“That’d be great. I figured I’d just have to go shopping. I’ve got a suitcase in the hall closet.”
“I take it you heard the news,” Vail said as she navigated a turn on the dark street and accelerated.
“About my father? Once I saw that deputy lying there, I knew. That’s why I’m not telling anyone where I am. And now that my father knows I’m not at my house, he won’t be going back there. I’m still gonna stay away, though. Who knows if he’s got someone keeping an eye out for me.”
“Why do you think he knows you’re not there?”
“Because he’s smart. And because he knows me. And because he probably saw me drive away—or he searched the house and knew I’d left. It’s the only logical conclusion. Cops have an officer stationed there to protect me, so I’m going to be there, right? He kills the cop and searches the house but I’m not there. Obviously I left when I realized something was wrong. Thank God for that neighbor. If she hadn’t found the body and screamed, I probably would’ve ended up like that cop.”
No one knows that better than me. “I don’t know what more I could’ve done, but I’m sorry you had to go through that. And I’m relieved you got away.”
“What’s being done to find him?”
“Don’t worry about that. We’re working on it. Actually, a whole task force is working on it. Law enforcement is deployed all across the state.” She glanced in her mirror.
No headlights. No one’s following me. Jesus, Karen. Why would anyone be following you? This whole business with Marcks and the task force and Jasmine’s paranoia—although well deserved—had spooked her. Not an easy thing to do.
“Let’s meet tomorrow. I need to go through some things with you about your dad, things that may help us find him. And I’ll go by your place on the way. Okay? A quick breakfast. My treat.”
“Only if you make sure you’re not followed. Can you do that?”
“I’ve got some experience with that, yeah. Text me the time and location and I’ll be there.”
14
The Virginia winter was proving more brutal than Roscoe Lee Marcks had remembered. The sweaters and knit shirts that he had pilfered from a house owned by the Jensen family somewhere along the way between Strasburg and Cub Run had reached the limits of their insulating capacity.
The bottle of foundation he found in the wife’s bathroom drawer helped cover some of the bruising on his face, while the car he had taken from the Jensens’ garage—though nothing special—was proving useful. He had parked it a mile down the road in an area not visible from the street to prevent the cops from finding it and proceeded on foot in search of shelter. He had to stay hydrated and fed, and avoid the extreme overnight cold.
The flashlight he borrowed from the Jensens’ kitchen, however, was not as serviceable. It was the type that used an old incandescent bulb, which produced a pathetically dim beam that had diminished significantly in the past fifteen minutes. Its yellow hue covered only a few feet in front of him.
However, at some point this afternoon, he lost the cell phone Sue Olifante had bought him. He had made the calls he needed to, so it was not a tragedy, but having it would have made life easier. Where it was, he had no idea—it could be somewhere along the side of a rural road or buried in a snowdrift where he had stopped to take a piss. He knew that in the hands of law enforcement—if they figured out it was his—it would provide them with some insight as to who he had contacted … and how to apprehend him. He hoped it would remain where he had left it, untouched.
But of course he could not take a chance. He had to alter his approach.
It was merely another obstacle he would have to overcome. Hell, he had escaped a maximum-security facility. Whatever lay ahead might be considered infinitely easier.
He now trudged along in a rustic, forested area that was dotted with occasional homes. Some two dozen yards in the distance, illuminated slightly by the faint moonlight that made its way through the barren tree branches, was a clapboard house and, more importantly, what looked like a large detached shed. A bedroom with a mattress, running water, and toilet was unquestionably better—and he had no compunction about doing what was necessary to the home’s inhabitants—but the fewer breadcrumbs he left in his wake, the better. He could hide in the shed, get some sleep, and map out a plan of action in the morning.
The problem he had now—how to find Jasmine—was at the crux of all he had to solve. Everything else was a matter of survival … though he had to stop and take a deep breath of chilled air from time to time, smell the flowers, enjoy his freedom for as long as it lasted.