He slowed even further, and made a U-turn and drove back to the gate in the hurricane fence.
When he got out of the car and opened the gate, it occurred to him that, in the eyes of the feds, he was probably an illegal trespasser. And with his luck, some overpaid federal bureaucrat, to make a little overtime, would make one of his twice-a-year four-hour detailed inspections of the property right about now.
That meant he would drive past the place probably faster than Harry had, without stopping. That would be four hours on his overtime time sheet.
Harry almost had second thoughts.
But there was a place scraped free of rust on the gate hinges.
Somebody's been in here, and recently. Fuck it. If I don't go in, I'll be up all night wishing I had.
He drove slowly around the compound, flashing his flashlight into dark corners, wishing that he had with him the six-cell flashlight he carried in his unmarked car, rather than the little two-celler he kept in the glove compartment of the Chevrolet.
Zilch.
But then the headlights, not the flashlight, picked up tire tracks in the mud. The mud hadn't had a chance to dry completely.
Harry deduced, Some son of a bitch has been in here, and in the last couple of days.
Probably the bureaucrat.
But maybe not.
He stopped the Chevrolet and got out and examined the tire tracks sufficiently to determine they were truck tires, light truck tires. From a pickup truck, not passenger tires.
What the hell is going on around here?
He walked to the nearest building and shone his light on the exposed hinges of the steel door. Bright scratches in the rusted metal told him the door had recently been opened.
He pushed the door open and went inside.
He walked down the corridor.
The smell of feces and urine assailed his nostrils. Some fucking bum is in here. Or was in here. I hope was. The last thing I want right now is to find some dead bum in here. I'd never get home tonight. What a smart man would do would be turn around and get his ass out of here.
There were three doors opening off the corridor. Two of the doors were open.
In one of the rooms, his nostrils found the source of the smell of feces.
And a pile of clothes.
Nice clothes. Not a bum's clothes.
What the hell is going down in here?
The third door was closed, with latches that reminded Cronin of his time as Fireman First Class, USN.
The last time he had been in here, all the doors had been open.
Harry worked the levers and pushed the door inward.
Somebody's taken a dump in here, too.
What the fuck is that?
'Listen, we have to talk!' a naked man sitting against the wall with an overcoat over his shoulders said plaintively. 'Please, let's talk!'
'I'm a police officer,' Harry said. 'Everything's going to be all right.'
'Thank God!' the man said.
'You want to tell me what happened?'
'You're a policeman?'
'Detective Cronin, South Detectives.'
'Look, all I want to do is go home. Where's my clothes?'
'What did you say your name was?'
'All I want to do is go home.'
'I don't think that's going to be possible right now,' Harry said. 'Now, what did you say your name was?'
'I don't have to tell you a goddamn thing!' the naked man said with absolutely no confidence, but a certain desperation, in his tone.
What the fuck do I do now? I'm off-duty. I've got no authority inside that fucking fence. And, since I'm in my own car, I don't even have a goddamn radio to call this in!
Matt Payne, who had been watching a program of television commercials interrupted by three-minute segments of a John Wayne leading the cavalry against the Chiricahua Apache movie, jumped out of bed when there was a knock at the door, went to it, stood behind it, and pulled it open first a crack, then all the way.
'It's not that I am not delighted to see you, but does your mommy know where you are, little girl?'
'I hope not,' Susan said. 'Would it be too much to ask you to put your shorts on?'
'Don't trust yourself, eh?'
'Oh, God!'
'What did you do, sneak out?'
He went to the chest of drawers, found a pair of Jockey shorts, and pulled them on.
'Okay?'
'Thank you.'
'Under the circumstances, I suppose a blow-'
'I've heard that before, Matt-my God, you can be vulgar! — and I don't think it's funny.'
'Why do I have this unpleasant feeling that we are about to have a very serious conversation?'
'Because we are,' Susan said. 'I've been thinking.'
'Pure, asexual thoughts only, obviously.'
'I've been thinking about what you said at lunch.'
'I said a lot of things at lunch,' Matt replied. 'You mean about letting me arrest Jennifer?'
Susan nodded. 'Would that work?'
'It's iffy, honey,' Matt said now serious. 'Starting with the first premise, that she can get away from Chenowith. '
'She met me alone the last time. Behind a restaurant in Doylestown. And she had their baby with her.'
'And if she doesn't bring the baby this time?'
'Matt, this was your idea in the first place.'
'I'm trying to think of all the things that can-and probably will-go wrong.'
'Tell me what will happen from the moment you arrest her.'
'Well, I put the cuffs on her-and there's problem one, because I don't have any handcuffs.'
'Excuse me?'
'My handcuffs are in Philadelphia. When you first go on the job, you carry your handcuffs with you all the time. After a while, you realize (a) that not only aren't you using them very much-in my case, never-and (b) that they're uncomfortable to carry around, so you start leaving them at home, which is where mine are.'
'Is that important?'
'Yeah, it's important. From what you tell me, Jennifer is not going to go to the slammer willingly. I'm going to have to immobilize her.'
'Can you buy a pair of them here?'
'I don't know. I'll have to do something.'
'And then what?'
'Well, I could put her arm behind her back, and physically restrain her-which isn't as easy as it looks in the movies-until I can get on the radio and call for the local cops. I'm not sure, problem two, if the Doylestown cops are on one of my frequencies. We'd have to play that by ear.'
'I'm confused.'
'Presuming she will meet you in Doylestown, we won't know if I can call the cops on the radio until we get there and I can try it. Let me put it this way. Best possible situation. I put handcuffs on her, throw her in the back of the car, and drive her to the Doylestown Police Station. They'll hold her for me-I think-if I identify myself as a Philadelphia cop who has made an arrest in their jurisdiction…'
Matt stopped, obviously having had another, distressing, thought.
