Rising Heat (95 page)

“Happy travels,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied, watching him walk back to the office. With a sigh, I opened the door to the small car and climbed in. It seems so low to the ground after being in my truck. Still, it was adequate, everything relatively comfortable, and I put the key into the ignition and started it up. It ran smoothly.

Okay, no turning back now. In fact, I felt rather hopeful. The killer would have no idea where I was. I had been so careful. My truck was effectively hidden. I had dumped the old throwaway phone and bought a new one. No way could he track me. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I felt some of the burden of dread leave me.

I turned on the lights and drove out of the rental car parking lot and headed southwest, not really paying attention to which road I took. All of these roads heading southwest would end up near Albany. Maybe, just maybe, this was the right decision.

When I stopped later, I would call Detective Cutter. I would tell him only the general area where I was, and I would keep the phone call short so that, if he was so inclined, he couldn’t trace the call. Maybe I would buy a couple more throwaway phones and not use any of them for long.

No way the killer could track me then, the bastard.

*

I arrived on the outskirts of Albany late. I stopped several times along the way, not really caring where I ended up. I definitely didn’t want to drive through the night, worried about hitting animals. Besides, I was tired. I had taken mostly side roads after I got off state Route 7, figuring less people traveled on them. I didn’t really worry about getting lost. I knew that sooner or later I would end up in a town, whether it happened to be Troy, Albany, or maybe even Schenectady.

It didn’t really matter to me, as long as I was out of Vermont. For some reason, crossing the border into New York made me feel, for the moment at least, that I had shed my stalker. Maybe, just maybe, my disappearance would take him by surprise, expose him in some way. Maybe he would make a mistake that the detectives would notice. Or maybe even the FBI. I just prayed that the killer wouldn’t strike out and kill someone else because he was angry.

Maybe Hawk could figure something out as well. I was still angry with him, no doubt about it, but I felt I had done the right thing. If I couldn’t trust him, I couldn’t count on him, could I? Then again, I hadn’t wanted — or waited — to hear his explanation of why he’d ended up in jail in the first place. I couldn’t get past the bar. A bar fight. To me that implied drinking. People didn’t get in bar fights every day. The fact that Hawk had gotten in one had sent me for a loop, once again making me realize that I knew very little about him.

It was one thing to know a guy superficially, even have sex with him like I had done with Hawk, but quite another to look beneath the surface, to be
allowed
beneath the surface. I didn’t know what made Hawk tick. As far as I knew, he didn’t know that much about me either. He hadn’t asked me many personal questions other than about my former boyfriend. We hadn’t talked about much of anything. So why did I feel so bad? I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it.

I wasn’t quite sure which road I was on, but I began to see signs for the Hudson River, downtown Albany, a business loop, and so forth. As I headed into the suburbs, I began to see a scattering of motels and a few nicer hotels. I didn’t want anything too close to downtown or the Hudson River, knowing that it would be more expensive.

I finally turned off into the parking lot for a small, nondescript motel outside of Defreestville, maybe five miles east of downtown Albany on the eastern side of the river. It was quiet, very few people on the street this time of night.

The motel I pulled into was not far from a cluster of retail stores and restaurants; a Starbucks, an Applebee’s, and a Home Depot. Nondescript, quiet, perfect. Before I ventured into the motel front office, I checked my wallet and my cash. I pulled out one hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills and put them in my pocket, and then stowed my wallet under the seat. Belatedly, I pulled my wallet back out, took out my driver’s license, and then stuffed the wallet back under the seat. Putting the ID and the cash into my back pocket, I got out of the rental car and approached the front office.

A young woman stood behind the counter. She greeted me. “Hi there,” she said. “Welcome to the Elkhorn Motel.”

“Thank you.” I hoped I didn’t look too disheveled. “I’d like a room for the night, please.”

“Single or double?”

“Single’s fine.”

She looked at her computer, tapped a couple of keys, and then looked up at me with a smile. “You’re in luck. We have a single available.”

When I gestured that I would take it, she asked to see my driver’s license and told me it would be forty-three dollars. I pulled out my cash and showed her my ID. I wasn’t really comfortable with displaying it, but it would seem suspicious if I didn’t. Apparently, this was not one of those hotels that you rented by the hour.

“You traveling for business or pleasure, Miss Whitcomb?” she asked.

“Bu.iness.” What was I supposed to say?
I’m trying to get away from a stalker, maybe even a serial killer. Do you mind if I shack up at your motel for the night?

“We have a continental breakfast for our guests in the other room,” she said, gesturing to a small room off the main lobby.

I said nothing, but smiled and waited for her to complete the transaction, and hand me a key. “Room 211, upstairs, near the far side,” she said, gesturing. “ If you have an emergency with any of the plumbing or electrical, call the front desk. Any real emergencies, you’ll have to call 911. Other than that, breakfast is served between six-fifteen and seven-fifteen. Checkout time is eleven o’clock.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling politely as I took the key and then headed out the door. I returned to my rental car, climbed in, and then slowly drove to the correct side of the motel. In order to get to my room, a person would have to take a stairway situated in about the middle of the building and walk the length of the hallway, exposed to outdoor room lights every step of the way.

That made me feel a little better. I parked the Focus, grabbed my backpack, and climbed out, making my way to the stairs, taking the cement steps one at a time, looking everywhere around me without appearing paranoid, a challenge in itself. Before I entered my room, I glanced once more over my shoulder. I didn’t see anyone acting odd. A family with children was getting out of the car downstairs a few rooms over. The room on either side of mine appeared dark and unoccupied.

I unlocked the door, stepped inside, closed and locked it, then slid the dead bolt as well. I stepped to the curtains, closed them, and then turned on the light. Meh… a typical motel room, nothing fancy, but it looked clean. The bedspreads were a little dated, but I didn’t see dust on the flat screen TV, the dresser upon which the television rested, nor the coffee machine beside it.

I placed my backpack on the bedspread and then went to explore the bathroom. I longed for a nice hot shower. When I turned on the light, I was pleasantly surprised. No rusty toilet, no rust stains in the bathtub. The shower curtain looked relatively new, no signs of mildew at the bottom.

Thank God for small favors. I decided I would take a long hot shower, the first in days. Maybe that would help soothe my spirits and ease some of the tension from my muscles. Then I would call Detective Cutter, let him know that I was safe.

Maybe after that, I would even be brave enough to venture into the Denny’s diner down the block, order something that they could box up and I could bring back to the room. I couldn’t remember the last time I had actually eaten a full meal. I wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, but knew that I needed to eat.

Making sure the curtains were pulled tight, double-checking that the door was locked and dead-bolted, I stepped into the bathroom, peeled off my clothes, turned on the water to the shower, and while it warmed up, I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

Yep, some sleep would certainly do me good, and maybe even have me looking a little less disheveled and sick. I looked pale, stressed, and my eyes had that deer in the headlights look. I shook my head, pulled back the shower curtain and stepped into the shower. Oh, the water felt heavenly rushing over my body. I reached down for the paper-wrapped little slab of soap, lathered myself up, and, not seeing any shampoo, resorted to using the soap on my hair as well. No biggie. I could rough it once in a while.

I think I was in the shower for ten or fifteen minutes. It felt so good I didn’t want to get out. First, I stood with the water streaming down my back, then I turned around and let it stream down my front. Several rotations later, the water began to lose its warmth. I sighed, realized I needed to get out, and then turned off the faucets.

I reached for one of the towels hanging on the wall opposite the toilet. I stepped out of the shower, wrapping one of the towels around me, using the other to begin drying my hair. The shower had done wonders. I felt fresh and clean, and a bit rejuvenated. Not like my old self, but better.

I left the bathroom and wandered into the room. Unzipped my backpack and then began to rummage around inside. Great. I had socks, but no underwear. No bra. No pajamas. I wasn’t too enthusiastic about climbing between the sheets naked, but peeling back the bedspread and the blanket, I carefully inspected them. They looked relatively clean and fresh. I still caught a hint of laundry soap on them. I didn’t want to put back on the same pair of underwear I’d been wearing the last couple of days.

No, I wasn’t fond of sleeping naked. It made me feel vulnerable. I didn’t like getting up in the middle of the night feeling chilled. Under my present circumstances, I certainly didn’t feel like sleeping naked either. With a sigh, I pulled on a pair of jeans and one of the long-sleeved T-shirts. Maybe I would just lay on top of the bed and pull the blanket over me. Maybe tomorrow when I headed out onto the road again, I would stop at one of the first local Target or Walmart stores I came across and buy a cheap pair of pajamas and some more underwear.

Before I climbed into bed, I decided to brush my teeth and brush out my hair. At least I had remembered those items. At the bottom of my backpack was the bottle of aspirin and my migraine pills. I took an aspirin, choked it down with some water, and then began to brush out my hair.

I glanced at the clock on the wall behind me, saw that it was just after midnight. I didn’t feel like going out and getting anything to eat after all. I knew I had to call Detective Cutter, like I’d promised, to let him know I was okay.

I sat down on my bed and reached for the throwaway phone I’d placed on the bedside table with the lamp and the digital clock. I accessed the call log on my phone, dialed the only number on there; the number for the Seneca Police Department. It rang twice before a male voice answered.

“Seneca Police Department, how may I direct your call?”

“I’d like to speak to Detective Cutter, please. Is he still in?” I realized there was a very good chance he’d gone home for the night.

“Yes, I’ll connect you.”

I heard a click, and then waited about ten seconds before I heard the voice at the other end. “This is Detective Cutter. To whom am I speaking?”

“Detective Cutter, this is Tracy—”

“Tracy, where are you? Are you all right?”

I heard the low, hushed voices in the background. “I’m fine, Detective Cutter. I just wanted you to know—”

“Where the hell are you, Tracy?”

My heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t Detective Cutter. That voice belonged to Hawk. I stiffened. “Why are you in Detective Cutter’s office? And why so late? Have you been arrested again?” I knew that was uncalled for, but it just came out. I heard a sigh.

“Tracy, where are you?”

“I told Detective Cutter that I would be leaving town for a couple of days. I’m not going to tell you where I am.”

“Tracy—”

“Will you please put Detective Cutter back on the phone?” My voice shook. I wasn’t nearly as determined as I sounded. The sound of Hawk’s voice made me want to cry. I was angry, disappointed, and experiencing feelings of betrayal, just like I had when I found out he’d been arrested. Maybe I was being unreasonable, but I couldn’t help it.

Another sigh. “Tracy, I wish you’d let me explain—”

“Hawk, I don’t know what you could say at this moment to make me feel any better. As a matter of fact—”

“Tracy, you don’t understand—”

Fighting back tears, and forcing the growing lump out of my throat, I interrupted. “You’re right, I don’t understand. But I’m not going through this again.” I said nothing for several seconds. “I’m doing what I think is best. I’m sure Detective Cutter has told you my plan.”

“It’s not much of a plan,” Hawk grumbled into the phone. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s a foolish idea—”

“And did you have a better idea?” I interrupted him in turn. “We’re getting nowhere, and you know it. I’m not spending the rest of my life in hiding, living in your cabin or waiting for the bastard to show up at my house—”

“And you think this ploy of yours will drive him into the open?”

“I have no idea, but to tell you the truth, I don’t know what else to do. None of you are getting anywhere.”

I couldn’t help the hurt I still felt. The sense of betrayal. He was supposed to be protecting me, not going out drinking and fighting. “Please put Detective Cutter back on the phone. I told him I would check in with him.”

I heard the sound of hushed voices again, almost a quiet argument of sorts, and then I heard Detective Cutter’s voice on the line.

“Are you all right? Are you in a safe place?”

“As safe as I can expect, I suppose. I just wanted to check in, let you know that I was okay… for now. I’m going to hang up now. I’m not giving that bastard a chance to trace the call.”

“Tracy, you’ll keep in touch, won’t you? Check-in at least a couple times a day. Let us know you’re all right. We’re doing what we can on this end to find him.”

“Sure,” I said, and then disconnected the call. I stared at the phone for several moments, my thoughts once again in turmoil. What was Hawk doing at Cutter’s office? I guess it didn’t really matter. They were old friends, after all. With a heavy sigh, I placed the phone down on the end table, turned down the bedspread, and then turned off the light and lay down, covering myself with the blanket.