on the sofa, the ratty horse blanket covering her body. She had been talking to Huey when exhaustion finally overcame her. She simply closed her eyes in midsentence and slipped down onto the cushions with her Belle Barbie in her left hand.
Huey had been whittling ever since.
He didn’t always know what he was whittling. Sometimes he let his hands do the thinking for him. He’d found a good piece of cedar outside in the woodpile. He cut the firewood last fall, mostly oak, and while he was oiling his chain saw he’d spotted a young cedar that had been snapped off at the ground by a tornado. Cedar was good carving wood, and there wasn’t a smell like it in the world. The chunk in his hands was starting to look something like a bear. Whatever it was, there was enough cedar left for something more to develop. His hands had never felt so good. His nervousness seemed to flow out through the knife blade and into the wood, and from the wood into the air, like power leaking from a car battery left on concrete.
Soon it would be morning, and he was glad. The quicker Joey got his money, the less chance there was that he would tell Huey to do something to Abby. Huey was glad she’d finally eaten some Cap’n Crunch. She was so hungry, and he had gobbled up what was left of the baloney and crackers long ago. Before the first bite, she’d asked if he knew what time her mother would be picking her up. Huey figured they would be at the McDonald’s by ten in the morning, so he told her ten o’clock. A smile of relief appeared on her face, and she began chomping the cereal like birthday cake. She said her shot would hold her until ten, whatever that meant. She ate two full bowls before she was done, and even drank the leftover milk. Ten minutes later, her full stomach took its effect. Her eyes rolled up and she fell sound asleep. Huey smiled at the memory and kept peeling away slivers of cedar.
Will had set up his notebook computer on the circular dining table in the front room of the suite. He was composing an e-mail to Karen. He wanted to tell her about Ferris and the phone tracing, but he couldn’t. What if Hickey came upon her while she was reading the message? For the same reason, he could not even hint at Cheryl’s cooperation. If Hickey knew his wife had betrayed him, he might decide to cut his losses and run, which would almost certainly mean Abby’s death.
He needed to tell her he understood her message and had taken action, but in a way that only she could understand. He needed a code. He searched his memory for some event in their past that might be applicable to the present situation, but there was nothing. It was too fantastic. But then it hit him. If their own lives did not contain a parallel he could use, other lives did. Lives on screen. He and Karen had watched thousands of movies together, some of them many times. It took him less than a minute to come up with a phrase he was sure she would understand. The message he typed was:
ABBY IS GOING TO MAKE IT. TRUST ME. DO YOU BELIEVE THE CONDOR IS AN ENDANGERED SPECIES?
He could not help but smile. As cryptic as this phrase would appear to Hickey, he was sure Karen would understand it. She’d had a crush on Robert Redford for years.
“What are you typing?” Cheryl asked.
At Will’s request, she lay on the sofa a few feet away, sipping from a can of Coke. She had complained when he asked her to stop drinking rum, but she seemed to realize that she needed to be clear-headed for whatever might happen in the next few hours. The question of why she seemed to be cooperating had occupied a great deal of Will’s thoughts. Was it fear of more succinylcholine injections? Desire for the money he had promised, and the freedom it offered? Or had she come to believe that Hickey did mean to kill Abby, and wanted no part of it? The answer was probably a combination of all three, in proportions she herself did not understand.
Will plugged his Dell into the data port of the hotel phone and logged on to AOL through their 800 number. His mailbox was empty. He sent the e-mail to Karen’s screen name-kjen39-then logged off. Seconds after the program disconnected, the phone began to ring.
It was only 4:15-halfway between the scheduled check-in calls. Will motioned for her to answer.
She picked up, said, “Yeah?” then handed the receiver to Will. He expected to hear the voice of Harley Ferris, but it was his answering service, making sure he’d gotten the pager message. The operator said something encouraging about “that little girl who needs the liver transplant.” Assuming this was part of a cover story Karen had fabricated, Will made appropriate noises and hung up.
Almost immediately, the phone rang again.
“That has to be Ferris,” he said, grabbing the receiver. “Will Jennings.”
“Harley Ferris, Doctor. Our computers show a call just after four a.m., processed through the tower that serves the Hazlehurst area. It came from one of the landlines at your house.”
Will’s pulse kicked into hyperdrive. “Did you get any idea of the receiver’s position?”
“No. Even if we’d had a tracing van there, it would have been tough. The call lasted less than fifteen seconds, and the phone was switched off afterward.”
“What about the phone number? Do you have the name of the person who rented the phone?”
“Yes. But without police involvement, I can’t do anything with it. I can’t even tell it to you. I’m assuming it’s an alias, but only the police could tell us that.”
“I’m not asking you to give me the name, okay? But tell me this. Was it Joe Hickey?”
“No. Look, it’s time to bring the FBI in on this. Our security people have good contacts with the local field office-”
“You gave me your word, Harley. Not until morning. What about your tracing vans? Where are they?”
“They’re up in Tunica County, working with the state police on a fraud operation that involves casino employees.”
Will gritted his teeth. Tunica County was practically Memphis. That meant a minimum of three hours before the vans could get to Jackson, much less Hazlehurst. “That’s eight a.m. before they could even start tracing.”
“Exactly. I told one crew to hit the road and come on, but you’re right about the time. That’s why-”
“No police. Could this equipment be flown down?”
“It’s four-thirty in the morning!”
“I have pilot friends who’d get out of bed right now and go get it.”
“Some of this gear is hardwired into the vans, Jennings. Listen. .. there’s a guy who used to work for us, an engineer. He’s retired, but he keeps his hand in. I’ll give him a call. He’s probably got enough equipment in his garage to do a trace from his truck.”
Will’s heart surged. “Do you think he would?”
“He’s a good man. We’re probably looking at an hour or more to get him and his equipment on site, but that beats the Tunica crew by a long shot.”
“Does the FBI have the equipment you need?”
“I wish I could tell you they did, because I want you to call them. But the fact is, when the Bureau needs cell phones traced in Mississippi, they call us.”
“Damn it.” Will tried to think logically, but fatigue was starting to take its toll. “You’d better call that engineer.”
“Doctor,” Ferris said in a compassionate voice, “You realize that we may not be able to trace this phone in time, even with a vehicle down there? If the calls don’t run any longer than fifteen seconds, it’s a crapshoot.”
“We’ve got to try. It’s our only option. You’ve got to trust me on that. My daughter’s life depends on secrecy.”
He gave Ferris the numbers of his answering service, the direct SkyTel line, and Cheryl’s cell phone. “I should be here,” he said, “but there’s no telling what could happen before morning. Call me as soon as you know anything.”
“I will,” Ferris promised. “I hope God’s paying attention tonight.”
As Will hung up, he felt Cheryl’s hand on his arm. Despite what he’d done to her earlier, she was watching him with empathy.
“Do you think Huey would really kill Abby?” he asked.
She bit her lip. “It’s hard for me to imagine it. But if Joey pushed him hard enough… he might. He can’t take pressure, you know? He sort of flips out, like Dustin Hoffman in the bathtub in Rain Man.”
Will felt an enormous weight descend on his shoulders. If Ferris’s people traced Huey’s phone, they would have to be very careful about their next move. If they responded inappropriately, Abby could die simply because a mentally handicapped man lost control of himself for a few seconds.
