“Me? No. I just wanted to see if it was him.”

“If it was, what would you do—shoot him?”

“Call the police.”

“If that’s what you wanted to accomplish, I have a suggestion. You see him. You duck down behind this counter, pick up the phone, and call the police right then. By the time he finishes filling up and using the men’s room and paying, it’s possible the cops could be here. At that time of night they’re usually not too busy, and out here they can drive a hundred miles an hour without fear of killing anybody. They might very well have ended it right then. Or, you could have waited until the car left, watched which way it went, and then called the police.”