Smith, in the dark beside Tom’s open window, said, “Time to get started.”
FOUR
1
Parker saw the gray Volkswagen Jetta start out of Pooley after Tom Lindahl’s Ford SUV, and fell in line behind it, in the Infiniti he’d taken from Brian Hopwood’s gas station. The best opportunity to deal with the Jetta and the two inside it came just before the second roadblock, when the Jetta pulled off onto the apron of a closed gas station. Parker stopped beside them, planning to talk to them, see what he had to do to get rid of them, maybe shoot their tires out or shoot up their ignition, whatever it would take to scare them off, but before he got close enough to say anything, the idiot Cal was out of the Jetta and waving a handgun around and Parker put him down.
The other one got scared, all right, and skittered away from there like a drop of water on a hot frying pan, but Parker knew he’d be back. Cory’d made it his lifework to stand with his dumber crazier brother, so once the fright wore off, he’d have to come back.
The only problem was the body. Without the body, Cory would have nothing to say to the troopers down there at the roadblock, too far for them to have heard the flat crack of Parker’s single shot. The troopers were more bored tonight, less convinced they’d find anything useful out here, and they weren’t searching cars, not even cars with two males inside, so Parker threw the body into the trunk, went through the roadblock without a problem, flashing the Infiniti’s registration he’d found in the packet with the owner’s manual, plus William G. Dodd’s driver’s license, and a few miles later, at a silent dark empty stretch of road, no buildings in sight, he dumped the body off the road and down a slope toward a chattering little creek he could hear but not see.
Shortly after that, he overtook the SUV, still potting along ten miles below the speed limit. He passed it when he could, and went on to the track, leaving the Infiniti on the scrub ground outside the chain-link fence away to the left of the road, facing back toward the gate. Then he switched off the engine, buttoned the overhead light not to turn on when the door was opened, and waited.
It took longer than it should have for Tom to get there. Had he lost his nerve? If he was running, too spooked to think what best to do for himself, Parker would have no choice but to drive away from here and forget the track. He couldn’t get in without Tom’s keys and Tom’s knowledge.
Without Tom, he’d just drive south through the night. No profit from the bank in Massachusetts, and now no profit from this racetrack. In the morning, wherever he was, he’d phone Claire to drive out and get him, and that would be the end of it. It had been too long since he’d seen her.
But here was Tom. Parker saw the headlights coming down the dirt road and got out of the Infiniti. Walking toward the gate as the SUV drove to it and stopped, he saw Tom in the amber glow from the dashboard, his window open, Parker coming to him from that side.
Tom just sat there, not aware of Parker, but then at last he switched the ignition off, and in the darkness Parker said, “Time to get started.”
2
Parker carried the duffel bags, still folded into their plastic wrap, and followed Lindahl through the same routine as last time, first punching the code into the alarm box beside the gate, then keying the gate open so he could drive the Ford in to stop at the closed top of the ramp that led down to the safe room. Getting out of the Ford there, as Parker walked up to him, he looked back at the fence and said, “Do you have a car here?”
“We’ll get to it later. We want to be in and out of this.”
“Sure. Fine.”
Once again Lindahl keyed them into the building and led them among the rooms through the same route around the spy cams. This time there was no leftover food in the accounts department to be knocked over, and no sign of the mess they’d made before. At the end, Lindahl waited for that camera in the corridor to start its sweep away from them, then they strode down to the stairwell door and inside. Down one flight, Lindahl pressed his face to the small window in the door there, to see where this camera was in its cycle, then led them out and to the door at the end of this corridor, the key already in his hand.
Once again, when the door closed behind them, they were in full dark. Parker knew Lindahl was afraid the camera outside would be able to see light through the small window in this door here, so he waited in the darkness, holding the packages of duffel bag and pressing one elbow back against the closed door to keep his orientation.
Out ahead was the sound of Lindahl’s scuffing feet as he moved cautiously toward the door they wanted. There was a little silence, then the sound of the key in the lock and the door opening, and at last the ceiling fluorescents clicked on in the safe room off to the right, so Parker could see this outer room with the forklift truck in the corner and the windowless garage door at the far end.
There were two pallets of the money boxes on the floor in here tonight. Lindahl, a nervous grin flickering on his frightened-looking face, said, “Double our money, huh?”
“That’s what we’re doing. Here.”
He handed one of the duffel bags to Lindahl, who took it and said, “How do you want to work this?”
“We open the boxes and put the cash in the bags. Don’t bother with singles and fives.”
“No, I meant, how do we divide this?”
Parker shook his head. “We aren’t gonna divvy it up,” he said. “What you put in the bag, you carry home.”
“Fine.”
