He tried to think this through. Whoever lived in the cabin was gone. He decided that if a car approached from in front of him a car returning-he would hide. But if a car or truck happened to approach him from behind-a car headed south, a car headed out of here-he would flag it down. He prided himself on his logic; the fact that he was able once again to think clearly restored some of his confidence and helped to calm him. He pumped hard and continued to run.
As time wore on, he considered flagging down any car he saw.
He encountered an intersection and then immediately another one.
Here finally was an obvious landmark, but he had left his map in his pack! He sized up the dim glow of the retreating sun and continued south toward eventual civilization.
Elden Tegg was on his way to the farm to check his patient when he first spotted the boot prints coming down his road. These tracks stretched in a length and stride that indicated a hard run. His heart began to beat frantically. His cabin and kennel were at the end of this dirt track, nothing else. Nothing else! Fresh tracks at that, he realized.
Maybeck's warning of the night before echoed in his head. "The police!"
He drove quickly, skidding to a stop as he reached his property.
The boot tracks led directly from the kennel!
For a moment he found it hard to catch his breath-him, Dr. Calm!
He leapt from the car, following the prints like a trapper, his fingers groping for his keys. Self-control was all-important. His strength. He settled himself and observed the scene before him.
Whoever it was had stopped in front of the kennel door, but there was only the one set of tracks: He he hadn't made it inside. Tegg lost the prints in or s the grass around the side of the structure. His mind through a dozen possibilities, but he didn't race like where any of them led: back to those tracks.
He unlocked the door, hurried inside and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw his captive in her cage, locked up tight. Bewildered, she didn't utter a word before he left and locked the structure again.
How old were these tracks? Minutes? Hours? He had not seen anyone on the road, but there were dozens of roads out here. Was he too late? Had the intruder taken a different road than he?
He jumped back into the Trooper and headed down the road as fast as the car would safely take him.
He followed the tracks on the edge of the road like a bloodhound.
At the end of the lane they turned right. So did Tegg.. These boot prints dragged on for what seemed like miles, the distance between each print narrowing and after a while indicating the hiker was walking. Good, Tegg thought, walking is slower. He was still extremely nervous, once nearly foreign condition for him, but one that was beginning to seem familiar. He took long, deep breaths and calmed himself.
He reached the double-triangle intersection, where the aqueduct crossed the South Fork, and saw at once why he had not passed the hiker on the way in: He had followed the roads due south, but had taken the fork that eventually wound its way east to the reservoir. There was a lot of open road out here. Tegg drove faster, worried now. There might be people at the reservoir. He didn't want this hiker reaching anyone.
He rounded a long, sweeping corner. A hundred yards ahead of him, he spotted the hiker.
As the hiker heard the vehicle, he-a black man-turned and waved his arms frantically. Tegg felt the blood pounding in his ears. He slowed the vehicle and rolled down his window. The hiker was young and handsome, with anxious eyes. "Please," the young man pleaded. "I need a ride. I need some help."
"Help? Are you in trouble?"
"Please!" Tegg said, "Hop in," releasing the car's power door lock, wondering how next to handle this. As the boy climbed in, Tegg felt charged with a keen sense of power. He couldn't weaken.
He couldn't allow his fear to show. He asked his passenger to buckle up. He took control. "Where are we?" the young man asked. "Are you lost?"
"Among other things. My car's out here somewhere."
"Engine trouble?"
"No." The boy hesitated. He asked carefully, "Are you from around here?"
Tegg considered this briefly. A test. "No," he answered. "I have some work out at the reservoir." He pointed. "The reservoir is this direction?"
"'Yes, it is."
"Stop the car!"
Tegg slowed. "Problems?"
"I have to go the other way." He shook his head.
"Oh, man, did I ever fuck up."
Tegg slowed the car to a crawl. "Can I help?"
"Could you?"
"Well, I wouldn't exactly feel right about abandoning you out here. What exactly is the problem?"
Hysterical, Michael Washington ranted and raved about being lost, about dogs, a woman's voice, and needing help. Something linking sexual perverts to backpackers. "Calm down a minute," Tegg said, trying to convince himself as much as his passenger. He pulled to the side of the road. Stopping the car won the boy's full attention. Little people were so predictable. "I'm telling you, there's a woman up there who needs help!"
"You saw her? " Tegg wondered if his heart could endure this. The wheel was slippery from the sweat on his palms. He let go of the wheel.
An expression of doubt crossed the young man's face. It dissipated quickly as he reminded himself emphatically, "The barn was locked."
"A barn?"
"More like a small hangar. A Quonset hut. There were dogs."
"A kennel?"
"It was a woman, I'm telling you."
Tegg explained, "Well, we can be at the Sheriff's in about thirty minutes. Or we could call." He pointed to his cellular phone. "I can get a clear signal a few miles down the road. But you better have your story straight."
"Meaning?"
"Your name?"
"Michael."
"Michael, have you ever heard a cat at night? Hmm?
Have you ever heard that peculiar screaming of a cat during fornication and thought you heard a woman?" Now Tegg's hitchhiker looked puzzled. "Don't get me wrong-Im not telling you what you heard. I wasn't there. You're the one who'll explain it to the Sheriff, but you mentioned dogs and that made me think of cats and how much they can sound like a woman. A woman screaming. Cats fornicating. A mountain lion can sound that way. What was it you said you heard?"
His passenger didn't answer at first. Then he stated emphatically, "I heard a woman scream."
Tegg added, "I don't know how you feel about involving the cops, but they're not my favorite people. Were you on private property? Was that property posted? Did you have the owner's permission to be there? They ask you things like that. Don't forget that."
"I know that. I also know what I heard."
"And you're prepared to deal with them? Fine." Tegg went through the motions of pretending to engage the car. "You ask me, cops are stupid. They're little people."
"What choice is there? I have to do something." He added, "And what about those dogs?"
Tegg nodded. The important thing was to remain in control, to give this person the sense that he, Tegg, had all the answers, even though he was making this up on the fly. The key to such manipulation was in allowing the other person to believe that all the good ideas were his. To fill in gaps that were never left in the first place. For so many animals in the wild, the key to survival, the way they snared their prey, was through convincing camouflage. Tegg knew his most effective camouflage was to appear to be this man's friend. How quickly we place our trust in those we like. And Tegg could be quite likable when he tried. "Listen, if you're saying I should go back there with you," Tegg suggested, "I suppose that makes some good sense. It's a good idea. The police are certainly more likely to believe the two of us, aren't they? Of course they are!" He didn't wait for an acknowledgment; he had the boy right where he wanted him: confused. No one likes to disclaim authorship of a good idea. He turned the car around. He would have to pretend he didn't know the way.