Spencerville

"They could have... but they took the plates off this one. Now, why'd they do that if they was in another car hightailing it to Cleveland or someplace? No... I think they're close by, walking distance, and they didn't want this car connected to them." He looked at his three men. "Anybody got any other ideas?"

Krug said, "They could've gotten a taxi or bus from here, Chief. Could be in Toledo."

Baxter nodded. "Could be." He looked around again at the immediate area. "Taxi or bus. Could be. But I don't think so. I think they got a motel, one of them fuck places, dumped their shit, then went out to dump the car. The guy got lucky and smart when he saw this Chevy place. Yeah. They're a little walk from here. Maybe campin' out, but most likely a fuck place, or a roomin' house, where they don't need to use a credit card. Yeah. Okay, Krug, you and Ward take this side of the highway and start checkin' the motels back toward the airport. Blake and I'll start back near the airport and do the eastbound side of the highway. If you get anything, you call me and nobody else. Use the mobile phone. Let's roll."

* * *

Blake and Baxter began at the airport, drove past the Sheraton, and approached a Holiday Inn. Baxter said, "Keep goin'. We're only gonna stop at the small ram-it-inns."

"Right."

They continued on.

Baxter thought about things. Keith Landry was an asshole, but a lot smarter asshole than Baxter had figured. But maybe not smart enough. Baxter realized that he'd been out of touch with real police work for too long, but after almost three decades on the force, he'd learned a lot, remembered some, and recognized, grudgingly, that he was dealing with a pro. He wondered what Landry had done for the government and decided that it had nothing to do with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. But what Landry hadn't reckoned with was Chief Baxter's innate predatory instincts. What Baxter lacked in formal training, he made up for in intuition. Out in the woods of Michigan, Cliff Baxter was the best hunter of any of his friends. He had a sixth sense for locating an animal, for smelling its blood and reading its mind, for guessing if it was going to break and run, go to ground, turn and fight, or simply stand frozen, waiting for its fate. Humans, he'd decided, were not much different.

He thought next about his wife, and tried to figure out how she'd pulled this off without him really knowing about it. He had suspicions, but he always had suspicions. Somehow, she'd completely outfoxed the fox. And he knew, deep down inside, that she had an understanding of him, a result of twenty years of living with him and having to survive on her wits. When he complained about her to other women, one of the things he never said was, "My wife doesn't understand me."

He didn't want to think about his wife and Keith Landry, but in a way, he did. He sometimes pictured Annie — Miss Perfect, Miss Choir Lady, Miss Goody-Goody — having sex with another man. This had always been his worst nightmare, and it was happening now — Landry and his wife were somewhere close by, naked, in bed, laughing, having sex. Landry was on top of her, and she had her legs wrapped around him. It made him crazy to think about it. It also made him hard.

They cruised past the dark sign of the Westway Motel, still traveling east, then Baxter said, "Wait! Slow down. Pull onto the shoulder."

Blake pulled over.

Baxter sat a moment. Something had registered in his mind, but he didn't know what it was. He said, "Back up."

Blake put the cruiser in reverse, and when they came abreast of the dark signboard, Baxter said, "Stop."

Cliff Baxter got out of the car and walked over to the plastic sign with the red plastic letters and read, Westway Motel — $29. He got closer to the sign and saw that the battery plug was disconnected. He plugged it in, and the lights went on. He pulled the plug out, leaving the sign in darkness again.

Baxter got back into the car and said, "Back up to that side road and turn in."

"Right." Blake got onto the narrow lane, and the Spencerville police cruiser pulled up to the Westway Motel at five minutes past midnight.

Baxter said, "Wait here." He took a cardboard file case with him and went into the small lobby.

The young man behind the desk stood. "Yes, sir?"

"Lookin' for somebody, son." He put the file case on the counter. "You hear about an all-points bulletin tonight?"

"No, I didn't."

"What the hell you watchin' on TV?"

"A videotape."

"Yeah? Okay, how long you been on tonight?"

"Since four. Waiting for my relief..."

"Okay, you're my man. Now listen good. I'm lookin' for a guy drivin' a dark green Blazer. He had a woman with him, but I don't reckon she'd come in here. They would've checked in about nine, nine-thirty, maybe later. He's about mid-forties, tall, medium build, light brown hair, kinda gray-green eyes... and I guess not too bad-lookin'. You seen him, didn't you?"

"Well..."