The other drawing, he knew, was supposed to be McWhitney, his partner back then, and if you knew McWhitney and had been told this was supposed to be him, you could see the similarities, but McWhitney himself could walk past this group right now and not one of them would give a second look.
Artist’s drawings didn’t bother Parker. What bothered him was the four thousand dollars in traceable cash in his pocket and the lack of a usable ID. Until he replaced both of those, the best place for him was right here with the search party.
“Tough-looking guys,” somebody said. “I’m not sure I
That got a laugh, and then somebody else said, “Oh, I think Cory and me could take em, couldn’t we, Cory?”
“I’ll hold your coat,” the one next to him said, and while that got its own laugh, Parker looked at the two of them, Cory and the one whose coat he’d hold.
They were a little younger than most in the group, a little rougher-looking, both dressed in jeans and boots and dark heavy work shirts. They might have been brothers, with the same thick dark blond hair hanging straggly around their ears, the same easy slope of the shoulders. The one who thought he and Cory could take the fugitives had a black patch over his left eye, which inevitably gave him a piratical look, as though he were the tougher brother. With that eye, now, he peered around at the group, slightly challenging, watching out for somebody else he could take. His good eye brushed past Parker, and Parker looked away, not needing to be noticed too much.
Meanwhile, up in front of them, Ben Weiser said, “Here’s a government survey map,” which somebody had put on the easel, but then had to hold there because otherwise the breeze would blow it off. Weiser then went on to describe what area they were expected to search in, saying things like, “You know the old Heisler place,” which they all did.
Parker paid little attention to the details, because this wasn’t a part of the country he knew, but it was interesting to see the approach they had taken. They were guessing that the men they wanted would have left the main roads, and possibly the secondary roads as well, though why they should think bank robbers were woodsmen wasn’t clear. But the approach was to cover back roads and dirt roads and dead-end roads that weren’t used any more, and particularly to cover abandoned buildings, old farmhouses and barns, and even a railroad station up where a town no longer existed because its iron mine had given out more than a century ago.
Which was where Parker would be searching, along with Tom Lindahl and Fred Thiemann. The decision had been made that the search parties should consist of groups of three, and Weiser explained the reason. If they
The men, who had arrived here separately or in pairs, now sorted themselves into threes and headed for the cars. Lindahl’s SUV was roomier than Thiemann’s Taurus, so they’d use that, with Lindahl driving, Parker beside him as before, and Thiemann in back with the rifles.
They joined the exodus from the Grange Hall parking lot, followed a couple of other cars for the first mile or so, and Lindahl explained, “This place we’re going to, called Wolf Peak, was a mining town way back when.”
“Before the Civil War,” Thiemann put in from the backseat. “The whole Northeast was iron mines, but the Civil War used it all up.”
“Wolf Peak went on till the end of the century,” Lindahl said, “with the tailings, and some lumbering, but the younger generations kept moving away, and when the railroad stopped going up there, around 1900, that was the end.”
Thiemann said, “The houses were all wood, so they burned or rotted, but the railroad station was good local stone. The roof’s gone, but the walls are solid. I hunkered down in there myself once, out hunting and here comes a thunderstorm.”
“There might be a couple other hidey-holes up around there,” Lindahl said, “but mostly it’s the railroad station.”
Spreading himself comfortably across the backseat, Thiemann said, “What I’m guessing about these robbers, I’m guessing they’re city people, and they aren’t gonna know what it means to try to hide out in a place like this.”
Parker said, “How’s that?”
“People like Tom and me,” Thiemann said, “we been here generations, it’s like we got our grandparents’ memories mixed in with our own. We
“I see what you mean,” Parker said.
Leaning forward a little, Thiemann said, “Where you living these days, Ed?”
“Chicago,” Parker told him. “I don’t know it very well.”
Thiemann grinned. “You know what I mean, then,” he said, and sat back.
Their road trended mainly uphill, and a few miles later crossed a larger road, where a police presence had been set up. The trooper this time, a younger one than the first, walked over, saw Lindahl’s membership card on the dash, and waved them through. Grinning, he called, “Happy hunting!”
A few miles later Lindahl made a left onto a road, a two-lane blacktop in crumbling condition, that angled steeply up. “There’s a couple houses just up ahead,” he said, “that they keep the blacktop for. After that, it’s dirt.”
“Shake the teeth right out of your head,” Thiemann commented.
He was close to right. After the second small occupied house, the woods settled in closer on both sides, the hill grew even steeper, and the surface they drove over was more corrugation than road. Lindahl drove slowly, trying to steer around the deepest holes.
Parker said, “Was the railroad line near the road? I don’t see any sign of it.”
“They pulled up the tracks for scrap during World War Two,” Lindahl told him. “It’s only a couple more miles now.”
