Twisted Reason (25 page)

“In the Colonial Heights subdivision on Independence Way.”

“Abandoned?” Lucinda asked.

“No. There’s a man sitting in the driver’s seat.”

“Did patrol approach him?”

“No, they pulled around the corner out of sight and called it in.”

“Good. Send out enough patrol vehicles to block every road out of the neighborhood. I’m on my way.”

In the car, with Jumbo sitting beside her, Lucinda flipped on her flashing lights and tore across town. Her passenger paled at the speed of her driving and the abruptness of her turns. He braced himself against the dashboard, his fingertips turning white.

Before pulling through the brick pillars on either side of the main entrance to the community, Lucinda flipped off her lights and slowed down to a normal driving speed. She approached Independence Way, turned onto the street and drove past the van, pulling into a driveway two houses away.

She stepped out of the car, closed the door and walked at a casual pace toward the back of the house. Then she raced over to the next house, through two backyards and stopped behind the house directly in front of the van. She spoke into her radio. “I’m about to approach the van. Stay on high alert. Be prepared to move in on this location at my command, but also be ready to move out and block him if he runs. And have stop sticks ready to deploy if he gets really reckless.”

Lucinda calmed her breath, peeked around the corner and walked slowly beside the house attempting to appear as if she had just come out the back door and was strolling toward the sidewalk on her way up the street to visit a neighbor. Although she kept the van in view, she took care not to look directly at the driver’s face. She was halfway to the street when the engine cranked.

She shouted, “He’s running,” into the radio and pulled out her gun as she raced toward the vehicle. “Police, Mr. Blankenship! Mr. Blankenship, turn off the engine!”

The van pulled away from the curb and took off at a high rate of speed. Lucinda ran back to her car, leaped inside and backed up while still pulling the door shut. She spun around and headed after the van. Up ahead, she saw him turn left. “He just turned up Paul Revere. Somebody put out a stop stick.”

The patrol car that originally spotted the van had joined the chase, pulling in behind the van and ahead of Lucinda. She hollered again, “Where’s the stop stick?”

“It’s on Paul Revere just before the intersection with Constitution. He’s approaching. He’s half a block away. He . . . shit, he spotted it.”

Lucinda pulled into the middle of the street to see around the patrol car ahead of her. The van swerved up over a curb, across the grass, bisected the driveway, clipped the rear end of a Mini, spinning it at an angle, and then spit dirt as it tore through a flower bed and swerved onto Constitution Avenue.

“Pick up the stick! Pick up the stick!” Lucinda screeched into the radio. The officers moved into action immediately but too late for the patrol car ahead of Lucinda. He went flying over the stick, puncturing his tires, leaving bits of rubber in the road. Lucinda was ready to swerve into a front yard to avoid the obstacle but was spared that adventure by the quick response of the patrolmen. They cleared enough of the roadway to allow her to squeeze past into the intersection. She flew by, an officer’s astonished face just inches away.

She turned the corner and saw an arcing trail of decapitated daffodils and mud tracks on the pavement. She pressed down the accelerator to lessen the distance between her car and her target.

The van jerked off of Constitution and up onto a ramp, rocking a little to one side with the abruptness of the motion. He merged on the highway with Lucinda close to his tail. For miles ahead, patrol cars from the police, the sheriff’s department and the state troopers converged on the highway blocking on ramps and trying to get traffic to the side of the road, out of harm’s way.

The van rocketed through the remaining traffic, using a zigzag pattern that made it impossible for Lucinda to pull up beside him. Behind her, a pack of patrol cars, sirens wailing, grew in number with each passing signpost.

The driver was now in the far left lane. Lucinda pulled into the lane to his right and tried to close the gap. Suddenly, the van jerked across Lucinda’s path, crossed the remaining two lanes of traffic and entered the off ramp.

Lucinda braked and turned right. Her car shuddered, nearly stalled and then surged forward, off the highway heading into downtown. At the bottom of the ramp, the van kept going against the light, horns blared, brakes shrieked, metal grinded against metal. The driver’s side of the van scraped the rear end of a truck, forcing the fleeing vehicle up on its right wheels. It continued forward at an angle; Lucinda didn’t think it could maintain the position for long without flopping on its side.

Just as it started to go over, the passenger side scraped against the concrete abutment running along the up ramp to the highway. The van bounced down on four wheels and plowed forward into the grassy hill beside the underpass. Lucinda slammed on her brakes, sending her rear end into the beginning of a spin. The car jerked to a stop, throwing Jumbo forward, his head just inches from collision with the dashboard.

“Holy shit!” he swore.

“Call for an ambulance!” she shouted as she jumped out of her car and ran to the van. She inhaled the stench of exhaust fumes, burnt rubber and fresh-churned earth. She heard the sirens approaching, impatient horns blaring, the slapping of her feet on the asphalt.

Reaching the van, she jerked open the driver’s door with one hand while she pulled her gun with the other. The driver didn’t move. She stepped up on the side board, reached for his neck. She found a pulse. She put her fingers in front of his mouth and felt his breath.
Thank God.
Still he just hung limp, his seat belt all that kept him from collapsing on his side.

Gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Blankenship,” she said. “Are you Mr. Blankenship?” She got no response. “Don? Don Blankenship? Are you Don Blankenship? Derek?” she said and saw a flutter in his eyelashes.
The younger son
. “Hang in there, Derek. Help is on the way.”
And don’t die. Whatever you do don’t die.

She stepped down and looked through the maze of spinning lights, hoping to see an ambulance peel out of the pack. She shouted into the radio, “Where the hell is the ambulance?”

“Less than a mile away, Lieutenant. Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she spit out.

She stepped back up on the running board. “Derek. Derek. Can you hear me?”

His lids opened to small slits. He gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

“The ambulance is almost here. You’re going to be fine.”

His lips smacked. “Hurts,” he rasped.

“I see the ambulance. Help is here. Coming this way. They’ll take care of your pain.” She stepped back to make way for the emergency medical personnel. She ran both hands through her hair as she walked back to her car. She leaned her rump against the hood and watched the activity at the van.

She heard the car door open, and then Jumbo was by her side. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey, Butler.”

“I was thinking . . .”

“What’s that?”

“Maybe after what we’ve just been through, you could start calling me Jumbo – all my friends do.”

Lucinda’s head dropped back as she laughed. “Yeah, you would think I would, wouldn’t you?”

Thirty-Eight

Terrified and paranoid, Sherry did not move until the urge to pee overcame her caution. She stepped back a little deeper into the wild growth on the roadside, blushing a bright red the moment she pulled down her pants. Squatting she felt vulnerable and immodest. When she finished, it hit her: no toilet paper, no tissue. She thought about ripping off a leaf, but she’d spent her life in the city, she’d heard of poison ivy but didn’t know what it looked like. Instead she bounced in place for a moment then pulled up her slacks. She wrinkled up her nose with distaste at the damp spot left on her underpants.

She couldn’t remember how she managed to get into the bushes on the side of the road but one thought remained anchored in her mind: she had to find her daughter. She high-stepped through the undergrowth until she reached the mowed swatch next to the pavement where she walked at a slow but steady pace.

The road was not well travelled but every car seemed one too many and she cringed as each one whooshed past her. Reaching a bridge, she stopped. When she crossed it, she’d be exposed with no easy place to hide. She located the midway point and picked out a mark nearest that spot and kept her eyes on it.
If I need to run before I reach that point, I have to turn around.
She ratcheted up her courage and crossed the bridge with a pounding heart.

She grew hungry as she traveled down the road but the grumbling in her stomach was far more tolerable than the dryness that spread from her mouth down into her throat. Her tongue felt like a big wad of partially chewed squid – she wished she could spit it out. She had to find water soon. She continued forward on the road that never seemed to end.

A car slowed beside her. She panicked and ran into the bushes again, ducked behind a tree. The car, though, didn’t stop as Sherry feared. She exhaled her relief when she realized the driver had no interest in her. It was just making a turn off the road up ahead. She couldn’t see a street sign.
Maybe there was a store or a house or a school up there – someplace I could get a glass of water.

She moved her tired legs as fast as she could.
How long have I been walking? How far have I gone?
She was painfully conscious of the weight of her feet and the effort it took to lift and move them forward.
What if there’s nothing there? What if I’m hurrying to nowhere?
Her lower lip quivered. Tears formed in her eyes. She shook off the threatened crying jag; she had no time for it now.

At long last, she reached the spot where the car turned off the road: a paved entrance to a gas station and convenience store. It was an old place that appeared a bit down on its luck; nonetheless, the sight of it gave her a fresh burst of energy. She hurried across the lot and into the front door. She stepped up to the counter and forced her dry mouth to form words. “Could I have a glass of water, please?”

The man behind the counter said, “The bottled water is in the back along the wall,” and turned to another customer. When he counted out that man’s change, he turned back to Sherry who stood in the same spot, blinking her eyes and clutching a purse to her chest. “Ma’am, did you hear me? Did you understand me?”

“I really need some water,” she squeaked.

He rolled his eyes, stepped from behind the counter, walked to the back and plucked a bottle out of the refrigerator case. Getting back to the cash register, he punched in the price and said, “That’s ninety-four cents after tax.”

Sherry just stuck out her hand, reaching for the water.

“Ma’am, you’ve got to pay for it first.”

“Please,” she said.

“Hand me your purse,” he said, reaching his hand toward her. “I’ll get the money out for you.”

Sherry stepped back, clutched her purse more tightly to her chest and shook her head.

“Okay, lady. Calm down. Here,” he said, stretching across the counter with the bottle. “Take it. It’s yours.”

She stepped forward, jerked it from his hand and twisted off the cap. She upended the bottle gulping hard and fast.

“Hey, lady. Easy there. You’re going to hurt yourself.” He grabbed the folding chair from behind the counter and set it down beside her. “Here. Sit. Drink slow and easy. Are you hungry, too?”

Sherry looked up at him and nodded.

“Okay. You stay right here. I’ll see what I can rustle open for ya, okay?” She watched as he turned his back to her and raised a thin, flat object to his ear. When he whispered into the object, she thought he was talking to himself.

Returning to Sherry, he held up a candy bar, a pack of peanut butter crackers and a bag of pretzels. “Does any of this look good to you?”

She pointed to the crackers. He gave them to her and watched her eat. She gnawed on the edges like a squirrel. When she finished the first one, she took a huge gulp of water. After the second one, the water was gone. He got her another bottle and asked, “You got a name?”

Sherry bit her lower lip, nodded her head and said, “Sherry.”

“You got a last name, you know, like a family name?”

Her eyes darted back and forth in their sockets as she struggled to comprehend the question and find the answer. “Gibeck,” she said.

“Well, Miss Gibeck, you from around these parts?”

She shook her head.

“Where you from?”

Sherry shrugged.

“Where’d you come from? I mean, like when you started your walk that brought you here?”

She furrowed her brow, but it relaxed as a she remembered. “Hollow,” she said.

“The hollow? Which hollow?”

She shook her head.

Chief Deputy Hirschhorn walked through the front door and toward Sherry. She jumped up from the chair and darted behind a row of shelves.