then couldn’t get his fingers to work well enough to push the button that would unlock the doors. “Damn. I can’t —”
“Give it to me.”
Thiemann looked at Parker and didn’t want to hand over his keys, but then he did. Parker buzzed the doors open and looked past the SUV hood to where Lindahl and the trooper were talking. Lindahl seemed to be doing the job right, with no problem from the trooper.
Thiemann opened the driver’s door, then stood looking confused. “I should be on the other side,” he said.
“I’ll get your rifle,” Parker said.
“No!”
It was a sharp response, loud enough to make both Lindahl and the trooper look this way. Calm, quiet, Parker said, “You want to leave it with Tom?”
Thiemann blinked, and nodded. “For now,” he said. “Yeah, just for now. I’ll pick it up . . . sometime.”
“I’ll tell him. You get in on the other side, I’ll be right back.”
“Yes, okay.”
Carrying Thiemann’s car keys, Parker walked over to Lindahl and the trooper, who were both still looking this way. “Afternoon,” he said to the trooper.
“Afternoon. Everything all right there?”
“No, Fred’s all loused up.”
Lindahl said, “You ask me, he’s got Lyme disease.”
“Well, we’ve got a lot of that around here,” the trooper said.
“Headache,” Parker said, “and a lot of confusion. I’m gonna drive him home.”
“Good idea.”
“Tom, he says you should hold on to his rifle, he’ll pick it up later.” Parker shrugged, and offered the trooper a faint grin. “That was the ‘no’ he shouted,” he said. “I think he’s afraid he might accidentally shoot himself.”
“Stumble with a rifle in your hands,” the trooper said. “It’s happened.”
“Tom, you ready to follow me?”
“I think so. Okay, Captain?”
“Fine,” the trooper said. “Thank you for your help.”
“Anytime,” Lindahl told him.
They started away, and the trooper called, “Tell your friend to get tested. You don’t fool with Lyme disease.”
“I’ll tell him,” Lindahl promised.
They walked on, and Parker said quietly, “I guess that’s some sort of local disease around here.”
“You get it from a tick in the woods,” Lindahl told him. “It’s a very mean disease. But you know, I bet Fred would rather have that right now than what he’s got.”
9
Parker got behind the wheel of the Taurus, adjusted the seat for his longer legs, started the engine, and then looked at Thiemann, who sat slumped beside him, staring at nothing, deep in his own thoughts. Parker waited, then said, “Which way?”
“What? Oh. Christ, I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”
“You got shook up,” Parker told him. “It’s natural. Which way?”
“Uh, left out of the parking lot.”
Parker drove that way, seeing Lindahl’s SUV steady in his rearview mirror. “If I’m gonna make a turn,” he said, “tell me before I get to it.”
“Yeah, I’m okay now. I’ll be okay.”
“Good.”
They drove two miles, and Parker became aware that Thiemann’s attention had gradually shifted from his own interior landscape to Parker’s profile. Thiemann frowned at him, quizzical, seeming to try to understand something. Parker said nothing, and then Thiemann faced front and said, “There’s a stop sign coming up. You’ll turn right.”
“Good.”
They made the turn, and ahead was another roadblock. Parker lowered his window, eased over to the shoulder, and waved Lindahl to overtake him. When Lindahl did, his own passenger window open, Parker called to him, “We’re with you, you’ve got our guns.”
Lindahl nodded and drove ahead, Parker now following him. He said, “Tom know the way to your house?”
“Sure.”
“Good. He can lead the way, you don’t have to worry about telling me.”
