road. In another month, these heavy clouds would be dumping snow instead of rain, letting loose over Ashtabula County in the way they always did, the wind howling in off the lake, bending the pine boughs and snapping frozen power lines. This was the heart of the Snow Belt, recipient of more annual snowfall than anywhere else in the state. Those lakeside villages, so busy in the summer, would be long-since empty by the first snow, Ohio’s version of Maine’s south coast—visitors welcome in the summer, but you better be a hardy bastard to hang around in the winter.
We didn’t talk much on the drive back, just watched the highway fill with headlights and tried not to think about fingerprints and stacks of fifty-dollar bills. Amy would be home by now, maybe. Be damn nice to pick her up for a proper dinner, share a relaxed evening, no worries of police or fugitives or the faceless associates who swirled around them. I thought of her, and my mind flashed on that picturesque gazebo in the Indiana orchard, cloaked in the smells of the autumn woods. What a gorgeous spot, right up until the blood had pooled on the deck boards and dripped into the shimmering dark water of the pond.
The city was glowing when we got back, the downtown bridges lit with colorful floodlights. We drove past them and on to the west and got off the interstate at West 150th, headed for Lorain.
“Stopping by the office first?” I said.
“You got Cole Hamilton’s address on you?”
“Nope.”
“Then I guess we better.”
The rain had stopped, at least temporarily, but when we got inside the building it was dark in the stairwell. The only glow was coming from the emergency lights in the jewelry store at street level and the exit sign over the door.
“Power outage,” I said. “You write that guy’s address down, or will we need to go somewhere else to use a computer?”
“I’ve got it on paper.”
We made our way up the steps through familiarity rather than good vision. At the top of the steps, Joe reached for his keys, but I already had mine out, and I reached past him, got the key in the lock and turned it, stepped halfway inside, and reached for the light switch, sliding my hand along the wall.
“Power’s out, remember,” Joe said.
“Right. I’m an idiot.”
I gave up on the light switch and dropped my hand from the wall just before I felt a hand on the back of my neck and tasted metal as someone pushed the barrel of a gun into my mouth.
30
It was completely dark inside, and I banged against one of the filing cabinets, stumbling. I still had the gun in my mouth but couldn’t see anything other than the silhouette of the man who held it.
“Come on in, Pritchard,” he said, and then I knew it was the same man who’d attacked me on the street and called after obliterating most of my gym. “I’m sure you don’t want me to pull this trigger any more than your partner does.”
Joe stepped slowly into the office, and the door was kicked shut behind him. Then the gun slid away, the sight cutting a furrow through the roof of my mouth.
“Doran,” I said.
“Excellent guess. Now, Pritchard, you want to walk across the room and sit down behind your desk, please? And don’t worry, I already took the gun from your drawer.”
Joe shuffled across the room and sat down. I was still standing, free for the moment, but Doran was right beside me, the gun close to my side. I had the Glock, but it was holstered at my spine. The doors to the building and to the office had been locked, but locks appeared not to be much of a problem for Doran.
My eyes were adjusting, and I could see Doran as more than just a dark shape. He was thinner than he’d been in the case file photographs, and he’d been thin in those. His face looked gaunt, and his body was wiry and tense, laden with a quality of speed. The military buzz cut had grown out into long light brown hair that hung across his forehead and over his ears. He was wearing boots and jeans and a fleece jacket.
“Here’s how we’re going to do this,” he said. “Pritchard, sit behind that desk, stay there, don’t make contact with anyone. Perry, you and I are going to take a ride. You’re going to drive, and we’re going to talk. If your partner does exactly what I told him to do, just sits here and shows some patience, then you’re coming back here alive.”
For a long moment, nobody spoke or moved.
“Sit tight, Joe,” I said. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Doran nodded. “What Perry knows is that I’ve had a couple of opportunities to kill him already, and passed. He’s thinking that he’d rather trust me than test me.”
“All right,” Joe said. “I’ll sit here, and I’ll wait. For a little while, at least. And then, if he doesn’t walk back through the door, I’ll go out and find you and kill you, Doran.”
Doran smiled at me as a passing headlight bathed his face with a white glow. “Loyal guy, your partner.” He walked back to the door and pulled it open, then tilted his head. “You first. Down the steps, then out the back door and over to your truck.”
I walked out the door, and a second later it closed behind me, Doran on my heels, Joe alone in the dark office. We went down the steps and out the back door and into the parking lot. Doran was walking close to me but a half step behind. We got into the truck, and I started the engine as he settled into the passenger seat with the gun, a big Colt Commander, resting in his lap, pointed at my stomach. His hands were covered by thin gloves.
“Go out of the parking lot and turn right and stay on that street,” he said.
I turned onto Rocky River and drove north, as he’d requested. The radio had come on with the car, and Doran didn’t turn it off. U2 was singing of a city of blinding lights. Maybe Doran was a Bono fan.
“You’ve been busy,” he said. “Nice file you’ve put together. I didn’t bother going through the whole thing, though—it’s pretty familiar to me.”
“I’d imagine.”
“How long have you been working on me?”
“A few days.”
“Got to me fast.” He nodded as if in approval. “Maybe this is good. Maybe you understand some new things, or understand them in new ways. You see my situation, don’t you? I can’t go away from this without some money, Lincoln. Got nowhere to go.”
“You’ve got nowhere to go? I’m on my way to prison thanks to you.”
“Looking to the wrong person for sympathy, Lincoln. I’ve
“So now you want to pull the same trick on somebody else?”
“Take the next street,” was his answer.
I pulled off Rocky River and onto West Clifton, which continued north. We crossed Detroit and went over the old Norfolk Southern railroad tracks, and then West Clifton joined Clifton Boulevard, an east-west street running past beautiful old homes on tree-lined lots.
“Go right,” Doran said, and I turned again, headed east.
We went a few blocks before he ordered a left, giving me an idea of where we were going. Lakewood Park was down here, a busy place on a summer evening but probably plenty desolate on a cold, rainy October night. Doran had me pull into the lot and then asked me to get out of the car. He hadn’t checked me for a weapon, which seemed like a substantial oversight, but maybe he was just that confident in his ability to kill me if I went for it.
There was no one at the park. Doran ordered me to walk down toward the lake, past the picnic tables and shelters and swings. Then he moved me toward the edge of the tall fence that bordered the park, with strands of barbed wire across the top. There was a hole in the fence at this corner, probably cut open during the summer by kids who wanted to get down to the lake and drink or make out. Doran waved the gun at it.
