Tom backed away from the curb and drove the short distance to the parking lot. He noticed Tracy’s car parked near the end and pulled up beside it.
She must be home now! he thought triumphantly.
Grabbing his coat, he stepped out onto the virgin snow. In the weak light, he noticed that Tracy’s car was cleared of snow and the windshield was wiped clean, indicating that she had arrived home quite recently. He stepped past her car and headed for the rear stairway of the apartment building, then froze in his tracks There were no footprints leading away from Tracy’s car. Nor were there any prints leading to the stairway from the parking lot.
Tom turned and backtracked to Tracy’s car. When he reached the driver’s side, he saw what appeared to be two sets of footprints outside the door. But the tracks appeared to begin and end there, which was impossible.
Tom tried Tracy’s car door handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. He opened the door and felt heat escape from inside. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes since she had gotten out A cold jolt of fear hit Tom like a sledgehammer. He whirled around, slung open the passenger side door of the Jeep and reached inside the glove compartment for the flashlight. He switched it on and trained the beam on the ground between the two vehicles. He suddenly realized why the footprints appeared to lead nowhere when he spotted the second set of car tracks running parallel to the Jeep’s.
Another car had been parked beside Tracy’s just before he had arrived here. And Tracy had gotten into that car.
By her own will, or had she been forced?
The two sets of footprints implied the latter That car he had just seen fly out of the ally-he had seen it before!
He hadn’t realized it at the time, but Tom was now certain that it was the same car that had dumped the raped girl into the ally that night!
Sh it! And now the bastard has snatched Tracy right out of her car!
Tom ran around the Jeep to the driver’s side and got in, started it up and spun out of the parking lot in reverse. Switching on his high beams, he followed the tire tracks of the car onto Holmes Road and drove east.
Tom’s mind was racing as he followed the trail to the intersection of North Fourth Street. How had this happened? How had the rapist found Tracy in the first place? For that matter, did he even know that she had witnessed his dumping of the girl’s body? Tom was certain that the man hadn’t seen either of them that night. Or at least it had seemed that way.
But even if the man had spotted Tracy and Tom watching him from the shadows, why would he wait until now to abduct Tracy? Hell, how did he know that she lived here-that she would be at this particular place on this particular night? It didn’t make sense Unless…
Tom pulled north onto Fourth Street. He realized that there was at least a half-dozen sets of tire tracks running along the well traveled street as he headed toward the light on Hudson. When he reached the intersection, he strained his eyes to see where the maze of tracks led.
The thought returned as he mulled over which way to turn at the light…
What if the man had been shadowing Tracy all this time since that night, just waiting for the perfect time to nab her? And now he was going to see to it that she never told the police what she had witnessed?
Tom grimaced. In the true spirit of his unabashed selfishness, he had essentially allowed Tracy Adams to become an open target to a brutal rapist. By going his merry way to avoid the muck and mire of any potential life-ruining consequences, he had left the poor girl alone and vulnerable to one uber-scary son of a bitch.
Nice going, Tom, you lowlife prick…
And now there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it. There were crisscrossing sets of tracks leading in all three directions beyond the light: straight-ahead, to the left and to the right.
Got a coin? he asked himself in desperation.
Aware that the odds were against his catching up with Tracy’s abductor, he resolved to do what he should have done in the first place.
Call the cops.
He reached for his cell phone, flipped it open and saw that it was still as dead as it was before. Swearing to himself, he turned left and headed toward Summit Street again. He drove too fast and nearly rear-ended a car as he pulled up to the same pay phone he had used to call 911 the night of the crime. He jumped out and fumbled in his pocket for a quarter, grabbed the handset and dropped in the coin. There was no dial tone, just utter silence.
Shit!
Tom slammed the phone down onto the hook so violently that his whole arm hurt. Then a weak smile came to his face as an idea came to him. He headed back to Tracy’s apartment building, got out and ran up the rear stairway. Outside her door, he knelt down and ran his fingers along the bottom of the threshold until he felt a seam in the siding. He pulled out on the seam and groped around until he felt the key wedged between the siding and the wood. He withdrew the key and plunged it into the keyhole.
Tom had learned about Tracy’s secret hiding place for the spare key the night they had gotten drunk at a local club. They had returned to her apartment only to discover that she had locked herself out. He could still see the sly grin on her lovely face as she produced the key and giggled so hard that she could hardly get it into the keyhole.
Tom opened the door and stepped inside. He cursed to himself as he realized he should have brought his flashlight. He headed blindly toward the kitchen in the darkness, picking his way from memory. He reached the kitchen, located the gas stove and turned on one of the burners. In the pale blue light, he fished though all of the drawers until he found a flashlight.
He turned on the light and saw the wall phone mounted near the doorway. He picked up the phone and started to dial 911, glancing at the “things to do” dry erase board mounted beside the phone. Tom’s heart skipped a beat as he read Tracy’s even handwriting:
Columbus P.D. 4:30. Detective Collins.
So that’s what had happened, Tom thought. Tracy must have made an appointment with the cops to give her statement on the crime earlier today. And somehow the perp found out and came after her!
Tom pressed in the three numbers. The phone was dead.
Of course.
He replaced the phone and debated what to do. He could drive to the nearest police station, but wasn’t even sure where it was located. Then another idea came to him.
He recalled that Tracy had a second cell phone that she had planned on giving her grandmother the next time she visited her. He could only hope she hadn’t yet made the trip to the nursing home in Toledo. If he could find that phone and it was charged up, he would be in luck.
Tom dashed out of the kitchen and entered the living room. The last time he had seen the phone, it was plugged into the wall near the entertainment center. He walked over and shone the flashlight around but didn’t see it. He opened one of the drawers and spotted the phone lying on top of the clutter. He nearly cried out in joy.
He pulled it out and pressed the power button. There was a brief pause before he heard the welcome chime and saw the LCD screen glow brightly.
After it booted up, he observed the battery status bar. Fully charged. And he had three bars of reception.
Tom punched in 911 and held his breath. After two rings, there was a connection.
“What is your emergency?” a woman’s voice said.
” I want to report an abduction.”
“When did this abduction occur and who was abducted?”
“It was just a few minutes ago,” Tom replied. He hesitated before continuing, realizing that he was about to spill all of the beans. He no longer cared.
“Tracy Adams.”
“And what is your relationship to the victim?”
Tom nearly hung up, but knew he couldn’t. He was just going to have to go all the way with this. “I am a friend of hers.”