“He doesn’t know that.” McNaughton said “Jesus” again and hit the button. “All units from P-One. Suspect’s proceeding to the restaurant.”
We saw him struggle through the snow to the front door and pull at it without success. He hesitated, and then suddenly cupped his hands against the glass to better see inside. There was a pause, and he backed away and began stumbling as fast as he could toward the post office.
“This is P-Eight. We’re blown. We’re blown.”
“P-One to all units. Everyone out. He’s heading for the snowmobile.” McNaughton shouted into the radio.
I ran for the door, Katz hard on my heels. McNaughton was still yelling. “Close the roadblocks. Get that Sno-Cat here now.”
I stumbled outside in time to see Kunkle burst out of the post office and point his revolver at the man with the beard. His shout of “Stop. Police.” was answered by the sharp crack of a rifle. Kunkle collapsed against the wall. A moment later, Cioffi reached the snowmobile and filled the air with its scream. I saw dark shapes running from both restaurant and laundromat as the snowmobile lurched forward, ran over Kunkle’s extended leg and slithered toward the street. There were a couple of shotgun blasts before the target vanished into the blizzard, heading toward the school.
McNaughton appeared at the door. “Suspect’s headed southeast. Whoever’s on the Sno-Cat, heads up for a bright red snowmobile. There’s an officer down; call for backup and an ambulance.”
I pointed across the street. “Take Kunkle’s car.”
McNaughton broke into a clumsy run. I headed for the post office and got to Kunkle just as his car fishtailed into the street. The radio in my hand was alive with voices.
“This is P-Nine. He cut around me. He’s still on Main.”
“P-Nileft"›ne from P-One. Turn around and wait for me. I’m almost there. Get the second Sno-Cat in pursuit.”
“Ten-four.”
Kunkle sat in the snow, his back against the wall, his face as white as the world around him. The only bright color anywhere was a crimson half circle of blood spattered on the wall above us and a tomato-sized stain high on his left arm. His eyes were wide open and dreamy.
He blinked and tried to focus on my face. “Go get the son of a bitch.”
“That’s being taken care of. Where’re you hit?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Shoulder, I think-arm somewhere. Not much pain; not any, really.”
I didn’t touch anything, but from the look of things the shoulder had been shattered.
“It wasn’t him,” he added after a sigh.
“Who shot you?”
“Yeah. It came from the right.”
A man appeared at my side, breathing hard. He had a small detached earphone dangling over his collar.
“You with McNaughton?”
“Yeah. Corporal Wilcox.”
“You got a car?” I stuck out my hand.
He nodded. “Jeep. Out back. Keys are in it.”
I made Kunkle focus on me. “You’re in good hands. I’ll let you know.” I got the Jeep sliding down Main before I radioed in. “This is P-Two. What’s happening?”
“P-Two from P-One. Good news, bad news. The eastern roadblock worked, but he doubled back and is heading south. That gave us a little time. Can you get to the school?”
“I’m almost there.”
“Catch a ride on the second Sno-Cat and head south on Route 16.”
“Any sign of Stark?”
“Fuck Stark. What’s with Stark?”
“Who do you think shot Kunkle?” I dropped the radio in my lap and put both hands on the wheel. I had no idea why I was still on the road. I couldn’t see a goddamned thing, and my foot was flat on the accelerator. After a pause, I heard McNaughton’s one word response: “Shit.”
I caught the dim flicker of a yellow flasher ahead and slowed down in time to avoid crashing into the Sno-Cat. One trooper was at the controls. I baled out of the Jeep and climbed up next to him.
“How’s your guy?”
“Shoulder wound-bad.” The engine noise climbed to a howl, and we lumbered quickly down the street to the Route 16 turnoff.
“This is P-Three. Suspect is in sight.” That was the roadblock just over one mile ahead. There was a full minute of silence before the radio crackleradio crd again. “This is P-Three. Suspect doubled back. We cannot pursue effectively.”
“I got him.” It was McNaughton’s voice.
Another fifteen-second pause followed. “P-One to all units. Suspect’s off the main road. He’s headed west up a logging road. We’re in pursuit.”
My driver picked up speed now that we were clear of town. The engine between us let off a deafening high-pitched wail. The blurred treads by the side of the cab sent up a flurry of snow which mixed with the blizzard. The only half-clear view was straight ahead.
I suddenly saw where McNaughton’s tracks took a violent cut to the right. We slammed into a crablike skid and followed suit, bursting through a gap in the trees and going straight up a steep, narrow trail cut in the woods, barely wide enough for the Sno-Cat.
“Where can he go from here?” I shouted over the noise of the engine.
“Anywhere if he can really drive that thing, but it’s rough going. And with all this shit, we might find him wrapped around a tree.”
“Is there any other way onto this mountain?”
He hesitated. “You mean Stark?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure, if he’s got a skimobile too. But I don’t see how he’d know where to go without following some tracks.”
I listened to the radio chatter as we crawled up the steep hill. A wall of trees pressed in from both sides, simultaneously cutting down on the light and the falling snow.
McNaughton’s voice was rearranging his troops, ordering more backups, positioning vehicles at roads that meant nothing to me. For a man who had laid too loose a net and let the fish escape, he was remarkably calm and organized under pressure. I, on the other hand, was neither. Not only did I share the blame for this fiasco, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of Stark’s breath hot on my neck.
“Where does this lead?” I shouted to the driver.
“Dunno. We’re northeast of Mount Washington. There’s not a hell of a lot around here. Field and forest is all I know.”
I radioed McNaughton. “P-One from P-Two. Can you position some men where this trail hits Route 16? We might get Stark.”
There was no argument. I heard him give the orders.
“I think we’re in better shape than we thought,” the driver suddenly shouted.
“Why?”
“If he was a real hot dog on that machine of his, he wouldn’t be sticking to this road-he’d be in the woods.”
I looked at his profile and saw him smile-the happy hunter.
I was less thrilled. As I saw it, I was lurching across the countryside like some Keystone Kop with a mysterious cripple out front and a slippery homicidal maniac on my tail-maybe. The fact tha The fact Cioffi was not the Evel Knievel of the snowmobile set was of little comfort.
The radio crackled and announced that Klesczewski and a trooper had been dropped off at the trees at the foot of the mountain road. More men were “continuing pursuit.”
I looked out the side window at the slow parade of passing trees. Hotshot or no, I couldn’t imagine that a man on a snowmobile couldn’t outdistance a Sno-Cat as if it were standing still.
“Jesus.” The driver threw the controls and sent us into a grinding, sliding halt. Off to the right was the first Cat, lying on its side, wedged between two trees. McNaughton and one of his men were climbing out of the cab.
I opened my door and McNaughton got in beside me and yelled at the driver. “Get around that and head down the slope to the right. The son of a bitch cut off the road.” He jabbed his radio key. “All units. P-One and P-Two are now on same vehicle.”
We moved forward a couple of yards. A skimobile’s thin imprint sliced between the trees bordering the road and vanished down the steep, treeless slope beyond. The driver continued on until he came to a similar gap wide enough for us. He turned the Cat and paused at the edge.