She could clearly see the white man behind the steering wheel.
Fear grabbed her and she stepped on the accelerator.
He bumped her again.
It was her worst nightmare unfolding in daylight.
Her dress was getting soaked, but she was too terrified to think of raising the window. Instead, she floored the gas pedal and the Civic leaped forward.
Almost instantly, he caught up with her.
The road curved sharply and she nearly lost control as the car fishtailed on the wet pavement.
Then he pulled even with her and they raced through the rain, neck and neck along the deserted road and through another lazy S-curve that swept down to an old wooden bridge over Possum Creek. With so much rain, the creek had overflowed its banks and was almost level with the narrow bridge.
Again Clara pulled to the right to give him room to pass.
At that instant, he bumped her so hard from the side that her air bag inflated. She automatically braked, but it was too late. The Civic was airborne and momentum carried it straight into the creek. By the time it hit the water, the air bag had deflated and Clara’s head cracked hard against the windshield, sending her into darkness.
As the car sank deeper, muddy creek water flooded through the open window.
* * *
Just as he was thinking about lunch, Dwight Bryant looked up to see Deputy Richards hovering near his door and he motioned her in.
“I spoke to the librarian that Millard King said was jogging when he was. She was listening to a book on her Walkman and couldn’t say who else was out there.”
“Too bad. But King said he thought one of the men was a doctor. Try calling around to see if any of them were jogging.”
“Yes, sir. And remember that jewelry store manager who bought the other two silver pens?”
“New Orleans, right? You talked to her?”
“Yes, sir, but no help there. She gave those two pens to her granddaughters. They’re in high school in New Mexico and still have them so far as she knows.”
Dwight frowned. “I knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.”
“No, sir,” said Mayleen Richards. “I’ll start calling the doctors.”
* * *
When his phone rang promptly at six p.m., he was momentarily startled, but he collected himself in the next instant and his voice was calm. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” said the woman.
The same woman who’d called this morning.
The woman he’d sent crashing into the creek at noon.
Wasn’t it?
“You got the ten thousand?”
“Who is this?” he croaked.
“You know who it is,” she answered impatiently. “You got the money or do I go to the police?”
“How do I know you won’t anyhow?”
“’Cause I’m giving you my word and I ain’t never broke my word yet.”
But he willed himself to calmness. He was an educated white man, he told himself, and she was a stupid black bitch. He’d already killed one nigger woman today. He could certainly kill another.
“I’ve got the money,” he lied. “Where do you want to meet?”
“We ain’t gonna meet.” Tersely, she named the Dobbs Public Library, told him to put the money inside a white plastic bag, and described where he was to leave the packet in precisely forty-five minutes. “I’ll be watching. You leave it and just walk on out the front door, ’cause I see your face I’m gonna start screaming the walls down.”
That didn’t give him much time to fashion a packet that looked like money, wrapped tightly in a plastic bag and wound around with duct tape. She might duck into the ladies’ room, but she’d never get into this packet without a knife or scissors. Satisfied, he put the packet into a white plastic bag as instructed, drove to the library, left it on the floor beside the specified chair, and walked out without looking back.
Once outside though, he raced around the corner, through the alley and back to his car that he’d left parked well down the block. A few minutes later, through his rain-streaked windshield, he saw a black woman emerge from the library with her large handbag clutched to her chest. From this distance, she looked only vaguely like the Freeman woman he’d been following all week. Not that he’d paid all that much attention. It wasn’t the woman he’d followed, so much as the car.
But who the hell was this woman?
Whoever she was, she hurried through the rain to a junker car that looked like it was on its last legs. This was the tricky part. Did she have something in the car to cut open the packet? And if she did, would she go straight to
