Distant Memory (20 page)

“Get in!” he shouted. “Get in, now!” McCullers complied, grimacing as he did. He was in pain.

“I’ll kill those—”

“That’s what you were supposed to do when you went in there,” Massey said as he pulled off slowly down the street. “It was a three-minute job: in, kill, leave. That’s it. But you screwed that up.”

“Hey, you weren’t there. You don’t know what happened.” McCullers shouted back. “They jumped me. But I’ll get them, and I’ll make them pay in the most painful way.”

“You weren’t hired to be a sadist. You were hired to kill a woman. That should have been done in the simplest, most direct way. But you can’t do things that way. You have to have fun in the process. Well, your fun is driving away, and our work is not yet finished.” The houses faded behind them and gave way to a short, isolated stretch of road. Massey remembered it from the drive in.

“Shut up and step on it, they’re getting away.”

Massey pulled to the side and stopped the car.

“Hey, what are you doing? Didn’t you hear me? They’re getting away.”

Massey took a deep breath, then sighed loudly. He backhanded McCullers across the face, striking his already swollen nose. The man screamed in pain, then pulled his right hand back, ready to bury his fist in Massey’s face. He stopped when he felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed hard into his cheek. “What … what are you doing?” he shouted.

“Give me the gun and get out.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Give me the gun and get out. Now!” Massey’s voice had turned hard and cold. He cocked the hammer back on the nine millimeter.

“You gave me your gun,” McCullers said with confusion.

“That’s the difference between us, McCullers, aside from my being a rational man and your being a buffoon, I mean. You assume everything will go your way and that your plans will never fail. I assume just the opposite. Consequently, I’m prepared. Do you think I would give you my only gun and leave myself unarmed, especially after our little incident with the family in the van? I imagine you have a bone to pick with me over that.”

“You sucker-punched me.”

“Get out.”

“Your boss ain’t gonna like you letting the woman get away.”

Massey pushed the gun another inch closer to McCullers’s eye.

“Okay, okay, I’m getting out.”

McCullers opened his door and slipped out. “We can talk about this.”

The gun’s report echoed down the street. Massey reholstered his weapon and then set the PT111 in the glove compartment. He sped away, the open door of the car slamming shut from the sudden acceleration. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw the still form of McCullers lying in a heap in the weeds that lined the road. For a brief
moment, the image of the bullet impacting the center of the man’s chest and yielding an ever-widening circle of blood flashed across his mind. It brought no remorse. It had been a long time since he had done anything like that. It almost felt good.

“Idiot,” he said with disgust. A quarter-mile down the street, he pulled over again, reached into the backseat, and removed the yet unopened briefcase, the one in which the extra gun had been concealed. He removed a white plastic box with a four-inch-square screen in the middle. He switched on the electronic device. The green screen came to life. A series of buttons lined the left and right sides of the display. He entered some commands. A second later a map appeared on the monitor in yellow-green lines. A small triangle moved along one of the streets. The GPS tracking system was working perfectly. Because he’d had the foresight to order McCullers to plant the tracer on the car, he knew exactly where she was and what direction she was going.

“It’s time we put an end to this nonsense,” he said aloud as he pulled back onto the street and began his leisurely pursuit.

“Are they following?” Nick asked.

“No,” Lisa answered softly. She looked in the mirror again. “You were right; he wasn’t alone. A car pulled up to our friend right after we left. The man got in and started to follow. I thought they were going to chase us, but then he pulled off.”

“Maybe the man is too injured to give chase.” Nick leaned forward and rubbed his leg.

“Maybe.” That couldn’t be right. Something else was going on. Her subconscious screamed warnings, but she couldn’t understand the message. She did, however, understand the intent. “How’s the leg?”

“The pain has let up some, but it’s swelling.”

“And the arm?”

He opened his shirt and pulled it down to reveal a long gash just below the shoulder. Lisa suppressed a shudder.

“The bleeding has stopped. It just grazed me. I can’t tell you how much it hurts.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“How about you?” Nick asked

“I feel like I’ve been through the accident all over again. My side burns, my head hurts … everything hurts.”

“I imagine we’ll be feeling a lot more pain when the adrenaline stops.”

“Let’s talk about something else—like what do we do now?”

“Did you get a good look at the car or the driver?” Nick asked.

“It’s too dark to see much. I didn’t see the driver at all. All I saw of the car was that it was a dark sedan.”

“That’s not much help. That could describe several thousand cars in the area.”

“Actually, I think we may be overlooking a bigger problem,” Lisa said. Her mind was racing, analyzing. It was as if someone had thrown a switch in her brain, releasing a thousand watts of mental energy.

“I don’t need any more bad news.”

“It may be coming anyway,” Lisa said. “How did they find us?”

Nick stared out the window. “I was wondering that myself. It’s not like I hung a sign on the front door. And what did that guy want?”

“To kill me,” Lisa said. She swallowed hard. Saying the words had been easy; hearing herself saying them was painful.

“But why?”

“Two attempts in less than twenty-four hours. I must have made someone mad. I’m so sorry to have gotten you involved.”

“It was my own doing. We need to find a place to regroup. Maybe get some help.”

“No police,” Lisa said. “I don’t know why, but my gut says that’s a bad idea.” Nick didn’t object. “I need to get you to a hospital,” she said.

“Not if you want to avoid the police,” Nick replied. “All gunshot wounds have to be reported. One look at my arm, and some doctor or nurse will be picking up the phone.”

“I could drop you off,” she suggested. “That way—”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Nick stated flatly. “Not until this is over.”

“I don’t need a protector.”

Nick laughed. “I think you do.”

Lisa knew he was right. If it hadn’t been for Nick’s heroics, she would be dead on the floor of his living room. A thought struck her: “Your license-plate number. Could they have traced that? You left the number at the motel, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but that wouldn’t work,” Nick explained. “I work out of my home, but the truck is registered to a different address. I’m a little paranoid about strangers knowing where I live.”

“Then how did they find us?”

“Turn right up here,” Nick said. “That will put us back on the 101. Let’s go north. Stay in the right lane. We’ll come to Highway 150 in a few miles. That will take us back into the San Ynez Mountains. There are a few small towns up there. If we’re not being followed, we might find a place to hide out and get our thoughts together.”

“Okay.” Careful of her speed, Lisa drove the car north as Nick directed, glancing in the rearview mirror every few seconds. No one followed them. As she drove, she struggled to bring things into focus. Flapping in her overactive mind was her emotional response to the sight of the rocket launch at Vandenberg, the car crash, the enigmatic Nick, the assault she had just endured, her loss of memory, the ever-present sense of dread.

Highway 150 was an uneven, sinuous affair that demanded all her attention. Groves of oak trees stood sentinel along the road, and thick foliage covered the ground. Quaint houses dotted the hillsides. If she hadn’t been running for her life, the scene would have been beautiful.

Now it was foreboding. What lay behind the trees? Who was hidden in the bushes? What eyes watched as she drove along? What would happen next? Would she survive another encounter?

“Stop,” Hobbs ordered suddenly. He and Tanner had signed out an unmarked highway patrol car and were driving down the frontage road that led to the short row of houses that lined the ocean. “I saw something. Back up.”

“What did you see?”

“On the left, about ten yards back. I think it was a body.” The evening had quickly metamorphosed into night, the sun finally dropping below the horizon. The only light available came from the car’s headlights and the sparse street lamps that cast down an eerie, amber glow.

Tanner quickly pulled a tight U-turn and drove back. Hobbs lowered his window and stared at the passing road. A narrow, weed-filled planter strip separated the street from a chain-link fence. The fence in turn divided the road from the short slope that led up to the freeway.

“There,” Hobbs said, pointing. “It’s a body all right.”

Tanner pulled the car to a stop. As Hobbs stepped from the vehicle, Tanner pulled a beacon from the car and set it on the roof. Pulsating splashes of red light filled the area. “I’ll call for an ambulance.”

“No need,” Hobbs said. Using the car’s spotlight, he had checked out the body. It was that of a middle-aged white male. The body was slumped against the weeds close to the fence. The man’s eyes were open but no longer seeing. His shirt was stained a dark rust color. “He’s dead. Place a call to dispatch and ask the locals to send out a homicide team.”

After Tanner radioed in the report, he joined Hobbs, who stood staring down at the lifeless man. “You know …” he trailed off. “This is the guy. At least one of the guys who impersonated the cops back in
Mojave.” Hobbs stepped to the car and removed the folder he had been carrying throughout the investigation. Removing one of the photos that had been captured from the Pretty Penny Motel security video, he showed it to Tanner. “Does this look like the same guy to you?”

“Yes. He has the same build and same clothes. That’s him, all right.”

“With every step we take, this case gets all the more bizarre.” Hobbs thought for a moment, then looked south down the street. They were a few hundred yards from the row of houses that had been their destination. “I need you to do something else for me.”

“Name it.”

“Get back on the radio and have the homicide boys come in from the north. Let’s keep this quiet for now, keep the neighbors out of this. No sirens.”

“You’re thinking something happened at Blanchard’s house?” Tanner stated.

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. Are there any latex gloves in the car?”

“We can look in the trunk. There’s probably a first-aid kit in there. It would have gloves. What are you thinking?”

“The motel clerk said that one of the men who came to see him flashed a badge. I want to see if this guy has it on him.”

“I’ll pop the trunk,” Tanner said and returned to the car. Hobbs followed.

It took only a few minutes for Hobbs to find and don the pale white gloves. Being careful not to move or destroy anything that might be considered evidence, he searched the fallen man’s pockets. In the left rear pocket, he found and removed a wallet with a badge inside that read D
ETECTIVE
, L
OS
A
NGELES
P
OLICE
. There was also a number on the badge. Hobbs searched the wallet in more detail. “No police identification,” he said. “Just a driver’s license: Carson McCullers.”

“McCullers?” Tanner said with surprise. “That’s the same guy who
was in the other accident. One of our men interviewed him in a Bakersfield hospital earlier today.”

“Apparently, he gets around.”

A Ventura County sheriff’s patrol car rolled up on the scene. After Hobbs gave a quick explanation of who he was and what he was doing in Ventura County, he said, “I want to check something out down the street. I’m leaving the scene in your hands.”

Hobbs and Tanner turned off the red police beacon and drove the last few hundred yards to the houses they had initially set out to see. “Drive by,” Hobbs said. “I want to reconnoiter the area first.”