He was in the back office of Doug Stodghill’s auto shop, the owner sitting on the chair opposite him. The man had been that way since finishing dressing his wounds.
‘How bad are my injuries?’
‘The one in your shoulder is superficial. It didn’t hit any major arteries or bones and should heal OK.’
‘What about the other?’ Samuel touched the bandage that was wound tightly around his ribs. Blood was leaking through the crêpe, pink rather than red.
‘It could cause problems if you aren’t careful. The bullet went through your latissimus dorsi muscle, but ricocheted off your ribcage. It broke one rib, cracked the two either side of it. The greatest threat to your health is if the wound becomes infected. Even if that doesn’t happen, it will impede movement, particularly on your left side.’
‘So I should be able to use my right arm OK?’
‘Uh, yeah.’
‘Good.’
‘Wounds like yours,’ Stodghill went on, ‘they’d put anyone else in a hospital bed. I can’t believe you’re even on your feet, never mind using your arms.’
‘I’m a man on a mission, Doug. I won’t stop for nothing ’til I’m done.’
‘You should, Samuel. Give it up now. Get away from here as fast as you can.’ Stodghill’s face was moist with perspiration, and it wasn’t through hard labour. After stealing the abandoned police cruiser, Samuel had realised that he must ditch the vehicle at the first opportunity and had called Stodghill to meet him at the wrecking yard he had part shares in. The cop car had gone through the crusher and was then buried beneath a mound of other squashed cars bound for smelting. Then Samuel had demanded that Stodghill put his previous trade to use. The man had done a tour in Vietnam, and had trained as a medic. It was decades since he’d treated gunshot wounds, but it appeared he hadn’t lost his touch. Samuel didn’t think of him as a loyal friend: he had helped Samuel out of fear. Now all he wanted was for Samuel to be gone, out of his life for good. Samuel wasn’t leaving. He knew that the first opportunity Stodghill had he’d run to the police and give him up.
Samuel tested his right arm. It seemed to be fully functioning, and though he could feel a pulling in his opposite side, it didn’t impede him. He smiled at Stodghill.
Stodghill smiled nervously in return.
His mouth stuck like that as Samuel’s hand shot forward and clamped tightly round his windpipe.
‘Sorry about this, Doug, but you gotta go.’
Stodghill could barely inhale let alone argue for his life.
Samuel pulled the mechanic out of the chair, then propelled him backwards so that his spine cracked painfully against a workbench. There were tools scattered on it, plus sheaths of oil-smeared documents, an old manual typewriter, and a chipped mug. The man grimaced in pain, and Samuel took a moment to study his features, watching blotchy pink patches grow on his cheeks. Samuel squeezed tightly, feeling cartilage popping under his powerful grip.
‘You know something, Doug? I think you’re correct. My right arm seems to be working fine.’
‘Pleeeaaasssseee,’ Stodghill wheezed.
Samuel ignored him, as he lifted his left hand and formed a fist. ‘But look at this. This you got wrong. My left works just fine too.’
Since his days as a medic, Doug Stodghill’s outlook on life had changed. Back then he was concerned about his patients and it was his only desire to patch them up; never would he have dreamed of hurting them. But that was then, and none of them were trying to kill him at the time. He was almost blacking out from lack of oxygen, but his natural instinct was to fight for his life. His hand scrabbled along the workbench until he found the coffee mug. He snatched it and, with all the power he could muster, slammed it against the side of Samuel’s skull.
Samuel blinked. Blood trickled from a gash in his hairline, following the contours of his ear and neck to pool in the trough formed by his clavicle.
Yet he hadn’t felt a thing.
‘OK, Doug. I’ll allow you that one.’ He bared his teeth in an exaggeration of a smile as he continued to exert pressure on Stodghill’s windpipe. ‘But you don’t get to hit me again. From now on, only I get to do the hitting.’
31
‘You think he might try to take Nic back again?’
The women had returned to their hotel rooms to freshen up, and it was left to me to deal with their parents who had arrived in Holbrook only a short time earlier. Their reunion had been an emotional affair, at first dominated by tears, then mild recrimination, followed by more tears, but within minutes it had segued into laughter all round. While their mothers accompanied Jay and Nicole inside, Jameson Walker, and Nicole’s dad, Herb, had cornered me in an alcove adjacent to the exit door of the Tipi Hotel. Jameson looked like the burly landowner from a John Wayne Western; in contrast, Herb Challinor was a small balding man who shared the same bone structure as his daughter. We made an odd-looking grouping. Nearby, hotel guests sucked on cigarettes that had been denied them inside, but none of them was in earshot. Both men wanted to show their gratitude to me for bringing home their babies. There was more hugging. I didn’t grow up in a family where men hugged, and it was something I’d had to grow used to after meeting Rink. Lately though, I’d kind of had my hug quota and was a little embarrassed.
My get-out was to mellow the proceedings by informing them of my fears that Samuel had survived and still represented a threat to the girls.
‘Yes, Mr Challinor. That may very well be the case.’
‘Herb,’ he said. ‘Please call me Herb.’
Nodding, I went on, ‘I’m not going to run out on you, so don’t worry. If you want me to, I’ll stay until Samuel has been captured.’
‘How long must the girls stay here?’ Herb asked.
‘The police may need to speak to them again, but I’m sure they’ll be allowed to return home soon.’
Jameson surveyed the hotel, and it seemed to his satisfaction. ‘I’ll arrange rooms for us all here, as well as one for you, Hunter. If there’s anything else that you need, just tell me, and it’s yours.’
When I’d set off on this search it had been as a paid employee; now the cash was secondary. Ordinarily I’d have refused his kind offer, but this five star joint was beyond my usual expense bill and it was important that I stay close to the women. I nodded my thanks.
Then I touched on a subject that I would rather have avoided like the plague, but it was necessary. To Herb I said, ‘You’re taking Nicole to a clinic?’
My words engendered a typical response from a loving father. Tears sprang from the corners of Herb’s eyes, and he chewed down on his bottom lip. The blood drained from his face. His hands curled into half-formed fists and I knew if Samuel chose to show his face now, the little man would likely rip it off.
Nicole had endured rape. She had undergone examinations by doctors engaged by the Navajo County police department, but that had been for forensic evidence. Now she must tolerate a second round of tests. As horrific as the notion might sound, any of those beasts could have been carrying a sexually transmitted disease, but, worse still, Nicole could be pregnant. I haven’t given the subject of abortion much thought in the past, but here was a firm argument for termination. With luck that wouldn’t be an issue and Nicole would be given the all-clear.
‘Do you think that this… this man could make a try for her at the clinic?’
‘I can’t see how that’s possible, Herb. I’ve no doubt that he’ll find out Nicole’s identity, the story has been in all the papers and on the TV networks, but he’ll be too busy avoiding the police at present. I think it’ll be a day or two until he’s ready for his next move. That’s if it ever comes. I shot him twice. Best-case scenario is that he’s out there in the desert somewhere, his corpse being picked at by the buzzards.’