“The man went that way.” One of the girls’ pointedtoward the parking lot. “Then the little girl followed him. Two minutes ago.”
Nancy jumped as if something had exploded under herfeet, running to the parking lot. A man wearing a green John Deere ball cap, inhis early seventies, was shutting the driver’s door on his camper.
“Please help me. My little girl’s missing. She camethis way, wearing a flowered dress. Have you seen her?”
“I don’t think so. We just got here, right, Mother?”
Seeing Nancy distraught, the white-haired woman on theother side of the camper approached her and took her arm.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
“My daughter’s been abducted. A man led her this way afew minutes ago. Oh, help me!”
“Arthur, quick, find a policeman!”
The man headed dutifully to a pay phone.
Nancy searched parked cars, frantically screamingGabrielle’s name. The woman followed helplessly. Across the lot, a tall,well-dressed man stepped from a Mercedes and jogged to Nancy.
“Lady, what’s wrong?”
“My daughter’s been abducted by a man who brought herthis way. Please, have you seen her?”
“I did see a little girl walking around here a fewminutes ago.”
“Yes!”
“Hair braided, her dress kind of pinkish?”
“That’s her! Where did she go? Tell me, please!”
He looked intently over Nancy’s head at the lot andKezar Drive. He had been in his car, talking business over his phone.
“I saw the little girl talking to a man at a batteredold pickup truck. There was a little blond dog inside the truck.”
“What?”
Nancy covered her mouth with both hands, her mindreeling with a thousand horrors. Jackson. Jackson was a little blond dog.Remembering Paul believing Jackson didn’t run away. Somebody stole him. I don’tknow why but I know for damn sure he didn’t run away.
Apprehension swept over the man’s face as he steeledhimself.
“She got into the truck with the man and he droveoff.”
Nancy’s head spun. The woman caught her, steadyingher.
The man realized he could do something. “I’ve got aphone. I’ll call 9-1-1! I’ll drive around after the truck, lady, wait here!”
Nancy fell to her knees, seeing nothing, hearingnothing, feeling nothing, not even the strange older woman who’s arms held herso tightly they kept her from falling off the earth.
THIRTY-ONE
Standing at the living room window of her stucco bungalow, Eva Blair was curious about thestrange truck that had stopped in front of the Walker place across the street.Nobody got out of the truck. The engine was idling. Looked like a man and-Evacould just make out a little head-a child. A bearded man talking, no, arguing,with a child. It was none of her business. She was being an old busybody.
But something strange was going on.
Eva could just make out part of the truck’s rearplate. California. “B” or “8” or “E”. It was a battered old pickup. A Ford,according to the tailgate. The man seemed angry. There was a glint of metal inthe cab. A knife? Did the man have a knife? Goodness! What in the world was hedoing? Now he was tossing something out the window. She should call the police.The truck was filthy, neglected, a disgrace.
The engine growled and the truck sped away.
An ominous feeling came over Eva and she decided, forgood measure, to jot down what she could remember of the truck. She slipped onher bifocals, left her house by the front door, and started across the streettoward the spot where the truck had stopped. Something was on the sidewalk.
Eva gasped. A mound. A small, fluffy, heap of…hair.Human hair, beautiful chestnut hair. She bent over to examine it closely,gasping before hurrying back to her house to call the police.
The hair was dotted with fresh blood.
THIRTY-TWO
God be praised .
Keller had left Golden Gate Park without a hitch.Gabrielle was as quiet as a lamb, hugging her pathetic mutt.
“You are a radiant Angel.” He could not take his eyesfrom her.
“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins.”
Keller had been checking his rearview mirror every fewseconds since they left the park. No hint of trouble. Time to shift things intohigh gear. “Say, Gabrielle, it’s pretty hot. Want a soda?”
“Yes, please!”
Keller fished through a canvass knapsack behind theseat, producing a can. “I’ll open it for you.”
“Thank you.” Gabrielle took the can from him, gulped ahuge swallow. It was cold. She let Jackson lick some from her hand. “Baddoggie.” She wagged a warning finger at him. “Don’t you ever run away from meagain!”
“I bet you believe in God, say your prayers everynight?”
She nodded as the truck jerked over a pothole.
“Goodness. You spilled some on your dress. We’ll haveto stop so I can clean it for you.”
Gabrielle looked at her dress and saw no stain. “Idon’t think I spilled any, Mr. Jenkins.”
“Yes, you did. I’ll get it for you, as soon as I finda safe place to stop. Up there looks good.”
Keller spotted a house with a FOR SALE sign. It lookedempty. Neighborhood was quiet. He had to do this now, couldn’t wait any longer.It was still several miles to Wintergreen Heights. He stopped in front of thehouse and left the engine running.
“I really didn’t spill any, Mr. Jenkins. Honest. Ilooked.”
“You spilled some down your chin.” Keller grunted,reaching into the knapsack and pulling out a plastic bag with a damp face clothinside, reeking of medicine.
Gabrielle touched her chin. It was dry, but before shecould do anything, the stinky wet cloth was over her mouth, forcing her tobreathe through her nose. She struggled, kicked, and tried to scream. Jacksonbarked. Gabrielle dropped her Coke. It spilled and hissed on the floor. Kellerheld the cloth firmly against her face, staring into her fluttering eyes as shefell asleep.
Jackson barked fiercely.
“Shut up!” Keller said, removing Gabrielle’s dress andleotards, stuffing them into the knapsack. Rummaging in the pack, he pulled outa pair of child’s shorts and a Forty-niners’ T-shirt. In seconds, he hadslipped them on Gabrielle, along with a ball cap.
Then he pulled a pair of scissors from the knapsack,leaned Gabrielle forward, and began snipping off her chestnut braids.
The dog growled, leaping at Keller, biting at hishands. Damn! Keller caught his forefinger between the razor-sharp blades, andmost of the hair in his hand went out the window. The wound was deep.
Damn it!
At that instant, Keller saw an old woman watching fromher living room. What did she see?
Keller stomped on the gas, the engine roared, tirespeeled, stones flew in anger. How could he have been so careless! He poundedthe steering wheel, driving his rage like a rocket. Try to relax.
His heart thumped. It was happening. As it had beenprophesied. To the ignorant, the girl was a little boy who’d fallen asleep. Buthe knew the truth. The Divine Truth.
Slow down to the limit before you attract moreattention, he told himself. Come on. The old woman saw nothing. What was thereto see from her angle across the wide street? Nothing. She saw nothing: a manstopping to look at a house that was for sale. Nothing.
But the hair? What if she called the police?
Was he doubting his mission? His revelation?
He was cleansed in the light of the Lord. He mustnever cease believing he was blessed. That’s right. He had put more than adozen blocks behind him now and was beginning to relax, focusing on his routeto Wintergreen. The angel was sleeping. Good. Keller looked at the dog. Themutt could lead the police to him. He could sacrifice it with the scissors. Hecould it right now. He could pull into a back alley. It would take threeseconds, then he-
Traffic had come to a dead halt. The rear bumper ofthe Honda in front of Keller rushed at him. He hit the brakes in time to avoidcrashing. The two lanes ahead were merging into one. Cars inching along. What washappening? He saw a flash of red emergency lights.