That was just how her car smelled when she got back into it after the party.
Exactly like that.
Thoughts spilled through her brain, and the more they did, the more her relief blew away like ash from a fire. She thought about how odd it was that Jonny would ignore her and send a car down here anyway. She thought about how fast the car had made it here. She thought about an offhanded comment Jonny had made to her yesterday.
Pete McKay managed to get his patrol car stolen while he was on a call at the high school.
She had made a horrible mistake. The accent in his voice was a disguise. There was no cop behind her. It was him. He had told her what he was going to do to her, and she let him walk right up to her, disarm her, and put her in cuffs.
Serena didn't look back or change her gait, but she knew she had only a few seconds to make a move. Once they got to the car, she was trapped. Overhead, on the bridge, she saw the lights of a truck speeding away from the city, and she knew that it was about to bang the tin drum loudly. She tensed.
The highway bed boomed, and the man behind her jerked involuntarily. She could hear his clothes rustle as his instincts kicked in and he looked back over his shoulder just for a split second. Serena ran. She galloped through the snow, breaking away from him and heading for the fields and long grass that led toward the port terminal. He recovered and was after her immediately, but Serena was fast. Her shoes slipped off her feet, and she ran even faster that way, struggling to stay balanced with her arms locked behind her. She didn't look back, but heard him grunt as he fell. She reached the road, shot across it, and leaped down into the tall brush, which rose almost to her neck. When she risked a look back, she didn't see him.
Fighting through the snow was like running through deep water. The effort exhausted her, and only the blood pumping madly through her veins kept her feet from freezing. She passed under drooping telephone wires and near the concrete skeletons of a bridge that had been torn down years ago, leaving behind rubble that may as well have been the bombed-out remains of a war zone. He was back behind her again; she could hear him beating through the weeds. She emerged out of the field after a hundred yards and found herself in the middle of a field of snow-lined railroad tracks winding into the heart of the port. Rusted railway cars sat there, abandoned for the season. The struggle to run without her arms pumping at her side was wearing her down. As she followed the tracks, she pitched forward, tripping on a brick of ice. Something hard and sharp cut her face. She lost precious seconds twisting and turning and fighting back to her feet, and she saw him behind her, a violent shadow, bursting from the grassy field and steering for her, closing the gap.
She didn't know how much time had passed, and she prayed that Jonny would soon be flooding the area with police.
The tracks led her into the port, and she found herself in a world populated by sleeping giants. Cranes soared into the sky, hooks dangling on steel cables like hangmen. Snow-covered mountains of dirt, scrap metal, and taconite dwarfed her, and concrete silos more than a hundred feet tall towered over the flat land. She tried to lose herself in the huge, silent maze, where the only noise was the hiss of the blizzard. She watched and listened for him, but he had melted into the port behind her and vanished. He could be anywhere.
She had trouble walking. Her feet trailed blood, and she could barely feel them or move her toes. Cuts and bruises stung her face, and she tasted more blood on her lips. The handcuffs rubbed her wrists raw. She couldn't move anymore. She stopped where a crevice had eroded into a pyramid of earth and forced herself inside, hating that she couldn't see out, hoping he wouldn't cross in front of her. She squatted, making herself small, but she swayed on her frostbitten feet and toppled forward, exposed. Snow continued to fall in a white rain that chilled and enveloped her. She tried to right herself, but she had no strength anymore except to lie there and hope that the giants would protect her.
Her cell phone began ringing. It was ungodly loud. Her hands were tied, and all she could do was listen to it shoot up a flare for him. She heard the slow, sure crunch of his footsteps as he found her and glimpsed his shadow looming over her, and she didn't even care. He laughed, staring down at her prone body, and dragged her by her collar off the ground. His revolver was flipped in his hand, the butt facing out. She had no more fight.
"Time for a little payback," he said.
The gun flew up, it flew down, and somewhere she saw the orange light of the sun coming closer and burning her eyes and leaving her blind.
PART THREE. HOT SPOTS
46
The second glass of shiraz made Helen Danning's head swim. She usually avoided alcohol, but a few days at Evelyn's house had relaxed her. She sat in a fraying easy chair and hummed as she listened to the soundtrack from Damn Yankees on the stereo. She had seen nearly every performance of the show at the Ordway, with Jerry Lewis in the role of the devil. He was a great devil.
Helen filed her fingernails to perfect crescents and swung up her legs to do the same with her toenails. She was particular about her nails, makeup, lipstick, and hair. Everything had to be clean and in place. She ironed all her clothes, even her socks and underwear, when they were fresh out of the dryer. She kept her countertops disinfected and sparkling and never left a dirty dish in the sink. Evelyn wasn't so fussy. Her friend liked mess creeping in at the edges, but she didn't complain when Helen obsessively cleaned her house.
Evelyn warbled the chorus from the show tune on the speakers. She dipped to one knee and spread both arms wide as she bounded into the living room.
Helen laughed.
"That's what I like to see," Evelyn told her. "You laughing. You with your feet up."
"I'm a little drunk," Helen said.
"Good."
Evelyn reached inside the hall closet and took out a fleece jacket covered with strips of silver reflective tape. She shrugged it on.
"You're going jogging?" Helen asked. "It's late."
"I know, I got caught up in my latest masterpiece." Evelyn wiped a smudge of paint from her cheek.
"It's slippery out there."
The windows were pasted with snow.
Evelyn shrugged. "I'm used to it. Anyway, there's nothing but flurries now. The storm tracked north. Duluth is getting buried."
"I'm hungry," Helen said.
"I won't be long, and then we can have dinner." Evelyn sighed as her golden retriever launched a frenzy of barking in the front of the house. "That dog barks at every damn deer that wanders into the woods. Edgar! Leave Bambi alone! You know, I found him nose to nose with a moose one morning, and the moose was looking at that dog like he was nuts."
Evelyn padded over to the ottoman in her white socks, pushed Helen's legs aside, and sat down. She began putting on her tennis shoes and eyed Helen thoughtfully.
"So did you write back to that woman who sent you the e-mail? Eric's wife?"
Helen frowned. "I told her to leave me alone."
"You think that's the right thing to do?"
"She's a cop. I don't want anything to do with cops."
"She's also a woman whose husband was murdered. You might be able to help her. Don't you think you should?"
"I don't want to get in the middle of this."
"You already are."
"What do you mean?"
Evelyn dug into the pocket of her sweat pants and pulled out a scrap of paper. She handed it to Helen. It was a phone number with a 218 area code.
"Somebody called me at the shop today," Evelyn said. "He was with the Duluth police."
Helen tensed. "Oh, my God."
"They're looking for you, honeybun."
"You didn't tell him anything, did you?"