Gasping, he continued along the sidewalk, dodging a homeless man, as he watched her 4Runner. It was closer than he’d expected. He could catch them.
Had she seen him? Or had somebody called her with the news he was free?
The run hurt, muscles and lungs. He was out of shape. You might lift weights in prison but you don’t get aerobics. Nobody runs.
Breathing hard, gasping, he got to the Ford and leapt into the driver’s seat, shoved the key into the ignition and started the engine.
As long as he wasn’t lit up for speeding they were in his grasp. Any cops nearby? Probably not. Random traffic patrols were not budget-strapped Ferrington’s strong suit. Anyway, sometimes you just had to take a chance.
Into gear, spinning the wheel and slamming down the accelerator.
The big truck bolted forward.
And began to stagger.
Thump, thump, thump, thump...
He braked hard, dropped the transmission into park and, shoving the door open, stepped out onto the asphalt.
For Christ’s sake...
He closed his eyes in disgust and fury. She could’ve gone east or west but chose west and spotted the truck. She had let the air out of the right front tire. It was completely flat.
He gazed up Cross County to where the battered asphalt disappeared into the hills. She was already out of sight.
Merritt lowered his head to the driver’s-side window.
After a full minute of letting the anger pass, he pulled out his phone. He composed a text saying that plans had changed—Allison had fled and he needed help finding her. He’d get back soon with specifics. He would pay. A lot.
The response, affirmative, came back in a matter of seconds.
Merritt looked west, into the afternoon sun. Where are you going? he thought. Where the hell...?
He was startled when a voice intruded. “Hey, mister, need a hand?” The question came from a middle-aged man. He was in a casual jacket and slacks. Apparently just out for a stroll on a gentle fall afternoon.
Merritt was inclined to say no, the fewer people who could place him here the better. But the guy had already seen him and Merritt was pressed by urgency. “You don’t mind getting your hands dirty. Always hard to lift up the spare and get it on the lugs.”
The man took his jacket off and rested it on a nearby hedge. “Don’t I know it? They give you a jack for the car; they oughta give you a jack for the tire.”
Merritt said, “Now, there’s an invention for you.”
The men walked to the back of the truck and the neighbor unwound the spare while Merritt got the jack and the tools from the compartment in the bed.
He fitted the device to the bracket on the undercarriage while the neighbor wheeled the spare up. He surveyed Merritt, who was energetically working the jack handle. “You’re in some hurry there, sir.”
Merritt scowled. “Just going to pay a visit to my wife and daughter. Who I haven’t seen for a long time. I’ve been away. Andthishappens.”
“Isn’t that always the way? But we’ll get you back on the road fast as we can. You must miss ’em.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Merritt said, breathing in gasps as he pumped.
And under his frantic hands, the two-ton vehicle rose slowly into the air like a ghost leaving a recently deceased body.
17
There it is. Our most famous attraction. Get out your Polaroid.”
Sonja Nilsson slowed the Range Rover and pointed. They were downtown on the road that paralleled the Kenoah. Across the river was a tall brick building not unlike the others here. Mounted on the portion of the building’s foundation just above the surface was a ten-foot-diameter clock, in art deco style. The face and hands, frozen at ten until two, were the green of aged copper and the brown of rust.