looked up at a ceiling that seemed recently repainted, thinking about how he had come to spend yet another night in jail.
His father had been as good as his word.
Five minutes after he had come out onto the roof of the building, a helicopter had appeared out of the sky. The pilot must have been informed how urgent this all was, because he had not turned off the engines. A man had emerged from the passenger seat and walked towards him, stooped over to withstand the displacement of air by the helicopter blades. He had taken him by the arm, gesturing to him to walk the same way, and accompanied him to the machine.
No sooner had he closed the door and fastened his seat belt than they were in the air. The city passed below them at high speed, soon becoming the runway reserved for private flights at La Guardia Airport. The pilot brought the helicopter down next to a small Cessna CJ1+ bearing the insignia of Wade Enterprises.
The engines were already on. A stewardess was waiting for him at the foot of the staircase, a blond girl in a tobacco-coloured uniform and a light blouse, recalling the colours of the company logo. As Russell walked towards her, he heard the helicopter take off.
‘Good evening, Mr Wade. I’m Sheila Lavender. I’ll be your attendant during the flight.’ She pointed to the inside of the plane. ‘Please.’
Russell went up and found himself in an elegant sitting room with four comfortable seats. Two pilots were sitting in their places in the cabin.
Sheila indicated the seats. ‘Please sit down, Mr Wade. Can I get you something to drink?’
Russell went and sat down on one of the seats, and felt the soft embrace of the leather envelop him. He had decided not to drink, but maybe he deserved one after all. It occurred to him that the rules governing what he could do ‘on duty’ were much less constricting than Vivien’s.
‘Is there a bottle of whisky from my father’s reserve on this plane?’
The stewardess smiled. ‘Yes, there is.’
‘Good. Then I’ll have a drop of that. With a little ice, if possible.’
‘I’ll be right back.’
The stewardess walked away and started bustling about in front of a drinks cabinet.
The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. ‘Mr Wade, I’m Captain Marcus Hattie. Good evening and welcome on board.’
Russell returned the greeting with a gesture in the direction of the cabin.
‘We chose this plane for its size, which will allow us to land and take off from the runway at Ross County Airport. Unfortunately we have a problem with heavy air traffic right now. We’re being kept in a holding pattern and I’m afraid we’re going to have to wait a few minutes before we get the go-ahead for take- off.’
Russell took this news on board. It was disappointing. Sheila’s return with a glass appeased him a little. Looking out the window, he sipped the whisky as calmly as he could. After an interminable quarter of an hour, they at last moved onto the runway. A powerful thrust of the engines, a sense of emptiness, and they were in the sky, turning until the front of the plane was directed towards Chillicothe, Ohio.
Russell looked first at his watch, then at the sun on the horizon, trying to estimate the journey time. The answer came from the pilot, when he next spoke.
‘We plan to reach our destination in just under two hours.’
During the journey he tried a couple of times to call Vivien on the plane’s telephone, but her cellphone was always engaged. And with everything that had happened he wasn’t even sure she would want to talk to him.
At the memory of those words, the taste of the whisky suddenly turned bitter. The only thing that would improve that taste would be revenge, the revenge he would have when he revealed to her that he had found by himself what the two of them had pursued together in vain.
After another couple of drinks, the pilot’s voice informed him that they had begun their descent towards their destination. Again, as on that earlier journey a few days before, darkness had overtaken them during the flight.
The landing was perfect and the plane was skilfully guided to the terminal. When finally the door was opened and he set foot on the ground, he found himself in a place almost identical to the small airport at Hornell.
Next to the long, low terminal building a man was waiting beside a black Mercedes sedan that looked shiny and clean under the lights. His father had clearly spared no expense. Then Russell remembered that he would be paying for these luxuries with the sweat of his brow.
He walked to the car, and was greeted by a tall thin man who looked more as though he was in the habit of renting hearses than automobiles.
‘Mr Russell Wade?’
‘That’s me.’
‘I’m Richard Balling, from Ross Rental Services.’
Neither of the two held out his hand in a friendly gesture. Russell suspected that Mr Balling was a little contemptuous of someone who came out of a private jet and found a Mercedes waiting for him. Even though he himself had supplied it.
‘This is the car that was reserved for you. Do you need a driver?’
‘Does the car have GPS?’
The man gave him an outraged look. ‘Of course.’
‘Then I’ll drive.’
‘That’s your choice.’
He waited for the man to fill in the documents with his details, signed them and got in the car.
‘Could you give me the address of the sheriff’s office, please?’
‘Twenty-eight North Paint Street. In Chillicothe, of course. Could you give me a ride into town?’
Russell gave him a conspiratorial smile and started the engine. ‘Of course not.’
He pulled out, wheels skidding on the gravel, heedless of Mr Balling’s legitimate concern for his vehicle. As he drove, he programmed the GPS. There was the road, and there was his destination, some nine miles away, with a journey time of about twenty-one minutes. He allowed the soothing female voice of the GPS to guide him until it advised him to turn right onto Route 104. As he neared the town, he started to think about his next move. He didn’t have a specific plan. He had a name. He had photographs. He would ask the sheriff for information, then decide what to do on the basis of that. He had reached this point by following his instinct and improvising. That seemed like the best way to continue. Without his realizing it, the long straight road had led him to press his foot down hard on the accelerator. Suddenly, a flashing light and a sharp sound behind him brought him up short.
He pulled up on the right and waited for the inevitable. He lowered the window just in time to see the officer touch his hat in greeting.
‘Good evening, sir.’
‘Good evening, officer.’
‘Would you mind showing me your licence and car registration, please?’
Russell handed the rental certificate and licence through the window. The officer, who bore the insignia of Ross County, examined them, but did not give them back. He was a thickset man, with a broad nose and pockmarked skin.
‘Where are you from, Mr Wade?’
‘New York. I just landed at Ross County Airport.’
The grimace he received in return made him realize his mistake.
