“I don’t feel very tough right now.”
“You do your art, you teach kids, you get out of bed every day and go about life. You’re a caring and compassionate person with a huge heart when you have every reason not to be any of that. That’s an enormous victory, Alex, don’t let anyone ever tell you it’s not.”
She looked unsure, but gripped his arm, and said, “I think I’m starting to remember some things... about that night.”
“I think you are, too,” he said softly.
“But it’s still not there yet. I can’t... I don’t know... who...” She looked at him miserably.
“There’s no rush on this, Alex, none at all. You take your time and just let it happen naturally, or as naturally as it can be.” He drew closer. “But look, one thing you can’t do is tell anyone that you’re starting to remember things, okay?”
She looked up at him, and he could tell Alex knew exactly what he was leaving unsaid, because Devine felt to say it out loud now might do damage to her, real damage. But he didn’t want anyone stopping her from fully remembering either. It was a tricky balance, and Devine was not confident in his ability to get it right.
“What did you remember?” He knew what she was going to say, because Annie Palmer had told him. But Devine wanted to hear Alex say it, if she remembered.
“That it was a friend. That it was someone I knew who... hurt me.” She kneaded a finger into the side of her head. “It’s right up here, Travis. The name. I know it is. If I could only make it come out.”
“Sometimes the harder you try to make something happen, particularly with your mind, the tougher it becomes to actually get to where you want to go. You will remember who it was, Alex. And when you do, you tell me, and then that person will be held accountable.”
“Do you really think he was the one who hurt Jenny?”
He hesitated, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to the woman. Not now. Not in the precarious state she was in. “I think he was, yes.”
“When it happened, I was stunned. I couldn’t believe it. Believe that someone, anyone, could do that to... Jenny. She was so strong, so...”
“...invincible?” suggested Devine.
She looked up at him with her big, sad eyes. “Yes.”
“The thing is, Alex, none of us are invincible, not a single one of us. And that includes the person who hurt you and killed your sister. And when we find him, he will come to realize that clear as day. I give you my word on that.”
“I’ve never met anyone quite like you,” she said, a smile breaking through the gloom in her expression.
“I can say the same about you.”
She slowly wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head against his chest. “Thank you, Travis.”
And Devine held the woman as tightly as he could because he knew better than most that either of them could be gone tomorrow, which was promised to no one.
Chapter 55
“My God, Devine, you are a one-man trouble magnet,” exclaimed Fuss as she examined Devine’s shot-up car outside the police station. “Did you get a good look at them?”
“The shooter I saw had on a ski mask. I already told you about the vehicle. I didn’t get the plate because there were no plates. They had at least one shotgun and one MP5.”
“How in the hell did you get away, again?”
He didn’t want to tell her about the unexpected aid from quarters unknown. “Outdrove them.”
“But this happened last night and you didn’t call us,” she said. “Why?”
“I didn’t want you guys walking into a trap where you were outmanned and outgunned. I did pass it along to my superiors. They’re following it up.”
“Same people as the other time, you figure?”
“Probably, with a fresh crew,” noted Devine. “Where’s the closest airport?”
“The closest major airport is in Bar Harbor. They have twin asphalt runways, and commercial and private jets can land there.”
“Then my people can check the flight data there for the last couple of days and see if something pops.”
“What are you going to do for wheels? You’ll freeze to death in that thing. And the windshield crack’s gotten so big I’d have to ticket you. And there’s no rental place around.”
“I made other arrangements.”
As he finished speaking, Annie Palmer drove up in her grandfather’s old pickup truck. Her scooter was tied down in the truck bed.
She rolled down the window. “It’s not fancy but it does run and the heater works. And it has one of those old track tape player things and a box of tapes. My granddad was a big fan of some guy named Hendrix and a band called... the Doors?”
Devine cracked a grin. “Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison, what more does one need? I’ll drive you back to the Brew and offload your scooter.”
“Thanks.”
Devine turned to Fuss. “I’ll let you know what we find out.”
“Thanks. And don’t get this truck shot up, okay?” warned Fuss.
Palmer looked surprised and then noted the shattered condition of Devine’s Tahoe, with particular focus on the small holes in the windshield.
“Wait, are those—”
Devine opened the driver’s side door. “Slide over. You have hungry customers also craving caffeine and I’m one of them.”
As they drove off she said, “What did you mean last night when you said someone killed my grandfather?”
“I’ll explain all that later, I promise. But I need to think it through and then dig up some more facts, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, though she didn’t look or sound happy about it.
He dropped Palmer and her scooter off at Maine Brew, had some breakfast, and got back into the truck.
He saw Earl’s box of tapes, which was on the floorboard. “Damn,” he said to himself as he looked at the array of works by iconic musicians.
A master sergeant he’d served with overseas had taught him about sixties rock-and-roll and it was now Devine’s favorite genre of music. A minute later he was listening to Hendrix bang out “The Star Spangled Banner” like no one else ever could, even with the left-handed Hendrix playing the right-handed guitar upside down. And the Kinks, the Who, and the Grateful Dead were all up on deck.
He tapped the steering wheel in rhythm with the music while he drove to the location where he’d seen the light on the shore. He pulled onto the shoulder, got out, and walked in that direction. And then he understood why this spot had been chosen. Amid the rock there was a short stretch of sandy beach. He didn’t think anyone would want to wade through waist-high icy water to get to shore once the rocks kept the smaller boat from proceeding any further. But here they could have run right up on the beach, dropped off whatever, and the boat would have returned to the larger vessel out in the Gulf of Maine. He walked around to see if he could find any evidence of the people who had been here the previous night, like a cigarette butt or a footprint, but there was nothing. They had come and gone without leaving a trace. Devine figured this was not their first rodeo doing whatever they were doing.
He got back into the truck and drove the short distance to where the Escalade had rammed the Tahoe and started firing at him. He saw lots of shiny glass shards from his back window and the windshield, and the part of the Tahoe’s rear bumper that had been torn off with the impact between the two trucks. He found some shell casings and pocketed them. He doubted he would ever find a gun to match them to, but one never knew.
Devine then walked to the spot where the Escalade had spun off the road. The ground was all chewed up here but he could see the tire tracks clearly. He also noted where the SUV had gone back on the road. So it had not been disabled, but merely knocked out of the chase by the anonymous shots.