Spencerville

Keith thought about what Schenley had said and what Terry had said. Obviously, the call that Annie had made to Terry on Monday night was not made from Spencerville, but from Grey Lake if Schenley's chronology was correct, and it probably was. If Baxter had left Spencerville about three A.M., he'd have been at Grey Lake about nine or ten A.M., with a side trip to burn down the Landry house. Baxter had called his children from Grey Lake in the morning, then made Annie call her sister much later, probably after he realized that all the news reports about the Baxters being reunited and in seclusion needed to be verified by Annie to at least one family member. Also, the Florida story had to be put out. Again, Keith thought, Baxter was not only vicious but cunning. A bad combination.

Keith had no idea what was going on at Grey Lake, but he knew it wasn't a reconciliation. He tried to take some comfort in Annie's assurance that she could handle Cliff Baxter. But in truth, after what Baxter had seen — his wife and her lover naked in bed together — Keith was certain that Baxter had snapped. If he was even halfway rational, he wouldn't have kidnapped his own wife and left such a mess behind; he would have stayed around to protect his job, his power, and his reputation. But obviously the man knew he was finished, and with that knowledge, whatever social control he'd managed to maintain up to now was gone.

But he wouldn't kill her. No, but he'd make her wish she was dead.

Keith directed Chuck to an intersecting highway, then gave him a few other directions. Chuck asked, "How do you know this place so good?"

"I was born here."

"No shit? Hey, you're a Buckeye! Give me five, John!"

Keith felt compelled to solidify the camaraderie, and they did high fives.

A few minutes later, they approached the Porter house. Keith could see for a good distance in all directions, and he didn't see any police cars, or in fact any vehicles, not even the Porters' car in their gravel driveway. "Pull in here, Chuck."

Chuck pulled into the drive, and Keith said to him, "Thanks, buddy. This is it."

"This ain't Lima."

"I guess not. There's the sixty, and here's twenty more. See you next time I'm in Toledo."

"Hey, thanks."

Keith opened the door and got out. He said, "I love this van."

"Ain't she somethin?"

Keith moved quickly to the back of the house. There was no one in the herb gardens, but the back door was unlocked, and he went inside. He called out, but no one answered. Keith put his briefcase on the counter, locked the back door, then went around to the front door and bolted it.

He went back to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took a bottle of orange juice and a bran muffin, which he ate as he drank the juice straight from the bottle. He finished both and felt his stomach heave, but managed to keep it all down. He was definitely not well and was operating on pure adrenaline and hate.

He had no idea where the Porters were, or when they'd be back, but he was actually glad they weren't around.

At some point, the Spencerville police, or the sheriff, or the posse, or the deputies, or somebody would come around again, and he had to get moving. It was nearly three hundred miles to northern Michigan, and he needed a rifle, a car, clothing, and the other odds and ends of the killing game.

He went into the front foyer and started up the stairs, then heard a knock on the front door.

Keith went quickly to the living room and peered out the window. Parked in front of the house was a Spencerville police car.

There was no one in the car, so the question was, How many cops were around the house? Schenley said only one in each car. There was another, more insistent knock.

Keith didn't have to answer it, of course, but if it was one of the men who had accompanied Baxter to the motel, Keith wanted to say hello and maybe borrow the car and the shotgun in the car.

He peered sideways out the window and saw Kevin Ward, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt, not looking very alert.

Keith went to the front door and opened it. "Hi."

Before Ward could react, Keith delivered an uppercut to Ward's groin, then as Ward doubled over, Keith pulled him inside, kicked the door closed, and delivered a powerful hand-chop to Ward's neck. Ward crumpled to the floor, semiconscious.

Keith took Ward's handcuffs and cuffed his right wrist, then snapped the other cuff to the radiator's steam pipe. Keith unbuckled Ward's gun belt and pulled it off.

Ward was coming to now, and Keith said to him, "You looking for me?"

Ward lay on his side, and it took him a few seconds to realize he was tethered to the steam pipe. He stared up at Keith and said, "You fucking..."

Keith drew Ward's service revolver, aimed it at Ward's head, and cocked it. "Where's your boss?"

"Fuck you."

Keith fired into the wooden floor in front of Ward's face, and the man actually levitated off the floorboards.

Ward shouted, "Florida! He's in Florida!"

"Where in Florida?"

"I don't..."