Maps of Hell (12 page)

She shook her head. “What is that? Some kind of militia?”

“They’re certainly keen on bearing arms.”

Mary Upson glanced in the mirror and then took a right turn. Almost immediately we were deep in woodland.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my hand immediately on the grip of my pistol.

“Time for a change of vehicle.”

We came into a clearing, the moon shining through thin clouds. I could see a low building in the headlights. Mary pulled up in front of the house and opened her door. “Coming?” she said.

I got out, holding the pistol against my thigh.

Then a figure holding a shotgun appeared at the side of the house to my right. The weapon was at the person’s shoulder before I could do anything with mine.

“Y
ou really sure you wanna go through with this, Iowa?”

Richard Bonhoff stared at Gordy Lister, and then nodded. They were in the pickup, outside a dilapidated warehouse in southeast Washington. The newspaperman had made several phone calls, saying it was better if Richard didn’t listen in. The upshot was that he’d managed to locate the twins—or so he said.

“This isn’t far from where that Loki singer was murdered, is it?” Richard said.

“True enough,” Lister said. “We’re about a mile away.” He nudged Richard. “Hey, did you read about that in the
Star Reporter?
We did a big story.”

Richard glowered at him. “I never read that rag,” he said, deciding not to admit that he’d seen the story there.

“It was good enough for your kids, Iowa,” Lister replied, grinning.

“Yeah, that’s where their problems started. What exactly are we doing here?”

“You want to see the twins, don’t you? Hold on. They’ll be out soon.”

“They in there?” Richard peered at the building. “Why can’t we go in?”

“Because it isn’t safe.”

“How come you know where they are?” All Richard’s various suspicions of Gordy Lister surfaced at once. He grabbed the smaller man by the throat. “Are you using them? Are you making money off them?”

Lister struggled free and gave Richard a scandalized look. “Of course not. I used my contacts to find them, that’s all.”

The farmer wasn’t convinced, but he had no other leads.

“Here we go.” Lister pointed and they watched as a door opened wide. A head appeared, scanning the vicinity. The pickup was scrutinized.

“Whatever you do, don’t get out, Iowa. They won’t talk to you—I guarantee it.”

Richard’s heart was thundering. He watched as young people came out of the warehouse. Most were black, dressed in the uniform of the street—basketball shoes, loose jeans hung low, oversize T-shirts. But the clothes were torn and dirty, and the kids didn’t look healthy.

“Who are these people?”

Lister raised a hand. “Wait,” he hissed.

And then Richard saw them. He strained forward as Randy came out. Gwen was right behind him. They both looked terrible, their faces drawn and their hair, longer than when he’d last seen them, lank and tangled.

“What’s happened to them?” he said desperately.

Gordy Lister snorted. “What do you fucking think has happened to them, Iowa? They’re junkies.”

Richard grabbed the door handle and got out. He started to run toward the twins, shouting their names. They looked around, their eyes wide. As he got closer, it was the eyes that got to him most—the pupils were yellowed and bloodshot, the overall effect as icy and empty as the sky in winter.

“Gwen! Randy!” he called. “Let me talk to you.”

But the twins looked away, linking hands. Richard saw that their arms were bruised and pockmarked. Then he doubled up as one of the black youths drove a fist into his midriff.

“Get away, old man!” the boy screeched. “Ain’t no place for daddies here.”

Richard raised his head and saw the twins walking away. He screamed their names again, and then took a heavy punch to the side of his head. He keeled over and the kicking started. He tried to shout, but soon he couldn’t raise a sound. He could only mouth his children’s names as a final blow to the head sent him lurching into the dark.

He woke up with his head pounding, unclear where he was.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Iowa.”

Richard blinked and took in Gordy Lister’s face. There was a weak smile on the newspaperman’s lips.

“Wha…?” He sank back. He opened his eyes again and realized that he was in the passenger seat of his pickup.

“Where are you staying?” Lister asked, starting the engine.

The name of his hotel swam up to the surface of Richard’s mind. He managed to whisper it.

The pickup moved off, gears crashing. “Jesus, you actually drove all the way from Iowa in this?”

“Stop!” Richard gasped, remembering the twins. “I need to talk to my kids.”

“Forget it,” Lister said. “You saw the crowd they’re with. You want to get yourself killed?”

“What’s it to you?”

“What’s it to me?” Lister said, shaking his head. “Exactly what do you think I am? Some kind of animal?”

Richard didn’t reply. He was wondering if he had the strength to open the door and roll out when the pickup was still moving.

“Look, Iowa,” the newspaperman went on, glancing at his passenger. “Let me level with you. I feel bad about what’s happened to your kids. I liked them, really I did. I even tried to set them up with some advertising work.”

“Yeah,” Richard mumbled, “there’s always a market for good-looking twins.”

Gordy Lister looked at him again. “That’s right. You know more than I thought.” He raised his narrow shoulders. “But they got sucked into the drug scene. I’ve seen it happen before with kids from Hicksville. No offense.”

“Fuck you,” Richard said to himself. A thought struck him. “Take me to the police, will you?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Lister. “Whoa, man. What do you think the cops are gonna do? The twins are twenty-one, they’re adults. The cops will just give you the brush-off.”

Richard sat up slowly, looking out at the lights of the city. For someone who supposedly had only known the kids for a few days, and that months ago, Gordy Lister was very specific about their age. Richard decided against insisting. Tomorrow, he’d go to the cops alone.

At the hotel, Lister put a hand on his arm. “You all right, Iowa? Need any help getting to your room?”

Richard pulled his arm away, the small man’s touch burning like a snake bite. “Get the hell out of my pickup.”

“Okay, okay,” Lister said, opening the driver’s door. “Sorry I asked.” He turned back and caught Richard’s eye. “There’s nothing you can do here. You have a good trip home, you hear, Iowa?”

The farmer watched him walk away, then hail a passing cab. For all the fake concern, Richard knew for sure that the newspaperman had a serious interest in the twins.

“D
rop it!” The voice was high and harsh.

I glanced at Mary. She raised her shoulders. I let the pistol slide out of my hand and fall to the gravel.

“Now step away!”

I complied again. The figure came nearer and I realized it was an elderly woman, her white hair pulled back to reveal a heavily wrinkled face.

“You all right, Mary?” the woman asked.

“Yes, Mom. It’s okay—he’s with me.”

I turned to the woman next to me. “This is your mother?”

She nodded with a sweet smile.

“What’s he doing with a semiautomatic pistol in his hand?” the old woman demanded.

“You might have told me,” I protested.

“She took me by surprise, too. She used to be a pretty good shot, but I’m not sure that still applies.”

“You mind your mouth, girl,” her mother said, lowering the shotgun. “I’ll have you know I killed three crows yesterday.”

Mary raised her hands. “All right, Mom, I believe you.” She came round to my side of the car. “This is Matt.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, extending my hand.

The old woman took it after a pause, her pale blue eyes scrutinizing me. “Where you from?” she demanded.

“London, England. All right if I pick up my gun now, Mrs. Upson?”

She leveled the shotgun. “I’m watching you. And don’t call me that—I’m not an Upson.”

“Ms. Jacobsen,” Mary whispered.

“Mary’s father upped and left me for one of his fancy women when she was six,” the old woman said, allowing her daughter to take her weapon to my relief. “Beats me why she uses his name.”

Mary shrugged. “Whatever he did, he’s still my father.” She took her mother by the arm. “Come in. Let’s get you inside. It’s a cold night.”

She was right. I had only the uniform shirt on my upper body and I was shivering. I followed them inside. We went into a cozy sitting room where the wallpaper was faded and the paint flaking, but it was clean. And it wasn’t a concrete cell.

“You sit here, Mom. Matt and I need to sort out the cars. All right if I borrow yours?” She headed for the door without waiting for a reply.

“You do what you want, girl,” her mother said. “You always did.”

I went back outside and helped Mary.

Although her mother’s dark green Ford pickup must have been over a decade old, it was in good shape and it started the first time. I drove it out of a ramshackle shed and watched as Mary drove her car in.

“Now we’re as anonymous as you like,” she said when she’d finished. “It’ll take the cops some time to link me to this place. Mom’s only been here a couple of months.”

I looked at her. “Why are you doing this, Mary?”

She returned my gaze, her eyes wide. “Can’t a girl do what she can for an innocent man?” The doubt I was feeling about myself must have been obvious. “You are innocent, aren’t you?”

“I think so.”

“You
think
so?” She laughed. “That makes me feel a whole lot better.”

I grasped her forearm. “Look, I’m in deep shit and I have no idea why. You should steer well clear of me.”

Mary’s lips twitched. “Too late, Matt. Once I’ve bitten the hook, I don’t let go.”

That struck me as a strange way of putting things but she headed back inside before I could comment.

“Anything to eat, Mom?” she asked, back in the sitting room.

“You’re in luck, girl. I made a pot roast today, your favorite.” The old woman’s face was split by an unexpectedly sweet smile.

Mary smiled. “Okay, I’ll get things ready.”

“Want any help?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Nope. You chat with Mom.” She smiled mischievously. “Tell her what you’ve been up to in the woods.”

Ms. Jacobsen watched her daughter walk out, and then turned to me. “Sit down, Matt. Well, what
have
you been up to in the woods? What is that, some kind of uniform?”

I shook my head. “Just hiking gear,” I said, lamely. “I…got lost and couldn’t get my bearings for a couple of days.”

“You were safe enough, though.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your gun,” she said, frowning. “You English boys always go walking with Glocks in your belts?”

“Em…”

“Never mind.” She got up and came over to me. “I don’t want to know the details. You listen to me, Matt—if that’s your real name. My Mary’s had a troubled life. She’s too trusting. This isn’t the first time she’s got involved with a man most parents would have shot before he got inside.”

“But I’m not your daughter’s—”

She raised a hand. “Hear me out. I’m not overpossessive, but I have to look after Mary every time a worthless piece of shit turns her head and then dumps her. Men are assholes. I reckon that applies where you come from as much as here.” She looked into my eyes. “So don’t expect me to welcome you with open arms. If Mary’s happy for now, that’s okay. But remember this. The last guy who messed with her is still in hospital.” She laughed emptily. “Unfortunate hunting accident. You make sure you treat her right.”

I watched nervously as she went back to her armchair. Never mind the camp and its armed guards. I had the feeling I’d walked into an even more dangerous creature’s lair.

With the food served, the atmosphere warmed up a little in the kitchen. Ms. Jacobsen’s pot roast was superb and I made a pig of myself—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a good meal. Mary was cheerful and her mother managed to converse without savaging me. I learned that the old woman had been a legal secretary in Portland and had moved up here when she retired recently. There was a map of Maine on the kitchen wall and I was finally able to orient myself. Unfortunately, the northern part of the state seemed to be mainly trackless forest and, despite the bearings I’d taken with the compass, I didn’t have much idea where the camp might have been.

After coffee and a very good homemade blueberry cheesecake, Ms. Jacobsen said she was going to bed. Mary and I cleared up the dinner things and went back into the sitting room.

“You really haven’t told me much about yourself, Matt,” she said, her eyes on me.

“Well, I—”

“It doesn’t matter. I can see you need some time to get perspective.”

“No, it’s okay. You’ve taken a big chance for me.” I told her I’d been chased through the forest by the people whose uniform jacket I’d given her. I didn’t say why—not that I was too clear on that myself. I said that I’d taken the uniform after I’d come round and found myself naked. I didn’t feel up to telling any more lies and my memory was steadfastly refusing to provide any more information.

“So,” Mary said, “what’s our plan?”

Her mother’s warning was still ringing in my ears. “
We
haven’t got a plan,” I said, keeping my eyes off her. “You stay here with your mother.”

“Matt!” she said irately. “The troopers are looking for me, too, remember?”

“Like I said, go back and say I threatened you. You’re a schoolteacher. Why should they think you’re lying.”

“No chance! I’m helping you and that’s final.”

I thought about it. I could certainly do with help, especially with the FBI doing their best to frame me. Besides, my journey though the forest had made me keen to avoid being alone again. But why was Mary so desperate? A few seconds later I got the answer—suddenly her lips were on mine, her body crushing against me. I had a flash of the woman with blond hair, and a feeling of guilt; I was sure the woman meant a lot to me, and tried to detach myself. But Mary was like a force of nature and pinned me against the couch.

“Stop,” I gasped, managing to twist my mouth away. “You don’t even know me.” I could have added that I didn’t know myself.

“I know this is right,” she said, getting her lips back on mine.

I was going to have to distract her. “We’ve got to get out of here,” I said, after I’d slipped aside again. “I don’t want to involve your mother in this.”

“Don’t worry,” Mary said, smiling. “They won’t link her to us. No one in Sparta knows where she lives—she doesn’t go into town.”

“But they’ll find her soon enough. The FBI is after me, not just the local idiots.”

“Mom can look after herself,” Mary said.

I had a feeling she was right on that count. “Can I borrow her pickup? You can say I made you give me the keys.”

“Forget it, Matt. If you want the pickup, I’m coming too.” She nudged me in the ribs. “You’ll need me—I know the back roads.”

Shit. I didn’t really have any option but to take her. She
would
be a big help and there was no time to argue.

“All right, Mary. But we have to go now.”

She kissed me hard on the lips. “I take it Washington, D.C., is the final destination? You need to find out who thinks you’re a murderer.”

I nodded. “I don’t suppose there are any old clothes I could borrow?”

Mary laughed. “That’s how an Englishman asks politely, is it? Yeah, one of my old boyfriends was about your size. He left a suitcase behind.”

I wondered if Ms. Jacobsen had made him an offer he’d decided to accept, her shotgun pointed at his groin. She went out of the room and returned with a pair of jeans, a checked shirt and a padded jacket.

“Here you are. I told Mom we’re leaving.”

“What about your work?”

“I’ll call in sick.” She didn’t bother looking away while I undressed. “Won’t be the first time. Hey, you could do with a shower, English.”

She was right. I followed her to the bathroom and locked the door behind me. The hot water felt great and when I’d finished, I almost felt human again. Then I remembered how many people were on my tail.

To my surprise, instead of feeling helpless, I found that I was ready to take anyone on. I didn’t know why I was being targeted, but I was going to find out. It occurred to me that it might be the last thing I did. Too bad. I would go down fighting.

Mary was waiting for me in the hall, a cooler bag beside her. “I took the rest of the pot roast,” she said, her eyes glinting, “since you seemed to like it so much—and various other things. Where we’re going, there aren’t too many malls.”

We went out to the pickup. I transferred the rifle and other weapons from her car, stowing them under the seat.

“I’ll drive,” I said.

She pushed me out of the way. “Me first. You can look at the scenery.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“So it is.” She laughed. “You can tell me all about London, then.”

“Right.” I wondered how much I would be able to remember.

A few minutes later, we were heading up a narrow road, back into the Maine woods that I loved so much.