The Jeep…
McCaffrey, he recalled, didn’t live north of town. His bungalow was on the west side. He’d have no need or occasion to take Cedar Swamp, certainly not to reach his house. The only reason someone who didn’t live near here would come this way was to take the shortcut to the mall in Chilton. And there sure weren’t any stores open there this time of night.
Owen looked up the dark, rain-swept road for a moment then struggled from the water and began the agonizing run to his wife and his home.
29
Trenton Heck slowly climbed the face of the huge rock shelf that cut the Atcheson property in two.
The surface was slick with rain but slipperiness was not the greatest impediment to his twenty-foot climb; rather, Heck’s disobedient leg made for very slow progress. He was as exhausted as he was drenched by the time he reached the summit and collapsed on the rocky plain. He caught his breath while he massaged his thigh and scanned the driveway and forest below him. He saw nothing but the mesmerizing flutter of leaves as the rain poured down. After resting for a moment he rose slowly and in a crouch eased along the crest of this hill, parallel to the vague white strip of driveway in the shallow valley below. He made his way slowly from the house toward Cedar Swamp Road-keen to spot Hrubek, yes, but even more eager to find Owen, a man with whom Heck felt considerable kinship. And a man maybe weaponless, maybe injured.
As he moved cautiously toward the road, he found himself thinking about Lis Atcheson. He kept returning to the question that had occurred to him on the hectic drive here after he’d abandoned his journey to Boyleston. Limping into cover behind a tall oak tree for a futile inspection of the rain-drenched panorama beneath him, he wondered again: why exactly was Michael Hrubek after her?
Of course the fellow was maybe completely mad, Heck allowed. Lord knew, enough people seemed to think so. But if Heck understood right, Hrubek’d need one hell of a motive to go through with a trip like this-a journey that clearly terrified him. It’d be like Heck himself standing up and with full intent walking right toward someone threatening to shoot him in the leg again.
Why would a man bring that kind of heartache on himself?
Lis testifying against him? Naw, there had to be more to it. It was true, as he’d told her, that convicts rarely make matters worse for themselves by hurting witnesses.
The only time…
Well, usually the only time they carried out threats was when the witness had lied. But why would she’ve done that?
These musings were interrupted by something Heck saw in the distance: a large cube of faint blue light. It was in the direction of the house. He made his way closer and squinted through the rain. The lights of the greenhouse. She must have forgotten to turn them off. The radiance was, he thought, an unfortunate beacon but there was nothing to be done about it now.
Lightning flared through the forest and Heck was jarred by the encompassing blast of thunder. The lightning troubled him-not from fear of a hit but because he couldn’t afford to be light-blinded. Also, a nearby strike would make him, if even for a fraction of a second, as sharp a target as if he’d been flare-lit.
Thunder sounded again.
Or was it thunder? The sound was more of a crack than a boom. And now that he thought about it, the noise seemed to have come from the driveway of the Atcheson place. Alarmed, he looked toward the house again for Lis’s summoning signal but no lights flashed.
Through the plastic bag he thumbed the old Walther nervously and stalked toward Cedar Swamp Road, surveying the dense forest around him-with its mulchy, cluttered carpet of downed foliage. In this tangle he saw a dozen shadows that clearly resembled the man he sought. Then he forgot about the thunder that resembled a gunshot and grew depressed. The task of finding either Owen or Hrubek suddenly seemed hopeless.
“Oh, man,” Heck muttered. Here he’d turned down Kohler’s bribe, he’d helped get a woman killed, and he could just hear Adler saying, Oh, no, sorry Mr. Heck, it really was Tactical Services that caught Hrubek.
But here’s a hundred bucks for your trouble.
“Damn.”
Five minutes later he was engaged in a conversation with Jill about his troubles when he saw out of the corner of his eye a flash of light coming from the direction of the house. He stepped forward quickly, thinking at first that it was a summons from Lis. But then he stopped and, squinting through the rain, noted how remarkable it was that light would reflect so vibrantly off a bald, blue-tinted head.
Michael Hrubek was not fifty feet away.
The madman was oblivious to Heck and hiding in a stand of bushes overlooking the garage.
Lord, he’s a monster, Heck thought, his face burning at the first sight of his quarry. He trained the Walther, still in the Baggie, on the man’s back. He flicked up the thumb safety and, walking as silently as he could, closed the distance between them. When he was thirty feet away Heck took a deep breath and called, “Hrubek!”
The big man jumped and barked out a frightened, pathetic cry. He looked back through the streaming rain toward Heck, his eyes scanning the darkness.
“I want you to lie down on the ground. Do it. I got a gun here.”
Okay, Heck thought, he’s going to run. You going to shoot him or not? Decide now. Otherwise you chase him.
Hrubek’s eyes darted and his tongue appeared, circling his open lips. He seemed like a confused bear, rearing in fright.
Heck decided. Shoot. Park one in his leg.
Hrubek ran.
Heck fired twice. The bullets kicked up leaves behind the fleeing figure, who was covering ground like a wide receiver, dodging trees and crashing over saplings, falling, scrabbling through leaves then leaping to his feet again. He howled in fear. Heck pursued in a fast lope. Though Hrubek carried nearly twice Heck’s weight, he set a furious pace and kept his distance for a long ways. But slowly Heck began to gain.
Then suddenly he cried out at a searing eruption of agony. A cramp seized his game leg from calf to hip. Heck dropped to his side, his leg out straight, twitching, muscles hard as oak. He contorted desperately, trying to find a position that would ease the pain. Slowly it subsided on its own, leaving him exhausted and breathless. When he sat up and looked around him Hrubek was gone.
Heck rolled upright and stood, gasping. He scooped up his gun and hurried along the low ridge near where Hrubek had disappeared. Orienting himself, he located the house, a hundred yards away. Through the rain he saw a thousand trees and ten thousand shadows, any one of which might be hiding his prey.
As he started toward the house, hurrying as fast as he dared on the trembling leg, Heck heard the gunshot not more than ten feet behind him. At the same time he felt, with more shock than pain, the tug of the bullet as it tore through his back. “Oh,” he gasped. He staggered a few steps, wondering why no one had ever suggested that Hrubek might have a gun. He dropped his pistol and looked down at the pucker of his work shirt where the hot bit of metal had exited.
“Oh, no. Damn.”
Dimly, in his mind’s eye, Trenton Heck saw his ex-wife Jill in her freshly pressed waitress uniform. Then, as in his actual life, she vanished from him quickly, as if she had far more important matters to attend to, and he dropped to his knees, falling forward and beginning an endless tumble down the hill of slick leaves.
“Lis!” Portia called, as her sister returned to the kitchen and hung up the bomber jacket, shaking the water out of her hair.
Glancing at Portia she locked the door then turned and stared into the backyard, which was just a blur in the heavy rain.
“That noise,” Portia blurted.
“What noise?”
“Didn’t you hear it?” The younger sister paced, and wrung her hands compulsively. “It seemed… I mean, it wasn’t thunder. I thought there were gunshots. I was worried-where were you?”