“The Chief makes the final decisions, Tom. You know that.”
Richie’s attention had already started to drift...
Without quite being conscious of what he was doing, he was assessing the various avenues of escape open to him...
There weren’t many... and none of them were very good.
Here you were standing on the sidewalk on a sunny autumn day... each of the businesses on this particular street shaded by awnings... the sidewalk itself crowded with businesspeople and shoppers... and just where the hell would a guy escape to, anyway?
“This is a formal charge?” O’Brien said.
“Yes.”
“I see that warrant?”
“Sure.”
Sam handed O’Brien the warrant.
The lawyer skimmed it, shook his head.
“Hadley doesn’t have shit,” O’Brien said.
“He doesn’t seem to feel that way.”
“Circumstantial. And not good circumstantial.”
Could run down to the end of this block and then run over and hide in the antique rail depot that was just now being restored...
But then what? Then where?
“I want to take him with me now, Tom,” Sam was saying.
“I still can’t believe this.”
“The Chief’s expecting me back in just a few minutes.”
“I know this isn’t your idea, Sam. And I also know you don’t like this.”
“What I like or don’t like, doesn’t matter.”
...if he ran across the street now, he could get in the alley... maybe up one of those fire escapes... a roof... maybe hide up there till nightfall and then...
But, hell, as many men as they’d have looking for him, they’d find him for sure up there on the roof...
“You mind if I come along?” O’Brien said.
“Fine by me.”
“I just want you to tell me the truth, Sam. You don’t agree with this, do you?”
“I already said my piece, Tom. The Chief asked me to bring Richie in and that’s what I’m doing.”
“You think Amy’s going to like this?”
“Amy’s not in charge of this case.”
Sam knew why O’Brien was arguing so hard. Much of the town already believed Richie to be the killer. Bring him in, put him behind bars, formally charge him with murder... and for most people, including most police officers... the case would be closed.
Richie might as well plead guilty and get it over with...
And that was when Richie saw the familiar black panel truck that Susan Kelly drove. He remembered that this was the day she came to town for groceries. She always parked her truck in back of U-Save and then went inside...
...the truck would be parked...
...if he could just get away...
“May as well get it over with, Tom,” Sam said.
O’Brien shook his head. “Guess you’re right. Richie, I hate to say this but—”
And that was as far as he got.
Before either Sam or O’Brien could speak another word, Richie bolted from them.
He ran straight into traffic.
Car brakes screamed. Horns were honked. Several people swore.
But all Richie cared about was getting to the other side of the street, finding the alley, and using it as a chute that would ultimately dump him in the safety of Susan’s truck...
But then what?
No time for that now.
Run. Had to run.
He finally reached the alley. Saw, blessedly, that it was empty.
And ran...
...shouts behind him now.
His old injuries started to hurt. Was already beginning to hobble a bit.
Thought bitterly of the drunken night he piled up the convertible and ended his football career...
...so many things he’d fucked up in his life...
...run and keep on running...
...so many things that should’ve been good for him... jobs... women... and he’d fucked them all up...
...run and keep on running...
...Sam was against him. He could see that. Sam had a lot of influence on Amy...
...would Amy turn against him, too? Would Sam convince even her that Richie was a killer?...
...run and keep on running...
Came to the head of the alley.
Sirens sounding now.
Saw the familiar black panel truck. Susan was just now pulling up behind the supermarket in the middle of the next alley... If he could just get there in time...
He pushed harder, faster, but almost immediately his hip and leg began hurting pretty badly... it was like trying to run with a charley horse...
...but he had to run... had no choice...
...knew that once they got him in jail, he’d never see freedom again... that was how cops worked... and even Amy admitted it... they decided on their man to the exclusion of all other suspects...
...run...
He could hear Sam shouting his name now.
Somewhere behind him... close behind him.
Could Sam actually shoot him?
But then there wasn’t time to think about anything except taking advantage of the slight break in traffic flow.
He hobbled across the street and into the next alley.
7
Amy said, “What’s all the commotion?”
When Midge looked up from her computer keyboard, Amy saw that something was terribly wrong.
“I—,” Midge started to say, and then stopped herself. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, Amy.”
“Tell me what?”
“Richie escaped.”
“Oh, my God.”
“That’s why we’re hearing all the sirens suddenly. Sam went over to O’Brien’s to serve them with an arrest warrant... and Richie took off.”
“He didn’t do it, Midge. I know he didn’t.”
“Well, I hate to say it, but this certainly isn’t going to help him look innocent.”
“No,” Amy said. “It sure isn’t.”
She drifted silently back into her office, closed the door.
She went over to her desk, sat down, swiveled around in her chair, and looked out the window.
The town always looked so peaceful.
But right now there’d be a manhunt going on. A lot of angry people wanted to get their hands on her brother Richie.
Poor Richie.
But what if he’d actually killed her?
She’d seen this same naÏveté in some of the people in the courtroom.
Despite all kinds of evidence to the contrary... they just couldn’t believe that their loved one could ever be capable of doing such a thing...
Maybe she was just as naive as they were...
Maybe Richie really had...
But no. Had to stop thinking that way.
Richie had acted foolishly, no doubt about it — first, by getting involved with the Fuller girl at all, and then by running away.
But did that mean he was a killer?
No, no matter how hard she thought about it, she couldn’t see Richie killing anybody... not even when he was drunk.
“Oh, Richie,” she said out loud, so many years of fear and misery in her voice, a decade and a half of worrying that Richie would someday get into a kind of trouble that she couldn’t get him out of.
“Oh, Richie,” she said again.
And this time it was like a prayer.
8
The panel truck would be locked.
The closer he came to it, the more he was convinced that when he actually got there, when he actually put his hand on the back door handle, he would find that the truck was locked... and then he would be screwed for sure.
Sirens.
Shouts.
Five yards from the panel truck...