Part 88 (2/2)

Matt handed the ignition keys to Matthews.

”Give it a minute, and then head up Route 611,” he said. ”I didn't want it to look, if Ollwood is already there, as if somebody was tailing Susan.”

Matthews nodded ”How far is Chenowith?” he asked.

”About fifteen miles out of town,” Matt said. ”I checked the place out. You'll have no trouble surrounding it. And there's no other houses near.”

Matthews grunted, and started the engine.

”Jack, Susan got into this because she felt sorry for the Ollwood girl. She's not part of that bunch of lunatics.”

”Oh, you poor son of a b.i.t.c.h! You really believe that, don't you?”

”Yeah, I believe it,” Matt said. ”Okay. Here's what's going down. We're going to the Crossroads Diner.”

”I know it.”

”Behind it is a bank of pay phones. At seven o'clock, Ollwood is going to call Susan on one of them, to see if she's there. One of two things will happen then. Ollwood will either come to the restaurant, or she will tell Susan to meet her someplace else.”

”Maybe at Chenowith's?”

”I don't think so. I don't think Chenowith wants Susan to come to his house; otherwise, he would have just told her to. But someplace else, that's possible. If that happens, we'll have to play that by ear.”

Matthews put his Chevrolet in reverse, backed out of his parking slot, and drove slowly out of the parking lot.

”What if Ollwood is already at the restaurant, gives your girlfriend the package, and takes off?”

”That's possible. When we get there, cruise the parking lot. We're looking for an old Ford station wagon and/or a battered Volkswagen.”

”If Ollwood has taken off, then what, Matt?”

”This is as far as I'm going, Jack. We go to the locals and ask for their help.”

Susan was talking on one of the pay phones when Matthews drove around to the back of the Crossroads Diner.

So was a young, grossly obese young woman in overalls with a small child perched on her hip.

Susan gave no indication that she had seen Matthews's car as they drove by her.

Matthews turned the corner of the building and stopped.

”I didn't see a Bug or a station wagon,” Matthews said. ”Did you?”

”No. What's likely to happen is that Ollwood will come here and just give her the package. We don't want her to get out of the parking lot.”

”Okay. You get out, see what Susan has to say, and I'll start looking for Ollwood's car. I'll try to block it. If necessary, I'll ram it.”

Matt jumped out of the Chevrolet, and Matthews began to turn his car around.

Matt entered the front of the restaurant, then looked out a window to see that Susan, now off the phone, was still at the bank of pay phones.

Then he went out the back door of the restaurant and made his way through the parked cars until he was across the lane from Susan.

He had to call ”honey” twice before she saw him crouched low between the fenders of a Dodge and a Ford.

”She's coming, right away, to pick me up,” Susan said.

The grossly obese young woman, in the act of counting change, looked at Susan curiously, and then even more curiously when she saw Matt.

Matt backed up and retraced his path through the restaurant.

Jack's car was nowhere in sight, but a row of garbage cans had been placed across the road to block it.

Matt could see curious faces on people wearing cook's whites looking out from the restaurant's kitchen; Jack Matthews had obviously shown them his badge and explained what he was doing with the garbage cans.

And, as obviously, he planned to block the lane from the other end.

Matt walked quickly down the front of the restaurant, looking for Matthews' Chevrolet. He found it and started to walk toward it, when he saw the battered Volkswagen turning into the parking lot.

He walked, as quickly as he could-without appearing to be running, just some guy going to his car-forcing himself not to look again at the Volkswagen, until he was parallel to where Susan stood at the bank of pay phones.

He got there just as the Volkswagen stopped.

Susan went to it and pulled the door open.

Matt ran to the Volkswagen and tried to pull the driver's door open. He had decided the best way to restrain Jenny Ollwood was to jerk her out of the car and throw her on the ground.

He had solved the problem of having no handcuffs by ”forgetting” to return the pair he had borrowed from Lieutenant Deitrich when they had arrested Calhoun. He would put the borrowed set on Jennifer Ollwood.

The Volkswagen driver's-side door was locked.

”You are under arrest!” he shouted.

Jennifer Ollwood looked up at him, not in fear but fury. ”Motherf.u.c.king pig!” she screamed.

The Volkswagen raced off.

Matt dropped to his knees to take his pistol from his ankle holster.

There was a burst of carbine fire, seven, eight, ten rounds. Matt looked down the lane.

Chenowith was standing in the center of it, trying to clear a jam.

”Drop the gun!” Jack Matthews shouted.

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