Thomas Perry - Dance for the Dead

She moved into the curious crowd and began to study the faces of the people who had gathered in a big circle around the fire. She wasn't looking for Mary anymore; she was looking for any face that she had seen before.

She heard the loud blip-blip of another siren and saw another set of lights sweep around the corner and stop at the curb thirty feet behind a fire truck. The new vehicle was an ambulance. Jane moved toward it, weaving her way between spectators who were so intent on the fire that they seemed to be unaware of her passing.

She edged closer to the ambulance and watched the two paramedics haul their collapsible stretcher out the back and rush, not to Mary's house but up the other side of the hedge to the lawn of the house next door. Jane felt a tiny resurgence of hope that she could not suppress. Maybe that was where the firemen had taken the victims - out of their way and out of danger - and if the paramedics were in a hurry, they must believe they had a patient waiting for them, not a corpse.

Jane followed the paramedics. They hurried up the lawn until they reached a pair of firemen in gas masks who were kneeling over somebody lying prone on the snow beyond the hedge. One of the firemen had an oxygen tank on his back like a scuba diver, and he was holding the mask over the face of the person on the ground. Jane held her breath as the four men slid the victim onto the stretcher. When they lifted it to unfold the legs, she let her breath out in disappointment. The person on the stretcher was wearing a black rubber turnout coat and high boots. One of the firemen must have collapsed from the smoke.

She turned away and looked at the house. The top floor had caught now, and she could see the flames eating their way through the inner walls. In a few minutes the roof would collapse into Mary Perkins's apartment and the killers would have accomplished what Barraclough's training officer had taught them to do when things went wrong.

She watched the firemen straining to hold the hoses steady while they sprayed enormous streams of water into the upper windows. She glanced at a couple of firemen coming around the house carrying long pike poles. Their faces had dark, grimy smoke stains around the eyes and on the foreheads where their masks had not covered, their coats and pants glistened with water and dripped on the snow as they trotted toward their truck. She whirled around in time to see the four men pushing the stretcher toward the back of the ambulance. The injured fireman's turnout coat wasn't wet. He had been in there long enough to succumb to the smoke, but he didn't have a drop on him. The two firemen who had been kneeling over him were dry too.

Jane moved quickly in a diagonal path toward the ambulance, keeping her eyes on the stretcher. They had the tie-down restraints strapped over a blanket they'd draped over the turnout coat, and the mask still over the face. She couldn't see the hair because they had a pillow under the head and their bodies shielded it from view. As they reached the lighted street she stared hard at the side of the blanket, where a couple of the victim's fingers protruded an inch. The red, whirling light from the fire truck just ahead passed across them and glinted off a set of tapered, polished fingernails. It was Mary Perkins.

Jane stepped around the front of the ambulance, slipped into the driver's door, and crouched on the floor. She heard the back doors open, the sliding of the metal wheels of the stretcher, and then the back doors slammed. She climbed into the seat, threw the transmission into gear, stepped on the gas pedal, and veered away from the curb to avoid the fire engine parked thirty feet ahead.

Then she straightened her wheels and roared down the block. She glanced in the rearview mirror. The four men took a couple of steps after her, then seemed to see the futility of it and stopped in the street. Before she turned the corner at the first traffic signal she looked again, but she couldn't see them anymore.

She drove fast for five blocks, letting the siren clear the way for her, and then turned into a smaller street, flipped off the flashing lights and siren, and went faster.

"Mary!" she called. There was no answer. It occurred to her that the gas in the fireman's tank had probably not been oxygen. It could as easily have been medical anesthetic. If it was, Mary was about as likely to die as recover. Jane drove on for another minute, then pulled the van to a stop in the lot behind a school. She ran to the back of the ambulance, opened the door, climbed inside, and looked down at Mary. She could see that her eyes were wide open, and then they blinked.

"You're alive after all,'" said Jane. She pulled at the oxygen mask and saw that it was held by a piece of elastic behind the head, so she slipped it up and off. There was a wide strip of adhesive tape across Mary's mouth. She undid the top straps on the stretcher.

Mary quickly sat up and fumbled to free her own feet. She was sobbing and shaking, and kicking at the strap so hard that her own hands couldn't hold on to it. Jane undid that strap too. "You'd better take the tape off your own mouth," she said.

Mary clawed at it and gave a little cry of pain as she tore it off. "They trapped me!" she sobbed. "There was no other way out." She shook the heavy turnout coat off, and Jane could see they had slipped it over the jacket she had put on to escape the fire. "There was smoke, and they banged on the door, and they looked like firemen. One of them gave me an oxygen mask, and - "

"I know," said Jane. "Come on. We've got to get out of here."

"Can't you just keep going?" Mary looked at the driver's seat, willing Jane into it.

"No. We're already pushing our luck. They'll be looking for the ambulance. I assume it's stolen, so the police will be too." She pulled Mary to her feet, pushed her out the back door, and said, "Run with me."

Mary stood against the ambulance. She took a step in the fireman's boots, her beige pants bloused over the tops just below her knees, then stopped and pulled her jacket around her. "I can't."

"Try," said Jane simply. She slung her purse across her chest and started off across the lot at a slow, easy trot. After a few steps she heard Mary running too.

Jane jogged onto the broad back lawn of the school. It seemed to be a high school because all of the athletic fields were full-sized and elaborate, with wooden bleachers beside them. The grass under the snow was level and clear, with no chance of any unseen obstacles. Even better, there were tracks on it where she could place her feet. When she was in the open away from the building she could feel the wind blowing tiny particles of snow against her cheeks. Now was the time to set a quick pace, before some cop arrived to find the ambulance. She waited until she thought Mary Perkins was warm and loose, then lengthened her strides a bit. The playing fields were an advantage because she could lead them out a quarter of a mile away on a street far from the path of the ambulance. But while they were out here they would be the only black spots on an ocean of empty white snow.

She looked over her shoulder at Mary and saw that she interpreted the look as permission to slow down. Jane turned ahead again and quickly worked her way up to a comfortable lope. She listened to Mary's footsteps and timed her breathing. She was not used to running, but she seemed to be doing it.

When Jane reached the goalpost at the end of the football field, she stopped and ran in place until Mary caught up. She said, "We'll be able to walk as soon as we reach cover," and started off again. This time it seemed to be a soccer field because it was longer. She could discern what was at the end of the school property now. There was a high chain-link fence, and beyond it some tall, leafless trees. She ran ahead to look for the gate.