And then it occurred to him that a vehicle making a getaway from here still had to conform to the procedures. The designers of car lots made sure everyone was obliged to check out in an orderly way. There would be a barrier downstairs and a place where you paid. Maybe, in a busy car lot like this, where you lined up to pay. Even if this place had automatic gates, you could only get out as fast as the machinery and die cars in front allowed you. Actually, he was quite sure Leather-jacket hadn't stopped at a prepayment facility. So they couldn't race out without paying. A car, however fast, took a little time to get out to the street He hobbled across to the lift at the best pace he could manage. The only point of exit from the car lot was on the basement level, and this was the quickest way down. By good fortune-and he was overdue for some-the lift door had remained open, so he stepped in and pressed the control. Each delay was mental agony-the pause before the door operated, the slow progress down-saying a silent prayer that the cage wouldn't stop at the floors between-and the hesitation before it opened. Then he was out and looking for the exit signs, trying to see the shortest way across the floor, because he didn't need to go by the same roundabout route as the cars.
He decided on a line to his left, through the ranks of cars, which meant some tight squeezes and several wing mirrors being knocked out of alignment, but it proved the quickest route.
Ahead five or six cars were curving out of sight up a ramp. He ran past four and was in time to see the barrier descend and the Buick-or at least a red-and-white car-on its way out.
He wasted no more time. The car now at the head of the queue was a pink Chevrolet He dragged open the passenger door. The woman driver was in the act of paying her charge. She swung around. "What is mis?"
"Police." With no credentials to show except a passport, he tugged it from his pocket and held it up like a warrant "Do you mind? Would you kindly follow the car in front?"
"Would you say that again?" She was young, in her twenties probably, with dark hair in a mass of loose curls that stirred as she spoke.
"I'm asking you to follow the Buick."
"Are you from England?" she asked.
He groaned inwardly. "This is an emergency."
"You'd better jump in, then. I can take you into Manhattan, if that's what you want"
He didn't prolong the conversation.
She moved off at a promising rate and soon got them out of the airport complex and on to the Van Wyck Expressway to Manhattan. There was no sign of the Buick.
"Can we go faster?"
"You said you're police?"
"I did."
"You don't happen to have one of those portable sirens with you?"
He supposed she was being sarcastic.
"No."
"Do I have police permission to break the limit?"
"It's a kid at risk, a small girl," Diamond stressed.
She moved into the fast lane.
Two miles along, Diamond asked her to ease off a little. He could see the white Buick.
It was in the center lane doing about seventy-five. He could see the outline of Mrs. Tanaka's head above the front passenger seat.
"Not too close."
"So you don't want me to force them off the road?"
"Not at this juncture. I'd prefer to stay inconspicuous."
"I just love the way you say things." She steered smoothly into a space three cars back from the Buick and they cruised in convoy. "This kid-is she from England too?"
"Er, yes. What's your name?" he said to change the subject Telling her the little he knew about Naomi would just confuse her. He was confused.
"Ken."
"You said Ken?"
"Mm."
"That's a girl's name here?"
"Short for Kennedy. I was born the week the president was killed. I get tired of explaining."
"It's nice to have an unusual name. Mine is common enough. Peter."
"Peter the Great"
"Unfair."
"What's wrong with that?" Ken asked.
He slapped the curve of his belly and she grinned. "I didn't mean it that way."
The line of cars was still cruising steadily in the same formation. The New York skyline was in view now. "We're on Long Island here, am I right?" Diamond asked.
"This is the Long Island Expressway we just moved onto," she confirmed. "We're heading for the toll tunnel under the East River."
"Is this the route you would have taken anyway?"
She shook her head. "I live in the Bronx. It doesn't matter." After a pause she added, "You appeal to my curiosity. You're not really a policeman at all. I may look dumb, but I can tell the difference between a police ID and a passport. On the other hand, you don't have the look of a hitchhiker. Or a rapist. Is it, like, a fight with your wife over custody of the child?"
He told her that Naomi wasn't his own child. He was almost persuaded, after all, to explain how the little Japanese girl had taken over his life. Then they entered the tunnel and he concentrated instead on the uncertainty of what would happen at the other end. "Where exactly does this come out?" he asked, as if he had a map of Manhattan imprinted on his brain.
"East 34th," Ken told him. "It won't be so simple tailing them from now on."
"Could you try and get closer, then?"
After they were out of the tunnel, she succeeded in passing one of the cars ahead and another turned off at the first traffic lights, leaving them with just a blue Volvo between their car and the Buick. But the tension grew as they crossed the city, negotiating lights, willing the Volvo not to hesitate. They passed the Empire State and Macy's before turning right, onto 8th Avenue, heading north.
The Buick picked up some speed.
"Can you pass the car in front?" Diamond asked.
When she moved into the next lane the driver of the Volvo took it as a challenge and blocked their way through. At the next lights he braked hard, forcing them to stop, while the Buick cruised on.
Diamond swore and turned to see if there was room to move out, but it was impossible.
"They won't get far," Ken said in reassurance. "The lights will hold them up."
He wasn't so confident. He'd already watched them go through on the red at the next intersection. "We've got to pass this clever dick."
She did, on the next block, in front of the Port Authority Bus Terminal, to a crescendo of car horns. They had lost position badly. A glimpse of white some way ahead might just have been the Buick. They had to assume it was. Diamond strained forward with his face to the windshield. "Keep going straight ahead. If they turn I'll tell you."
She overtook cars at each opportunity and sometimes when the opportunity scarcely existed. He couldn't fault her commitment to the chase. Occasionally he caught sight of the white car through the traffic about a block ahead and he just hoped to God it was still the Buick they were following. Central Park came up on their right.
"We keep going far enough, we'll get to the Bronx and I'll be home," Ken told him.
But they didn't get that far. They had almost reached the northern limit of the Park when the white car ahead moved into the left lane and turned.
"Can you move over?"
"Sure."
"That must be 109th."
She handled the Chevrolet with confidence, accelerating into a space and taking the turn at a speed that made the wheels screech. But there was no white car ahead of them on West 109th Street.
"He could have doubled back down Manhattan Avenue," Ken suggested.
"Try it, then."
She turned left again. Mistakenly, for two blocks ahead there were only yellow taxis.
"Sorry. I'm really sorry," she said, and her voice was desolate. "Want me to turn?"
"Where do you think they were heading before we lost Ihem?"
"Hard to say. We're not far from Columbia."
"You mean the University?"
"Yes."
"Can you work your way back in that direction? If we're lucky the car may be parked on the street somewhere."
They turned right, onto Amsterdam Avenue. No sign of a white car. A vast church loomed up on their right. "It's really popular with the students," Ken remarked.