A dark brow went up, but Ty didn’t see it, she was watching a small Fiat pass. When they were driving again, he said, “That’s because you’ve got great instincts, Ty. I don’t know whether the hypnosis will help, but neither does the killer. And with Leigh more cognizant now, able to understand better, maybe she’ll be able to put something more together about what happened, with or without hypnosis. So you nailed it. Protecting her is our priority.” He turned to face her. “But next time you get inspired like that, try not to be driving in a downpour. You can stop worrying about it now. Chief Masters is on it.” He paused a moment, looking out into the rain. “You know, Ty, this still feels like a Serial to me, but maybe something more, too, something we’re not seeing, something we don’t yet understand. I still wonder if it comes back to the Sparrows.”
She whipped the steering wheel left to take the exit to Willicott, skidded, and straightened. She gave him a manic grin. “Sorry again. I nearly missed it. You’re right. But the Sparrows aren’t throwing their clients in Lake Massey, not those three people we met. Their parents? Nah, it doesn’t feel right, either. Well, I could be wrong, it’s happened on rare occasion, but not this time.”
He held on as she turned onto the twisty lake road that wound through and around hills and crossed bridges over deep gullies, always hugging the lake. There was scarcely ever any traffic at night on this road and none tonight, what with the heavy rain that had started right after they left Washington. Who would choose to drive in this weather with no guardrails and the occasional fifty-foot drop?
Sala said, “The lake looks like a black hole through the rain and the shadows of those hills.”
Ty drove around a curve and there, right in front of her, was something huge and black. She slammed on the brakes, sawing the steering wheel to avoid a skid this time. The brakes stopped them hard a few yards short of a large construction truck, sitting like a dark monolith in the middle of the road. A few more yards, she thought, her heart galloping, and they could have been badly hurt, her truck bashed in on them.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” she said, her hand over her kettledrumming heart. “I’d like to know why someone parked a fricking construction truck in the middle of the road on a dark, rainy night, no hazard lights, no nothing. This really burns me. I’m going to go bust some chops.” She jerked open the door, but before she could jump out, Sala grabbed her arm and pulled her back in, slammed the door closed. “No, don’t move. I saw this too many times in Afghanistan. It’s an ambush. Kill your lights.”
She did. “What? An ambush? Us? Who would want to ambush us?” Her breathing hitched. “You’re thinking the killer’s worried we know too much? But Sala, there would be lots more cops to take our place. Why try to kill us?”
He shoved her down. “We’ll talk about it later. Call 911, Ty. Get your people here as fast as possible.” He listened to her speak to her dispatcher, Marla Able, then punch off.
“Do you have a bullhorn?”
She stretched over the seat and pulled it out from the back.
Sala opened his window and shoved the bullhorn out and shouted, “Whoever you are, drop your weapon, put your hands on your head, and come out. We’ve called for backup.”
There was silence, no answer. He pulled her down to the floor of the truck beside him. She said, “I’ve never made all my five foot ten inches fit into such a small space before.”
He patted her back. Good, she’d made a joke.
“Sala, maybe I can slowly back us out of here.”
“Nah, no reason to take a chance. Let’s wait for your deputies. Charlie, right?”
“Yes, and Paula and Doug.” Ty started to whine about cramping up, but she thought of the three or four inches Sala had on her and the fifty pounds and said, “So you think he was expecting us to get out of the truck, come and investigate.”
“That was what he’d be counting on, yes.”
“Thank you for stopping me, then. I was about to jump out of the truck and run to that huge behemoth, all full of righteous indignation and anger. I could be stone-cold dead.”
“Ty, listen.”
There it was, the faint blast of a siren.
Ty’s cell rang. Charlie shouted, his voice hyped with adrenaline, “Ty, are you all right? What’s happening? I’m nearly there.”
“Charlie, it could be your siren scared him off. If you see a car or a truck hightailing it away from our position, go after it. We’re fine. Are Paula and Doug close?”
“They’re some minutes behind me, both had to come from home. I see a big honker construction truck in the distance sitting in the middle of the road and part of your truck behind it. I’m going to approach from my side. Meet you there?”
Ty called her other two deputies, sent them to Willowby Road to cut off that exit. She punched off, said to Sala, “Time to find out if you’re right, Sala.”
She pulled a flashlight out of the glove compartment. They stepped out of the truck, using the doors for cover, and into the deluge.
They heard Charlie’s siren nearly to them.
“If the attacker is still around, he’s an idiot,” Ty said. They saw the bright lights of Charlie’s truck illuminate the big black construction truck in the middle of the road.
Charlie left the lights on but turned off the engine. Ty shouted, “Charlie, you see anything? Anyone?”
“No! Not a thing. No one’s here.”
Slowly Ty and Sala, guns at the ready, walked to the construction truck. Charlie’s flashlight lit up the inside. He opened the truck door and leaned in. When he straightened, he raised a piece of paper in his hand. “Look at this, Ty.”
Ty and Sala read the big block letters:
BROKE DOWN. IN TOWN.
The three of them looked at one another. Charlie said, “Well, guys, better be safe than sorry, my mom always says. Hey, Chief, you okay? Looks like a false alarm. I’ll go find the truck driver, get him taken care of, okay?” He pulled out his cell. “I’ll give Paula and Doug a call, tell them false alarm and to go back home.”
Ty could only nod. She saw that Sala was holding himself stiffly, and he was quiet, too quiet. She took his arm. “Let’s go home, Sala, have a nice cup of tea. This little adventure might have put a white hair in my head.”
He nodded, but didn’t smile.
62
* * *
Ty found herself nearly mesmerized by the slap and glide of the windshield wipers, metronome steady. She’d laughed about Charlie’s call reporting he’d found the truck driver in the all-night diner on Route 37, drinking a Bud and full of apologies. She’d fallen silent, watching those windshield wipers.
Sala was staring straight ahead, sitting very still, like if he moved, he’d shatter. She opened her mouth but shut it. I saw this too many times in Afghanistan.
When he saw the construction truck sitting in the middle of the road, had he been thrown back into his horrific experiences there with ambushes? He’d reacted immediately. On top of what he’d gone through in Afghanistan, then being tied up and left to die in the closet at Gatewood, no wonder his mind went to the worst-case scenario. Was it automatic? Was it a form of PTSD?
The rain came down heavier, and Ty slowed her Silverado to a crawl. They drove through Willicott, deserted, very few lights on. She said, “Sorry, I didn’t even ask you if you would prefer to stay at your place in Washington.”
He didn’t look at her, simply kept staring out the windshield. “I wouldn’t.”
“Good. You want to know why I’m glad you’re with me? I like having you at my cottage to share my morning coffee, to eat my grilled cheese sandwiches with me at midnight. And when we’re lying in the dark waiting for sleep, I like talking with you about the important stuff and unimportant stuff, it doesn’t matter.
“You could have easily saved our lives tonight, Sala. The thick rain, the dark night, the huge truck in the middle of the road, it could have been an ambush. So it was a simple breakdown tonight, who cares? You took action, no dithering about, no questioning yourself. You acted. It was your vigilance in Afghanistan that saved your life. It could have saved our lives tonight.”
“I should have questioned myself. The whole thing was nuts—an ambush on a road in Willicott, Maryland? Not likely.”
“Do you forget we’re closing in on a murderer?”
He shrugged. At least he was talking. She wanted to tell him again she admired his brain, the way he could analyze another person quickly, come to a conclusion that was usually spot-on.
She flip-flopped her hand. “Believe me, what happened tonight was better than an ambush, but, Sala, if it had been the murderer out to kill us, you saved our bacon. You’re a hero.”