“I don’t get it,” Rey Carraneo said.
She explained that Pell’s partner had probably set the bomb and left the fireproof bag outside the door; it had contained the fire suit and a knife. Maybe a universal cuff or shackle key too. After he’d disarmed Juan Millar, Pell had donned the garment and run through the flames to the tree marked with the orange tag, where the partner had hidden some civilian clothes. He’d changed and sprinted off.
She lifted the Motorola and reported what she’d found, then gestured an MCSO crime scene officer over and gave him the evidence.
Carraneo called her to a patch of earth not far away. “Footprints.” Several impressions, about four feet apart—left by someone running. They were clearly Pell’s; he’d left distinctive prints outside the fire door of the courthouse. The two CBI agents started jogging in the direction they led.
Pell’s footsteps ended at a nearby street, San Benito Way, along which were vacant lots, a liquor store, a dingy taqueria, a quick-copy and shipping franchise, a pawnshop and a bar.
“So here’s where the partner picked him up,” Carraneo said, looking up and down San Benito.
“But there’s another street on the other side of the courthouse. It’s two hundred feet closer. Why here?”
“More traffic there?”
“Could be.” Dance squinted as she scanned the area, coughing again. Finally she caught her breath and her eyes focused across the street. “Come on, let’s move!”
The man, in his late twenties, wearing shorts and a Worldwide Express uniform shirt, drove his green panel truck through the streets of downtown Salinas. He was intensely aware of the gun barrel resting on his shoulder and he was crying. “Look, mister, I don’t know what this is about, really, but we don’t carry cash. I’ve got about fifty on me, personal money, and you’re welcome—”
“Give me your wallet.” The hijacker wore shorts, a windbreaker and an Oakland A’s cap. His face was streaked with soot and part of his beard was burned off. He was middle-aged but thin and strong. He had weird light blue eyes.
“Whatever you want, mister. Just don’t hurt me. I’ve got a family.”
“Wal-let?”
It took stocky Billy a few moments to pry the billfold out of his tight shorts. “Here!”
The man flipped through it. “Now, William Gilmore, of three-four-three-five Rio Grande Avenue, Marina, California, father of these two fine children, if the photo gallery’s up to date.”
Dread unraveled inside him.
“And husband of this lovely wife. Look at those curls. Natural, I’ll bet any money. Hey, keep your eyes on the road. Swerved a bit there. And keep going where I told you.” Then the hijacker said, “Hand me your cell phone.”
His voice was calm. Calm is good. It means he’s not going to do anything sudden or stupid.
Billy heard the man punch in a number.
“’Lo. It’s me. Write this down.” He repeated Billy’s address. “He’s got a wife and two kids. Wife’s real pretty. You’ll like the hair.”
Billy whispered, “Who’s that you’re calling? Please, mister…Please. Take the truck, take anything. I’ll give you as much time as you want to get away. An hour. Two hours. Just don’t—”
“Shhhh.” The man continued his phone conversation. “If I don’t show up, that’ll mean I didn’t make it through the roadblocks because William here wasn’t convincing enough. You go visit his family. They’re all yours.”
“No!” Billy twisted around and lunged for the phone.
The gun muzzle touched his face. “Keep driving, son. Not a good time to run off the road.” The hijacker snapped the phone shut and put it into his own pocket.
“William…You go by Bill?”
“Billy mostly, sir.”
“So, Billy, here’s the situation. I escaped from that jail back there.”
“Yessir. That’s fine with me.”
The man laughed. “Well, thank you. Now you heard me on the phone. You know what I want you to do. You get me through any roadblocks, I’ll let you go and no harm’ll come to your family.”
Face fever hot, belly churning with fear, Billy wiped his round cheeks.
“You’re no threat to me. Everybody knows my name and what I look like. I’m Daniel Pell and my picture’ll be all over the noon news. So I don’t have any reason to hurt you, long as you do what I say.
Now, summon up some calm. You’ve got to stay focused. If the police stop you I want a cheerful and curious deliveryman, frowning and asking about what happened back in town. All that smoke, all that mess. My, my. You get the idea?”
“Please, I’ll do anything—”
“Billy, I know you were listening to me. I don’t need you to doanything. I need you to do what I asked.
That’s all. What could be simpler?”
Chapter 6
Kathryn Dance and Carraneo were in the You Mail It franchise on San Benito Way, where they’d just learned that a package delivery company, Worldwide Express, had made its daily morning drop-off moments after the escape.
A to B to X…
Dance realized that Pell could commandeer the truck to get past the roadblocks and called the Worldwide Express Salinas operations director, who confirmed that the driver on that route had missed all remaining scheduled deliveries. Dance got the tag number of his truck and relayed it to the MCSO.
They returned to Sandy Sandoval’s office, coordinating the efforts to find the vehicle. Unfortunately, there were twenty-five Worldwide trucks in the area, so Dance told the director to order the other drivers to pull over immediately at the nearest gas station. The truck that kept moving would contain Daniel Pell.
This was taking some time, though. The director had to call them on their cell phones, since a radio broadcast would alert Pell that they knew about his means of escape.