southbound lanes just in case. Cheryl was glued to the passenger window. The traffic below was moderate but steady, the cars and trucks humming along at seventy-five miles per hour while Will shot past them at three times that.
He was about to cut his airspeed when the cell phone began ringing again. From habit he reached for the throttles; then he stopped himself. If he cut the engines at three hundred feet, the state police would soon be hosing them off the interstate.
“Who answers it?” Cheryl asked.
“You.”
“Joey already told me where to go. He wouldn’t call again.”
Will considered not answering at all, but he couldn’t risk it. He pulled the throttles back as far as he dared, then picked up the Nokia and hit SEND.
“Hello?”
He heard only the open connection. Then someone said, “Jennings?”
“Joe?”
More silence.
“Joe? Are you there?”
“You wanna tell me how I dialed Cheryl and got you, you clever son of a bitch?”
Will gripped the phone tighter but kept his voice calm. “You must have dialed the wrong number. You thought you were dialing her, but you dialed the hotel instead.”
Hickey didn’t reply.
“Joe?”
“Put Cheryl on the phone.”
Will’s breath caught in his throat. “How do I do that?”
“You hand her the fucking phone, that’s how.”
The coldness of Hickey’s voice was worse than any blast of temper. “Joe, I’m telling you-”
“No, I’m telling you, Doc. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. You’re never going to talk to your kid again.”
Will’s face went numb.
“It was always going to be that way,” Hickey said. “It had to be. It’s predestination. From the day you murdered my mother. You took what was precious to me, so I gotta take what’s precious to you. You see that, right?”
“Where is she, Joe? Where’s Abby?”
“You don’t need to worry about that. In fact, if I was you, I’d go ahead and slit my wrists, to save myself the hell that’s coming. Going down to a funeral home to pick out that tiny little casket? Facing your wife after going off and leaving her like that? What kind of father does that, huh?”
Hickey’s words cut to the bone, but something more terrible struck Will like a hammer. There was no way Hickey could speak that way if Karen were in the car with him. She would be screaming at the least, possibly even trying to kill him.
“Where’s Karen, Joe? I know she’s not with you. What have you done to her?”
“You don’t need to worry about that either. No point at all.”
The numbness began to spread along his arms. It was like being cut adrift in space, lost in a vacuum without air or sound.
“Wherever you are,” Hickey said, “you might as well just stay there. See if Cheryl will give you a little head while you shoot yourself. She’s good at it. Oh, and tell her I’ll be seeing her soon. Real soon.”
“Joe, you’ve got the wrong idea. I don’t know where Cheryl is. I kept the phone because-”
The phone went dead in his hand.
Will tasted blood. He had bitten through his bottom lip.
“What’s the matter?” Cheryl asked in a fearful voice. “What just happened?”
He couldn’t speak.
“He knows, doesn’t he? He knows we’re together.”
“I think he killed Karen. And he’s going to kill Abby.”
“What? You’re crazy.”
Will’s hands began to shake.
Karen closed the Camry’s trunk and looked back over her shoulder. The woman was moving now, making for the abandoned gas station at an ungainly trot. Karen wished she would turn toward the trees, because Hickey could easily drive over and shoot her if he changed his mind about letting her go. Hopefully he had too much on his mind to worry about that.
Karen walked to the passenger door and climbed in beside him. Hickey was off the phone. He was just sitting there, staring through the windshield.
“Did you talk to Will?”
He fished a Camel out of his pocket and lit it with the cigarette lighter. “I talked to him.”
“What did he say?”
“It’s not what he said. It’s where he said it. He wasn’t in his suite.”
She felt a stab of alarm. “What?”
“He answered Cheryl’s cell phone. I told you he was pulling something.” Hickey turned and let the hatred in his eyes burn into her. “You just remember, he asked for every bit of this.”
Hickey put the Camry into DRIVE, spun it in a 180-degree turn, and sped back up to the interstate. His cheeks reddened as he drove, but his lips only grew paler.
“Call the Beau Rivage again,” Karen pleaded. “There must be some mistake!”
“Oh, there’s a mistake, all right. But it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing anybody can do now.”
He said this forcefully, but he didn’t look like he quite believed it.
Karen reached out and touched him softly on the arm. “Please tell me what’s happening.”
Hickey backhanded her across the face.
“Don’t you touch me again,” he growled.
Will reduced his airspeed to a hundred knots. They were far enough north now that spotting Huey and Abby driving south was a possibility. It was more than that, in fact. It was his only hope. The greater part of him believed that Karen was dead. There was no way she could have sat silently by while Hickey explained why he had to kill Abby. It was possible she was tied and gagged, but he doubted that scenario. With Abby under his control, Hickey didn’t need such measures to make Karen cooperate.
His prayer now was that Hickey had no way to contact Huey while he was on the road. That Abby would remain alive for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, while Will tried to locate her from the air.
“I’m dead,” Cheryl mumbled for the twentieth time. She was hugging herself and rocking like a heroin addict going cold turkey.
“Sit up!” Will shouted. “Look for the Rambler!”
She leaned forward and looked at her knees.
He shoved the yoke forward. The busy interstate rushed up to meet them. In seconds, power pylons and oak trees rose higher than the Baron.
“Pull up!” she screamed, going rigid in her seat. “Pull up!”
At the last instant, Will pulled back on the yoke and began skimming along beside the southbound lanes. Cars slowed as their drivers gaped at the low-flying airplane. From eighty feet you could see individual faces, chattering mouths, pointing fingers. Most of the car passengers probably thought he was a crop duster, albeit a crazy one.
“You look for that Rambler, or I’ll flip this thing on its back until you vomit.”
She pressed her face to the Plexiglas. “I’m looking!”
Will switched on his radio. He had just thought of a way in which the FBI might help him after all.
“Baron November Two-Whiskey-Juliet,” crackled the speaker. “Baron Whiskey-Juliet, this is an emergency call. Please respond.”
It was a little too soon to be hearing from the FAA about his treetop run over I-55. He keyed his mike.
“This is Baron Whiskey-Juliet, over.”
