What to do? She wasn’t even sure it was the same van that had pulled out of Ray’s place. It sure looked like the same van. A commercial type, no windows on the side. Should she drive in, pull up to the pump right alongside? See whose elbow that was? Whether there was anyone else in the van?
All she could think of was Allison Fitch, the dead couple in Chicago. If the people who’d killed them had figured out Ray had been to the apartment, then—
The man replaced the cap on the van’s gas tank, replaced the pump, and went into the Exxon to pay. So he was using cash, since you could use your card at the pump if you wanted to.
Lots of people paid cash.
But if you didn’t want a record of where you’ve been, you sure wouldn’t use credit.
Before Julie could decide what to do, the decision was made for her. The man returned to the van, getting in on the passenger side. The taillight came on—just one, so this was the right van—and the truck pulled out of the station and got back on the road.
Julie took her foot off the brake, and followed. She kept well back. There weren’t that many cars on the road this time of night, and the van was big and boxy, and white, so it wasn’t hard to keep it in sight.
The van slowed a couple of times at intersections, like the driver didn’t know where they were, or which way to go. But soon the van found its way onto the interstate, and got on the southbound.
Which, if you followed it for a couple of hours, would take you into New York City.
Julie glanced down at her fuel gauge. About half a tank. She hoped to God that wherever this van was going, it got there before she ran out of gas.
ONCE they were on the highway, Julie stayed well back so as not to make the driver of the van suspicious. Her phone was somewhere on the floor in front of the passenger seat. She unbuckled her seat belt, and through some precarious contortions managed to reach the phone with her right hand, her head dipping below the dashboard, while still keeping the car going in a straight line.
Glancing back and forth between her phone and the road, she called the Promise Falls police, identified herself as a reporter for the Standard, and asked to speak to Detective Barry Duckworth.
“He’s off duty,” the dispatcher said.
“Well then fucking get him at home and tell him to call me!” Julie said.
“Excuse me?” the dispatcher said.
Julie rattled off her cell phone number. “Just have him call me, okay? It’s about the Kilbrides.”
“We’ll see,” the dispatcher said frostily, and hung up.
Shit, Julie thought. She’d come on too strong. She didn’t like her chances that the dispatcher would pass on her message.
Seconds after the dispatcher ended the call, a police car screamed past Julie in the passing lane, giving her a momentary heart attack. At first, illogically, she thought it had something to do with her call to the Promise Falls cops, but this was a New York State police car, the kind that regularly patrolled the interstate.
Julie watched as it continued to speed away from her, but as it got closer to the van it slipped into the lane behind it, rode there for a minute or so, and then the flashing lights came on.
“Yes!” Julie said as the van pulled over to the shoulder.
Julie did the same, killing her lights, but she kept driving along the shoulder, closing the distance between herself and the patrol car, so she could get a better look at what was going on. She figured if Ray and Thomas were actually being held against their will in that van, as she suspected, this would be the end of it. This would be their rescue.
The cop—it looked like a woman from here—approached the van. She shared some words with the driver, probably asking for license and registration. Then she went back to the cop car, got in, and sat there while the van waited.
“Come on, come on,” Julie said aloud.
A good three minutes went by before the cop got back out of her car and returned the paperwork to the driver. Then—hello, what was this? The driver—it was a woman, a blonde—was getting out, coming around to the back of the van with the cop.
She wants her to open up the back.
“Open the door open the door open the door.”
But just as the blonde had her hand on the lever, the cop turned and ran back to her cruiser, hopped in, and sped away.
“No!”
Julie could guess what had happened. Another, more urgent call had taken priority.
Maybe, when the trooper was talking to the driver, she’d noticed something in the back that raised her suspicions. Not actual bodies. If she’d thought she’d seen bodies—living or dead—she wouldn’t have headed off to another call. A large box, maybe? Some kind of container big enough to contain a body?
She had to have seen something.
“Shit,” Julie said as the flashing lights of the police car faded away in the distance. The woman got back into the van, and seconds later it continued on its way.
So did Julie.
Almost twenty minutes later, Julie’s cell rang. She answered without looking to see who it was.
“Hello.”
“Detective Duckworth here. What’s so important you have to get abusive with our dispatcher, Ms. McGill?”