“The people you worked for think you can.” Ahead, she could see the police cars parked at angles in the other lane.
“I’ve been over this in my mind a million times. They must think I saw more than I did, or took evidence with me, or God knows what. But I didn’t. I won’t end up in some protected place. I’ll be in a Nevada State Prison, and they’ll hire some lifer to kill me.” He drove past the roadblock, and Jane felt a little twinge in her chest.
Jane watched him take the turn just before the buildings began to cluster at Bigfork. He swung onto the smaller road and accelerated. She said, “Creston is eight miles. Bear right again there.” She turned around in her seat to stare out the back window. She saw a few cars go the other way, toward Kalispell and Whitefish, and wondered if that would have been the way to safety. The road always seemed to have forks in it, and all she could do was pick. Maybe what she was watching recede into the distance was her chance to ever go home again.
They were at the Creston intersection in ten minutes, then onto 206 and climbing again, higher into the gray mountains. At Columbia Heights they switched onto U.S. 2. The road curved around big stony outcroppings, always climbing. Ahead were towns too small to hide in—Hungry Horse, Martin City, Coram. Always Jane studied the map. The idea of moving around in these mountains, where there were places to stay and everyone was a tourist, had seemed to be a good one. But now the roads reminded her of the chutes in a stock pen. Each opening looked at first like a way out, but each was an irrevocable choice. The walls were too high to jump and the animal couldn’t turn around. The animal had no way to go but forward, pushed by the ones behind it. Somewhere, waiting at the end of the chutes, was a man with a hammer.
The hunters could see what the map told Jane as well as she could. She could leave this road only by two routes—along the east side of Glacier National Park and then north on Chief Mountain Highway to the Canadian border, or north along the west side of the park by the Flathead River on 486.
She looked more closely at the map. Route 486 stopped at the Canadian border. There were no little flags there to indicate a point of entry, as there were on the Chief Mountain Highway. She couldn’t risk choosing a road that might lead to a dead end with a fence across it. She turned the map over and studied the little detailed map of the area on the back.
The map showed Route 486 ending at the border. It showed the customs checkpoint on Chief Mountain Highway. But the checkpoint had a note under it in small black print. “Closed September 15–May 15.” After September 15 there was only one way to Canada by car.
Jane looked at Pete, driving the car along the highway.
He seemed to feel her gaze. He turned. “What?”
“Take the entrance to Glacier National Park at West Glacier. If there’s a store in any of the towns before then, stop there.”
“Do you have it figured out?”
“I think I know a way out of this, if that’s what you mean.”
“Whatever it is, I like it better than your last idea about the cops.”
“Wait and see.”
* * *
By five in the morning, Linda had searched the house as thoroughly as she dared with Carey sleeping behind the closed door at the end of the upstairs hallway. There seemed to be nothing lying around downstairs that could tell her more than she already knew about where Jane was or what she was likely to try next. The pads by the phones had no useful jottings on them, and darkening the top sheet with a pencil revealed no impressions that Linda could read. There seemed to be no weapons hidden where she could find them, no papers that would give her the false names Jane and Hatcher were using. When she began to fear that Carey would wake up, she retreated into her guest room.
She told herself not to worry. She had not failed completely. She had given Earl the name of the town, and if Earl caught up with them at Salmon Prairie, it didn’t matter what they had been calling themselves: they were going to be John and Jane Doe. But she had not come all this way and worked this hard to get into Jane’s house only to have Jane’s husband push her out again.
The thought made Linda’s throat contract in an angry gulp. Somehow Carey had become the worst part of this job for Linda. The thought of him made her sick with humiliation and regret. She had used every opportunity to show him that she was available. Could he be so stupid that he had not understood? No, that was just a way of salvaging her pride. She had even given him an eyeful of what was being offered.
She looked in the mirror above the dresser. It was so unfair. That body was absolutely perfect. Her face was captivating. How could he go scuttling down the hall and lock himself in his room like that? Jane could not possibly be prettier than Linda was.
She walked to the telephone by the bed and forced herself to concentrate. First she looked in the telephone book and tried dialing a few numbers. She settled on one that belonged to a restaurant that sounded too fancy to serve breakfast. It rang twenty times before she hung up. She copied the number and began to dress.
At six thirty, Carey knocked quietly on the door. Linda stopped at the mirror, checked her hair and makeup, and then opened the door.
“Good morning,” he said. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”
She gave her best smile. “You’re not. I don’t sleep in an evening gown.” She made her eyes twinkle. “As you know.”
Carey glanced at his watch. “It’s six thirty …”
Linda’s brows knitted in apologetic distress. “I’m afraid I’ve got another problem, Carey.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been calling the impound lot since quarter to six, and they’re not answering. Didn’t the sign say they opened at six?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what it said.” She could tell he was trying to look as though he were hiding his worry, but what he was hiding was irritation. “When did you call last?”
“A minute ago. I know you have to be at the hospital by seven …”
“Let’s try it again. The only place for a phone is in that little building, and they could be out on the lot.” He stepped into the guest room with her and picked up the telephone. “What’s the number?”
She handed him the little pad from the telephone where she had written down the number, and he dialed. He let the phone ring longer than she had, and finally hung up. “It doesn’t really mean they’re not open. I’ll drive you there, and if nobody’s around, you can always get a cab at the hospital.”
“Can I make another suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“They’re sure to be open by nine or so, right?”
“I would think so.”
“Then it would make me happiest if you would just go to work. I’ll call a cab to pick me up here at eight. If we’re both wrong and the place is deserted, the cab can keep going and take me home. That way you don’t leave some patient waiting on a gurney. Better still, I’m not left on the street in an evening gown in an unfamiliar city. And I’m not seen driving back to the hospital wearing last night’s clothes with a married man whose wife is out of town.”
She could see that the suggestion had the desired effect. It contained reasoning he could follow, and it also gently reminded him of what could have happened. He seemed flustered as he shrugged. “I’m sorry. Everything seems to have gotten complicated.” He was fiddling with his keys. He handed her one of them. “Would you mind locking up when you go? You can just pop the key into the mail slot in the front door.”
She took the key. “No problem.” She touched his arm. “And I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to be this much trouble.”