Part 38 (1/2)

'Yup.'

'We're bound to get lucky.'

'Yup.'

Think about it: we've had bodies, bombs, drugs, thunderstorms . . . Life was a country song: If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.

There was a car coming, a blue car, and it slowed as it reached the stop.

'Local rapist,' Zoe muttered.

A man leaned out of his open window. He was alone in his car. He said, 'You weren't waiting for a bus, were you?'

Before Zoe could make any one of a dozen responses, Sarah said, 'We are, yes.'

'Because unless they've changed things recently, that bus doesn't run any more.'

'You local?' Zoe asked.

'No. But I work the roads. I've driven this stretch for years. Trust me.'

Oh, sure . . .

'The name's Keller. David Keller.'

'Uh-huh,' said Zoe.

'And if you're heading this way, I can give you a ride. Far as the next town, anyway. Somewhere you might find a bus.'

Zoe looked at Sarah. Sarah looked right back.

'Thanks,' said Sarah. 'We could use some help right now.'

So could Howard. He'd had to alter the tracker's parameters already: four miles and counting either they'd got transport, or that bear could really move. On the main road, where he could locate himself on his map, he'd pulled into a lay-by and was fussing over details: a power pylon to his right, or probably east, meant he was either here or here . . . So they were back on the water or heading down the coast. Something of a toss-up, really. But he had no choice but to act like they were still on the road.

And at the back of his mind, with that part of his brain he used for crosswords, s.e.xual fantasies, and other mental activities demanding attention to detail, he was clocking through the possible ident.i.ties of a woman in a red jumper and, he was halfway definite, a gun in a leather shoulder bag.

The detective. That was what his subconscious came up with a minute or so before pa.s.sing it on. She was something to do with that detective Sarah Trafford had hired, and Axel had pacified.

That was the trouble with loose ends, he decided, starting the car up again, heading in what he hoped was the right direction. You didn't pay attention at the time, the whole blasted ball of wool came apart.

He didn't know yet if he was capable of wrapping this up himself. Maybe he'd get lucky, and Amos Crane would do that for him. But one way or the other, he was going to get his hands dirty, because if he didn't put Amos Crane away first, Amos Crane would bury him . . .

Point B slowed to a crawl and stopped. Maybe that was his luck changing direction, Howard thought . . . then realized he couldn't swear as to whether his luck so far had been good or bad.

Images of something else buried flashed through Sarah's mind: the sun on heavy leaves, and old stone, and decorated gla.s.s. The kind of image that tugs at you and you can't pin down, because it never actually happened; it's a detail from a radio show or a page in a book something described that your mind has coloured in, allowed to become as real as memory. But what was stone and gla.s.s and hidden among the trees?

'. . . Pharmaceuticals?'

'You'd be surprised how many people give me the wink when they hear that word.'

'Stop the car,' she said.

'Sarah?' said Zoe.

Zoe was up front, talking to . . . David Keller; that was his name. And she'd turned round now, frowning at Sarah, wondering what the h.e.l.l was up now; you couldn't blame her, Sarah decided; I act like I'm bonkers half the time these days. Maybe I am. And none of this is happening.

'Sarah?'

'I'm sorry. David? Could you stop the car, please. I've just realized something.'

Obediently, he stopped the car, and turned to look at Sarah too. 'Are you in some kind of trouble?' he asked.

Shrewd. Maybe. Though it didn't take a genius.

'Kind of. Do you have a map? A local map?'

'I might have. There's all kinds of stuff in the glove box.' He nodded at Zoe, meaning: Sure, go ahead, look in the glove compartment.

There were maps: also packets of extra-strong mints, sungla.s.ses, wet-wipes, Opal Fruits, much of which tumbled into Zoe's lap when she released the catch . . . Three maps down she found the one they were after, and handed it to Sarah without a word.

A little way up the coast. We found a church by the side of a wood. Well, a chapel.

'Is it something special you're looking for? I do know the area quite well.'

Deserted, it was . . . We sheltered there that first night. Sanctuary, you'd call it.

'Sarah?'

'I know where they are.'

'What makes you '

'Zoe, please. Trust me. I know where they'll be.'

She fell back to her map-reading: never one of her greatest skills. But she knew a little cross when she saw one: bang next to that densely green patch, which must be Michael's wood.

'I know this is none of my business,' their driver began.

'David. I'm sorry about this. We both are. You can let us out here, there's somewhere we need to be.'

He turned in his seat to face her. An old face, or looking older than it actually was, perhaps funny, Sarah found time to think, how some people can look older than they appear to be. He'd stopped to help them, and here she was telling him they didn't need his help. Didn't seem the type to turn nasty, though. His face crinkled when he spoke.

'I see a lot of people on the roads . . . I don't mean you look desperate. But you get a sense for it, after a while. You need help. That's okay. I can take you where you need to go.'

'She doesn't know what she needs,' Zoe muttered.

He looked at her.

'Sorry.' Zoe turned to Sarah again. 'But listen, I thought we'd decided this? We head for the nearest exit.'