15 Seconds (22 page)

Chapter Fifty-Six

B
ud Poole got on the phone after the woman from Jacksonville left.

He just wasn't sure if he should call his lawyer first—or the police!

He chose the police.

It had been a strange conversation right from the start. Showing him those photos—Steadman and that other guy. Hofer. And how she wasn't even a detective, just some employee at the sheriff's office down there. No badge, only an employee ID.

Even if he had gotten a little carried away with all the attention about Henry Steadman . . . he knew it had shaken him up, thrown him off his game.

And then that other guy, the one who was milling around the aisles. He and the woman had come in together. He remembered how their eyes clearly ran to each other's after he looked at that photo. There was something between them. He saw it. And then the guy looked up and Bud got a good look at his face.

Henry Steadman.

When they left, Bud went to the door and watched them climb into the same car . . . A white Prius.

This was the biggest news Mount Holly had seen since snow.

The lawyer, he could come later.

He punched in the number, and when the duty officer answered, “Mount Holly Police,” Bud asked for Lieutenant Pete Toms. Shit, he could've asked for practically anyone there—he'd sold them all a weapon or two over the years.

“This is Lieutenant Toms.”

“Pete . . .”
Bud said. “Bud Poole. Over at Bud's Guns . . . You're not going to believe who I just saw! That guy from Jacksonville. Steadman. Who's wanted on those murders?”

“Bud, you seem to be seeing him everywhere,” Pete replied with some levity.

“I know. I know. But this is different! He just drove away in a white Prius. With Florida plates. He's with a woman. This is for real, Pete,” he said, almost huffing on the words. “They just left my store!”

Chapter Fifty-Seven

I
froze, as if a syringe of ice had been injected directly into my veins. “What do you mean she's no longer here?” I shouted into the phone in alarm.

“What'd you think this was—some kind of game?” Hofer said. “I told you, didn't I? You go to the police, you knew what was going to happen. Still have your old cell phone? Take a look. Picture coming through now . . .”

No. No . . .
I almost retched right there. How could he have known? Was it Fellows? But he could have only told him Carrie and I were up there at two different times. I grabbed my cell from my pocket. “I didn't go to the police. I swear! What did you do to her, goddammit? What did you do?”

My phone vibrated in my hand. I saw the message come through from Hallie. Tears of helplessness started to burn in my eyes—and of fear. Fear at what I was about to see.

My own daughter . . .

I pressed the open option. The photo flickered for a moment, uploading; then it came in.

It was Hallie.
Oh God . . .

But to my joy her eyes were open and she didn't appear to be harmed.

Her mouth was taped and her eyes were focused in anger and humiliation, and there was a sign hung around her neck. In her handwriting.

J
UST KIDDING,
D
AD
.

My pulse started to calm, like a tide receding, but then the relief turned immediately into rage. “You sonovabitch Hofer.”

Another pause. This time I realized I'd made a mistake. Saying his name. Telling him that I knew. But I didn't care.

“Oh, relax. I was just trying to get a rise out of you, Doc. You can be sure, the call will be for real soon enough. Maybe even tomorrow. So you know who I am, huh? Well, all congratulations to you.”

I turned back toward Carrie and she noticed the pallor on my face. I mouthed a single word to her.
“Hofer!”

Her eyes went wide. I heard her tell her brother she needed a minute, that she'd call him right back.

“Yeah, I know who you are, Hofer. And what you've done. I know it was you who killed Martinez. And Mike Dinofrio. I know you bought that gun pretending to be me. That's where I am now. Up in Mount Holly. I also know you knew Martinez from back when you were on the force, and that you knew Fellows from work—and that you got the license plate from him. I even know why you did it—your daughter. Because you somehow blame me for what happened to her. And I hope it was worth it, Hofer, because however long it takes, I'm gonna find you myself and wring the life out of you!”

He snickered. “You've been a busy little bee, haven't you, Doc. A busy, busy little bee. But hell, there's only one thing missing. You're up in North Carolina, and all the fun's going on down here. And you don't know where we are.”

“What do you want from me, Hofer? Give me my daughter back. Please . . . What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to know what a man is truly capable of, when you take everything he has away from him. What it used to mean to be human.”

“I didn't do any of that to you, Hofer.”

“Oh, yes you did. Yes, you did do it to me, Doc. You may not fully know it, but you damn well did it and profited from it, probably laughed about it at parties or bought some fancy car from it, it's all the same to me. The man who looks away bears all the guilt of the man who sins. Just like all the rest, Doc, you are accountable . . .”

“The rest . . . ?”
He was rambling. What did he mean by “all the rest”? Who had to be made accountable?

“In fact, you are the very source of it, Doc. The heart of the beast. Whether you knew or not, that's no matter. It came from you.”

“What are you talking about? What came from me?”

Suddenly I realized what he meant. The OxyContin that his daughter must have been on. At the time of the accident. Had it come from me? Had he traced it?

I felt sickened.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry about what happened to your daughter. I'm sorry if I played a role in it. But let it be over now, Hofer, please. You want me. I'll go wherever you want. Just tell me where to find you. I give you my word. But Hallie's innocent. Just let her go.”

“I'm not getting through to you, Doc. A little baby was killed. Along with her mother.
They
were innocent. Not your little Hallie. They were the ones you made bleed.”

“No. It wasn't me. Your daughter did that, Hofer. And surely not Hallie. Please, I'll come to you. I'll do what you want. Just let her go.”

For a moment I thought I might have him convinced. In the background I heard my daughter whimpering. He might be crazy, twisted with blame and guilt. But there might still be some speck of human feeling left in him.

“Don't worry, Doc. I've got something nice cooked up for her. And soon. But for now . . . remember, our arrangement's still on. You remember that, don't you, Henry . . . ?”

“I remember,” I said, squeezing my fists, feeling the blood come to a stop in my veins.

“I don't have to remind you, do I? How I'm gonna start with her feet, Doc, by skinning them, and then I'm gonna skin my way all the way along her back up to that pretty, little neck of hers . . .”

I clenched my teeth. “Oh God, you sonovabitch, please . . .”

“And I'll be thinking of you, Doc, thinking of how you poisoned my daughter, every inch of the way. Thinking of how you caused those deaths, and knowing I'm doing good, every second I watch her die. You hearing me right . . . ?”

“Yes, Hofer, I hear you. Just don't touch her. I'm begging you.”

“But don't worry. Show won't start until you're here to see it. I promise you. I'll call you again, and we'll figure how we can pick up on that discussion. About the role you might have played in my daughter's life. About accountability. Your daughter and mine . . .”

“Let me talk to her again,” I said. “I've done everything you asked. Let me talk to Hallie again. Please . . .”

“Nah, you just get a move on, Doc. Worry about keeping yourself alive. 'Cause you just told me where you are. Bud's Guns, right? And as soon as I get off this phone, I just might dial up the police over there and tell them who I think might be in their town . . . Just for the sport of it. And that would mess up all our plans. Wouldn't it, Doc? Mr. World-Famous Surgeon.”

I didn't answer.

“
Wouldn't it?
Mess up all our plans. Must be a bad connection. I didn't hear you.”

“Yes,”
I said, looking at Carrie, seething, “it would.”

“Now shoo away. She'll be all right. Least for a spell. I'll take care of her, like she was my own. So best get yourself along . . . Before you don't have any choice. Ta-ta, there, Doc
. . .”

I heard one more chuckle and then the line went dead.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

“W
hat did he say?” Carrie asked.

“He played a sick joke on me. He told me she was dead. He's going to do it, Carrie, if we don't find him soon.”

“I'll call Jack back.”

“No.” I put my hand on hers, stopping her in mid-dial. “Not yet. He warned me not to do it. There were others, Carrie,” I told her. “Martinez and Mike were shot. But he said he'd skin her like the others . . .”

“Others?”
Carrie eyes grew frightened. “Oh my God! He's going to kill you, Henry,” she said, looking at me. “You know that, don't you? And then he's going to kill her.”

“He's got my daughter, Carrie!”

She took my hand and made me sit down. My legs felt rubbery. Just feeling her steady grip, her smooth fingers massaging and warm . . . it made me feel stronger, like there was some way out of this. “We're going to find a way to get her, Henry. We've got to let him think he's got his way with you. And
you
have to keep demanding proof that she's okay. We're going to get her back. Soon as you give me the go-ahead to bring in people who can handle this kind of thing.”

“I don't know,” I said, thinking of Hofer's promise. “What if they bungle it? Or if word gets out of what they're planning? Then Hallie would be dead. I couldn't live with that. Think about Raef, your son. What would
you
do?”

I saw by the silent breath she drew that she knew exactly what she'd do.

I had to stay out.

I also knew there was no way we could remain here in Mount Holly. Carrie had already told her brother where we were. If she didn't get back to him, he'd surely get the local police involved. And I didn't know if Hofer had been for real when he said he would alert the local police. It sounded just like him! Then I realized, Carrie had given her brother Hofer's name.

They knew about him! They could easily go to his home. I suddenly realized I might not be able to control the FBI.

I was about to tell her this, that she had to doubly warn them—not to do anything—when I looked past her, to where we had left the car on Main Street.

My stomach fell off a cliff.

Two local cop cars had stopped next to Carrie's Prius, and a couple of officers were inspecting the car. The plates.

They were on their radios
.

“Oh, shit!”
My eyes stretched wide.

“What?”
Carrie muttered, turning around and saw for herself. “Oh, Jesus, no!”

I think it dawned on both of us at the same time that everything was about to change. That she couldn't cover for me anymore, and I couldn't remain here. Not for a second longer. No matter what we had proven. I had to run, and Carrie . . .
couldn't
. I didn't know if it was her brother who had called it in, or Bud. Or Hofer . . . It must have been Bud, I realized, if they knew which car to look for.

But it didn't matter. All I knew was that if they caught me, Hallie would be lost!

I got off the bench, my heart in a frenzy, and started to back away, my eyes fixed on the two cops, and their patrol car lights flashing. A small crowd had gathered around. Flashing lights clearly weren't routine here. It would only take a minute for them to scan the area and spot us here.

“I've got to get out of here, Carrie.”

She nodded, not trying to stop me. “
Go
. I'll do my best to cover for you, Henry. I'll have to say something . . . I'll explain it the best I can to Jack. About Hofer and Fellows and Martinez. I'll say we split up when I told you that you had to turn yourself in . . .” She had a look of worry and helplessness on her face. But behind it, I saw something deeper. She was scared.
For me.

“Don't try and call me,” she said. “I have your number. The one you called me on at the diner.
Henry . . .”
Tears welled up in her eyes. She was as terrified as I was, and I could see that a part of her wanted to take off with me. My heart was going
ka-bang, ka-bang
against my ribs. If we had seconds more, I would have gone up and hugged her right there. Carrie glanced around at the cops. “You better go . . .”

Suddenly one of them looked our way. He saw us! He put his hand over his eyes to shield the sun. I saw him motion to one of his partners.

“Henry, just go!”

Chapter Fifty-Nine

I
ran.

Actually, I started to back away at first, across the green, hoping not to draw any attention. I kept one eye on the policeman who was staring at me, no doubt starting to realize that Carrie and I fit the description he'd been given. My other eye was on Carrie, with a sinking feeling in my stomach that I had to run away. I'd only known her, really, for a day, but having to take off, so suddenly, after everything she'd done for me, was tearing at my heart.

Then suddenly the cop called to his partner and took a couple of steps in our direction, and I bolted across the green. Behind me I heard one of them shout:
“Hold it there!”

The street was heading toward the main road out of the town, mostly fenced-in yards and old Southern homes, and I didn't see any cover, other than weaving in and out of people's yards, hiding, until I was ultimately caught. I ran onto a small bridge that crossed a river leading into town and peered over the edge, hearing shouts behind me. The small, narrow river ran parallel to Main Street.

I took a quick glance back at the officers, who had now set off after me, Carrie going up to them, and leaped over the stone ledge onto the embankment, slipping on the dry, loose dirt and sliding down the edge, about twenty feet down. I landed on the rocks of the riverbed there, which was more like a narrow stream.

This was insane!
I was running from the police all over again. They didn't know anything about Vance Hofer or Bud's Guns. All they knew was that they had a wanted murder suspect here. In their little town.

They could very well start shooting at me!

I looked back up to the bridge and didn't see anyone, but I knew that was only a matter of seconds. The word had probably already gone out to every cop within two townships! I didn't have a clue where to run or how to get out of here. Not just out of this riverbed, but out of town.
Out of the area!
All I could think of was that if I got caught, in this Podunk place—the famous plastic-surgeon murderer!—there would be no containing it. They'd be crowing to every news station in the country! And even worse, Hallie would be at the mercy of that monster.

I couldn't even let my brain wander there!

The river cut behind the main street and I knew, if I kept along the rocks, I'd be in full view and they'd track me down in minutes. It must've been a dry spring here because the river seemed more of a stream and offered no protection.

I saw a giant, iron spill pipe along the bank, maybe six feet tall and rusted—it seemed to open directly under the bridge. I wasn't sure where it led—only
away,
and that was okay with me. In about ten seconds cops were going to be all over me. I pawed my way down to it, scrabbled over the rocks, and made it to the opening in the pipe under the cover of the bridge, and ducked. The opening was large, about two inches shorter than I was, at six-two, and I quickly found myself in the cool, dark, iron-smelling cavern just as the two cops who were pursuing me must've gotten to the bridge and peered over.

I heard shouting above me.

It was dark, clammy, and creepily cool in here. I had no idea how far it led or where to. There must be a bend somewhere. I couldn't see an opening at the other end. It was at least a quarter mile. There was a layer of filmy water on the bottom; my moccasins were soaked, not exactly cut out for this kind of thing. I went along in a crouch, a hand on each side of the pipe, knowing that in a couple of minutes the cops would make their way behind me, and praying, my heart ricocheting against my ribs, that there wouldn't be a party to meet me at the other end, complete with dogs and brandishing rifles.

I tried not to imagine the kinds of creepy things that called this place home: spiders, leeches, even rats . . . “Oh God, Henry, how have you found yourself into this fucking mess?” I said, my words echoing against the sides, which were rusted and slick with moss, and metallic smelling.

I was about a hundred yards in when I spotted the light of an opening at the other end. I didn't know if I felt lifted or afraid. I just knew I had to make it there before the cops crawled in after me or radioed in reinforcements.

Okay . . .
As the light grew larger I racked my brain for what to do. The thought flashed through me that I could climb out of this tunnel and duck into the woods for a while. Maybe I could call Carrie and she'd be able to find me . . . Then I thought,
Henry, who are you kidding? They'll be all over here, and you're not exactly an outdoorsman.
Liz always joked how I'd be voted off
Survivor
before the first commercial . . .

And there was still Hallie. If I was apprehended, it would be a death warrant for her.

The sad truth began to sink in that, sooner rather than later, I'd be caught. I'd be kept in jail in this stupid town until I could be handed over to the Jacksonville police. No one was going to listen to me; they would only believe I'd concocted this story to save my own skin. By the time they found out that I was telling the truth, Hallie would be dead.

Hofer was going to win.

No, no . . .
You're not going to let him win, Henry. . . . You're going to find a way out of this and get to Hallie . . . Do you fucking hear?

A voice echoed behind me and I spun. The bright circle at the entrance had disappeared and someone was screaming, “
Police! Steadman!
Whoever you are, get down on the ground! There's no way out!”

His words reverberated against the walls.

In front of me the opening looked about fifty yards ahead.

I didn't know if they would shoot. They still weren't a hundred percent sure who I even was. But these small-town cops might well be itching to pull a trigger. I crouched lower and picked up the pace, the opening in front of me growing larger. And then I could see rocks straight ahead, where the pipe met the river, and my heart picked up and I even heard the sound of rushing water.

I heard someone yell,
“Shit,”
maybe a hundred yards behind me. It might have been the heavy one, taking a tumble in the murky water. Meanwhile, my feet were cold and soaked, and the opening was in front of me. I had finally made it to the end.

Cautiously, I stuck my head out, and to my joy, I heard nothing—no shouts to get down on the ground! No dogs barking.
No sign of police.
The river wound its way behind the main street, and I could see the backs of shops up on the hill above me. I heard the sound of water picking up speed. I climbed out of the pipe and onto the slick rocks and looked down.

I was on a kind of elevated levee, a makeshift dam with a fifteen- to twenty-foot drop-off to the level below. The town was directly above me, an easy climb back up the rocks. But there were cops up there to contend with. I scurried along the shore, slipping on the slick, wet rocks, until I got close to the edge. I straddled the dam along the embankment, spray rushing up at me, hitting me in the face. I noticed two anglers a couple of hundred yards down the stream, their lines in the water.

I couldn't get across here.

I could jump. I looked over the edge. The rocks were larger and jagged below. But I could do it! I could let the river take me.
But where?
I thought of the movie
The Fugitive
. Harrison Ford had jumped. From a much higher and more dangerous height than this. Into the swirling spray. And the river had taken him. But that was Hollywood. These fishermen would only point out my escape. Assuming the police didn't witness it themselves. They were only a short way behind.

No, I had to make my way back up into town.

I looked up and saw the back deck of the motel Carrie and I had passed while driving through town. I balanced along the edge, took off my jacket, and hurled it as far as I could into the river. It landed in an eddy and managed to catch on a rock. I hoped it might distract them for a while. Make them believe I had jumped, and spend some seconds looking for me.

Then I started to paw my way up the sharp embankment, groping at rocks, weeds, anything that might hold me.

If they came out now, I'd be a sitting duck. I made it to the top and hurled myself over a small retaining wall onto a gravel patch underneath the motel's concrete foundation.

My breaths jabbed like needles in my lungs.

I looked below and saw the two cops who had been chasing me finally emerge from the pipe, shielding their eyes and looking up the embankment, gingerly making their way along the rocks over the dam, scanning downriver.

Then they spotted my jacket. The two of them inched closer to the river's edge and got on their radios, calling it in.

I could see the two anglers downstream, waving at them. Their words were unintelligible, but I knew exactly what they were trying to tell them, pointing up the hill at me.

Finally grasping it, the two cops looked up the hill, and I ducked behind some brush and rolled away from the bank.

Someone shouted my name!

I spun, and was face-to-face with another policeman, this one young, crew-cut light hair and sunglasses. Maybe forty feet away. He leaned out over the edge above the embankment, his gun drawn. Shouting down to the other two,
“Up here! Up here!”
He was about two storefronts away, his weapon trained on me.

“Henry Steadman, get down on your knees!
Stop!
”

I stood, completely frozen, realizing that he was at an awkward angle leaning over the edge, still maybe forty feet from me.

And more alarming, every cop in two townships was going to be here in about twenty seconds!

I took off, throwing myself out of his line of sight as the young cop squeezed the trigger, a shot ricocheting behind me off one of the posts supporting the motel.

God, Henry, are you insane? He's shooting!

My heart was in a sprint, my thoughts jumbled and unclear. All I could think of was Hallie, and how I had to get out of here. . . . And if I couldn't . . .

Well, then it didn't matter what happened to me!

I ran around the side of the motel and hoisted myself over a redwood fence and onto a balcony—the restaurant. I hurried through an open sliding-glass door to the main room, hurrying past a young kid, probably an off-duty waiter or kitchen help, who smiled accommodatingly. “Anything we can do, sir?”

“No,”
I said, hurrying past him. “No. Thanks.”

“Kitchen opens at five o'clock,” he called after me.

I rushed out through the dining room, knowing that the cop who had shot at me was probably only a minute away, probably followed by several others. Surely the two who had been in the spill pipe behind me had to be up here by now as well.

I figured my one reasonable chance was to somehow get out of town, then call Carrie and hope she could pick me up somewhere. Or, at this point, hand myself over to her brother, which all of a sudden seemed like a far better option than ending up in a local jail.

But even that seemed a million-to-one now.

I ran into the main lobby and looked out the sliding front doors, and saw the cop who had shot at me running up the driveway, his gun drawn.

Oh no, no . . .

I looked down the hallway and heard the two cops who'd been behind me in the drain coming up the outside stairs.

It's over, Henry.

I was cornered. I thought about putting my hands in the air and ending it all right here. I was so damn beat from all this running . . . I felt like a prisoner who'd been forced to hold his arms up, over his head, for hours, and if he let them drop he'd be killed, and all he wanted to do was let them down, just for a second, to feel what life was like, regardless of the cost or the outcome, whatever fate was in store.

I looked at the guy behind the desk, tears welling in my eyes, and was about to simply say,
It's me! It's me they're here for!
And raise my arms.

Then I realized that I couldn't do that. No matter how much my arms hurt. No matter how long this had to go on.

Because the outcome wasn't about me, but about Hallie.

The cost of dropping them was my daughter's life.

I turned to the guy behind the counter. I said, “Something's going on! There are police all over here. I heard shots. I think the guy they're after is that doctor from Jacksonville. I think I just saw him run upstairs.”

The guy looked alarmed and then craned his head to look out the front door, at the policeman coming up the driveway. I went over to the staircase, pretending to head after the culprit, and while the desk clerk's attention was focused on the cop, I ducked down a hallway around the back and found a door marked
EMPLOYEES ONLY
. Which, thankfully, was open! I slipped through it and found myself in a janitorial staging area, with buckets and mops, shelves stocked with cleaners, and another door that seemed to lead outside to a delivery staging area.

A driverless white van marked
CAROLINA PIE COMPANY
was pulled up there, clearly delivering that night's desserts. As I passed by I looked in for the keys.

And then I saw it.

A black delivery guy in a gray work uniform was saying to a hotel employee in the delivery bay, “So this is all, then? Guess I'll see you Monday, sugar.” He had a large laundry bin with him, stuffed to the brim with white sheets and linens.

And just outside there was a delivery truck,
R&K INDUSTRIAL LAUNDRY, CHARLOTTE,
with its cargo door open and a metal ramp leading into the bay. While the driver had the female hotel staffer signing for his pickup, I slipped outside and looked into the truck, its cargo bay filled with identical large laundry bins.

Jesus, Henry, you've got to do this now.

I heard a commotion back inside the hotel—people shouting—and I realized that at any second the town's entire police force was going to converge right where I was standing.