The Woman (21 page)

For the last half hour she had been noticing a dark, four-door sedan that had been lingering behind her. Over the next few miles she used the mirrors to keep track of the dark sedan. She eased off the gas pedal enough to drop her speed two miles per hour. Over the next mile two cars passed her, but not the dark sedan which continued to mirror her pace. Over the next several miles, except for glancing forward to maintain a safe distance from the double-semi truck in front of her, her focus remained on the dark car.

After she moved north of Vancouver, the first city on the Washington side of the Columbia River, she changed lanes. A moment later the dark sedan moved into her new lane, three cars behind. After a few miles she changed back into the middle lane, behind the double semi. After a while, the shadowing car reflected that move as well.

How could they have found me? Have they been there since I left Sea Crest? Did Chief McIlhenny tip them off? It could have been Clark. No. I would suspect the chief before Clark. The chief’s body language had been suspicious and, that first night, Ahab warned me about him.

This automotive mating dance continued for another thirty miles before Linda settled on a plan.

After a few more miles, the elements of her plan appeared in front of her. She was in the center lane with the trail car the second car behind in the same lane. In the lane to her right, a double-semi, a trucking configuration not allowed in all states, moving at her speed, was a few car lengths in front. Ahead about two miles was an exit in rather open country, with an off ramp that quickly climbed high enough to allow her to look back down onto the interstate. She accelerated as if her objective was to pass the truck. The car behind her and the tail car accelerated to keep pace and also pass the truck.

Linda jockeyed her position after getting the middle of her car near the front of the long truck. She then settled down to hold her position in relation to the long truck to her right. This tactic allowed her to also control the speed of the dark sedan. At this point the dark sedan was holding alongside the rear portion of the double-semi. This meant the driver of the dark sedan would not be able to see the quarter-mile sign for the upcoming exit.

The time had come.

She tromped down on the accelerator sending the needle of her speedometer soaring past ninety, and sped in front of the truck. Then cut across the lane barely ahead of the double-semi and headed up the exit ramp, holding the wheel stiff against the high-speed pull of the pavement. The right side tires throwing gravel against the guardrail.

Half way up the ramp she began feathering the brakes and finally came to a controlled stop just before the momentum carried her into the cross street. There was no one behind her so she sat there watching the dark sedan, which had been past the off-ramp before seeing it disappear in the distance ahead, still on the interstate.

From this somewhat elevated position she looked over an expanse of flat country dotted with a few scattered trees. Then she saw something ahead, on a service road on her side of the interstate. A truck stop, at least the sign for a truck stop mounted on what was likely the tallest pole in the county. She headed there.

The truck stop was open for business and by its look had been for longer than the locals cared to remember. The building had no neighbors unless you counted a fast food place across the street whose business had slowed to the point where it had closed. Its only communal function now being windows plastered with posters announcing the nearest high school football schedule, and a flyer about free flu shots available at the drug store in town. Neither the drug store’s name nor its address was shown so apparently the local folks knew whatever else they needed to know.

Inside the truck stop Linda bought a Seattle map that covered the area south far enough to include her location. At least it did according to the attendant behind the register. With the help of two truckers in the truck stop’s tired diner, she identified back roads that would take her from where she was into Seattle without returning to I-5. They said it would be an hour slower than the interstate, but that was okay with her.

* * *

“Hey. Hey. Charlie, this is Bobby. The little lady outfoxed ya. The gal’s got balls. Well, not balls, you know what I mean.”

“Give the idiot remarks a rest,” Charlie said into his cell phone.

“The boss is going to be pissed,” Bobby said, “you losing her and all.”

“Are you still on her?” Charlie asked.

“No sweat. I was far enough back to be able to take the same exit. She’s left the interstate.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Who’s this Sherlock dude? But, yeah, I got her. She’s pulled into a truck stop and gone inside. I’ll let you know when she splits. Is this Sherlock guy from one of them old books you’re always reading when we’re holed up on a job? Oops. Hold everything. Here she comes.”

“Why’d she stop?”

“I don’t know. Take a piss. I guess. Women do that, too, you know.”

“What else, Bobby?”

“She got a soda. No, wait a minute. There’s something in her other hand. I can’t make it out. Shit. She’s back inside her car. Can’t see her so good now. She’s just sitting there.”

“That’s why you have binoculars.”

“Fuck off. I got you covered. Wait a minute. She’s looking at something. She’s got whatever it is stretched out across her steering wheel. . . . Hey, bro, she’s got herself a map. Sure, it’s a frigging map. That’s what she’s got. She bought a map.”

“Just stay with her. When she sets a pattern, let me know so I can cut over somewhere and pick you back up.”

“Hey, I got her. No sweat.”

“You’ve got your orders.”

“Okay. Okay. You need to chill, Charlie.”

“And remember, the boss doesn’t want her taken before he gives the okay.”

“What’s that about?” Bobby asked. “The dude was in a hurry, now all we hear is slow down.”

“Bobby, to take license with Alfred Lord Tennyson, yours is not to reason why.”

“Who? You gotta stop reading all that shit, Charlie. It’s already fucking up your brain.”

“Forget it, Bobby, just do your job.”

Chapter 33

Linda wormed her way through the small towns and side roads that eventually brought her to Seattle. The good news, she did not again see the dark sedan which had been tailing her on the interstate. Whoever had been following had either given up or gone ahead to Seattle to wait for her. But that seemed unlikely. In addition to the many exits into Seattle, they had no reason to even assume she would stop there. There were plenty of good sized cities north of Seattle, also the Canadian border. She decided to bypass downtown to the east and then circle back and enter the metropolitan area from the north.

* * *

“Charlie, this here’s Bobby.”

“Who else would it be asshole. I got caller ID you know.”

“Charlie, I’ve had it with your attitude. If you don’t get off my ass—”

“Just give me your report, Bobby. What’s our little lady up to?”

“For more than an hour she’s been circling around Seattle to the east. I couldn’t tell where the hell she was heading until she turned back toward Seattle from the North.”

“Okay. It’s getting late. She’ll likely settle in there for the night. Stay on her and let me know where she holes up. I’m heading your way now.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m partway between Tacoma and Seattle. I just grabbed a bite waiting to hear from you. Some place that features turkey all year round. Can you believe that?”

“That’s really the shits, Charlie. You lose the tail and get to chow down while I gotta stay on the job. I love turkey.”

“Life can be hell, Bobby. I feel for you.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“You’re still working on your vocabulary I see.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Mr. Asshole, to you, Bobby, but I do love it when you dazzle me with those big words.”

“So what are you going to do, Charlie?”

“I’m already back on I-5, heading your way. Call me when she settles in.”

* * *

By ten, Linda had checked into a Best Western on the worn northern outskirts of Seattle, paying cash. After watching the news to be sure she wasn’t part of it, she gave in to the restlessness that comes from sitting behind the wheel all day. She went for a walk.

The exercise felt good, but she missed a rearview mirror to observe those behind her. The pedestrians mostly held steady blank stares, people with their minds replaying their day or previewing their tomorrow while they sauntered toward the bar, ballgame, or bedroom that would fill their night.

Several blocks north from the hotel, she crossed the street and approached a brown brick building where she pushed through the padded red door of a windowless bar. The air inside was weighted with the aged odors of a career tavern. Still, its diffused light, dark woods and forest green colors conveyed a welcome. Her ears picked up clinking beer bottles, a habit started in some ancient time when men drank from pewter or pottery mugs. She traced the sound to five middle-aged guys sitting shoulder to shoulder along a bar unique in no way except for a brass lamp next the wall, adorned with small red glass dangles hanging from a green shade, the establishment’s effort toward promoting the thought of making everyday Christmas.

The crash of a break shot from a coin-operated pool table called from near the back on her right. She walked deeper into the dinge, the eyes of the men pawing her front and back. Intuitively practicing the skills of a person on the run, she chose a booth shielded from the outside light that entered with each opening of the door. From there she would get a look at anyone who came in after her.

She ordered a draft beer and a shot of house whiskey. Then set her eyes on the front door. When her order came she first took a big drink of the beer, and then slid the shot glass down inside the mug to make a boilermaker. She had never drank one before, but had wanted to ever since reading in books about men drinking them, and watching them do so in movies. On more than one occasion she had walked into Millie’s in Sea Crest planning to order her first, but somehow she never had. But now she didn’t know how much longer she had to do anything, so it was time. Time to do a lot of the things she had never quite been able to bring herself to do. The strength of the drink dropped through her like an elevator freed by a broken cable.

Nothing noteworthy happened in the next hour except for watching a drunk leave the bar, walking out the way drunks walked, uphill on a level floor.

Two hours and two boilermakers later, she found herself staring at a neon beer sign above the bar, her stare so intense she hadn’t blinked. Her eyes felt dry, and she had grown angry, bitterly angry. The bastards had torn her life apart, killed her best friend, the only sense of family she had, destroyed the tranquility of her community, and driven her from her home. This had to stop. She didn’t know how, but those who were responsible should be made to pay.

After downing the last of her drink, she walked out a little unsteady herself, back to the hotel. There, she locked the door, slipped the gun under her pillow, stripped and dropped into bed. The sheets were cool, but not her temperament. She lay there listening to the tinny whirl of the window air conditioner, and the infrequent murmurs of guests passing her door until exhaustion defeated her fears.

* * *

“Boss, Charlie here. I’m on a secure line. The woman’s in Seattle. My man’s got her located in a motel. We could take her easy.”

“Not tonight. Not until I tell you,” Webster said. “Until then just keep me posted on her movements, but take no action. Just don’t lose her.”

“Why the delay?”

“Don’t you worry about that. I do the thinking.”

“Sure, boss. It’s just that . . . well, you were in such a hellfire hurry. Now, all of a sudden, we’re on hold.”

“I won’t repeat myself. You’re being paid. Do what you’re told.”

“You got it, boss. I’ll let you know if she moves again. You call me if things change at your end. Okay?”

“One more thing. If she starts to go into an FBI office or a police station, take her out before she gets through the door. If you have to do it that way, and the press reports confirm it, I’ll throw in an extra ten Gs for ya.”

“You got it, boss.”

Webster hung up.

* * *

“Testler, Webster. Can you talk?”

“Go ahead.”

“Where are we on McIlhenny?”

“I’ve got it set up.”

“I want this done.”

“He’s told the town he’s going fishing next Tuesday. I’ll take care of it while he’s at sea.”

“Tuesday’s too long,” Webster said. “It needs to be much sooner.”

“Don’t let impatience get in the way of a good plan. Besides, what’s the hurry?”

“I got Charlie and one of his guys in position to deal with this Darby woman, she’s holed up in Seattle. McIlhenny has threatened that if anything happens to her he’ll go to the authorities and tell what he knows.”

“McIlhenny doesn’t mean it,” Testler said. “If he did, he wouldn’t threaten you. He’d just do it.”