“You there, Willy?”
“Where the hell else am I going to be?”
“You got the snowmobile in sight?”
“Yeah.”
“See if you can put it on the sick list.”
His voice lightened. “You got it.”
All three of us moved closer to the window.
“Do you have access to those Sno-Cats at the school?” I asked McNaughton.
He pleasantly surprised me. “I had ’em put there.” He followed that by picking up the radio again. “Base, this is P-One. Roll one of those Sno-Cats in our direction. Take it easy, though. No rush.”
In a couple of minutes, Kunkle’s blurry dark shape appeared slowly from the left, picking its way carefully through the soft, clinging snow. He crossed over into the post office’s parking lot and approached the snowmobile as if he was making for the door.
The radio made us jump. “All units from P-Six. Suspect’s going outside.”
We watched in utter stillness. Kunkle stopped dead in his tracks and then altered his course slightly away from the snowmobile. At the same time, the man with the cane came out of the post office. Kunkle raised his hand in greeting. The other man nodded in response as they passed. Kunkle entered the building and disappeared.
McNaughton muttered, “Jesus.” The man glanced at his vehicle and then looked around. He hunched his shoulders and began to cross over toward the restaurant. “What the hell’s he doing? The place is closed.”
“He doesn’t know that.” McNaughton said “Jesus” again and hit the button. “All units from P-One. Suspect’s proceeding to the restaurant.”
We saw him struggle through the snow to the front door and pull at it without success. He hesitated, and then suddenly cupped his hands against the glass to better see inside. There was a pause, and he backed away and began stumbling as fast as he could toward the post office.
“This is P-Eight. We’re blown. We’re blown.”
“P-One to all units. Everyone out. He’s heading for the snowmobile.” McNaughton shouted into the radio.
I ran for the door, Katz hard on my heels. McNaughton was still yelling. “Close the roadblocks. Get that Sno- Cat here now.”
I stumbled outside in time to see Kunkle burst out of the post office and point his revolver at the man with the beard. His shout of “Stop. Police.” was answered by the sharp crack of a rifle. Kunkle collapsed against the wall. A moment later, Cioffi reached the snowmobile and filled the air with its scream. I saw dark shapes running from both restaurant and laundromat as the snowmobile lurched forward, ran over Kunkle’s extended leg and slithered toward the street. There were a couple of shotgun blasts before the target vanished into the blizzard, heading toward the school.
McNaughton appeared at the door. “Suspect’s headed southeast. Whoever’s on the Sno-Cat, heads up for a bright red snowmobile. There’s an officer down; call for backup and an ambulance.”
I pointed across the street. “Take Kunkle’s car.”
McNaughton broke into a clumsy run. I headed for the post office and got to Kunkle just as his car fishtailed into the street. The radio in my hand was alive with voices.
“This is P-Nine. He cut around me. He’s still on Main.”
“P-Nileft'›ne from P-One. Turn around and wait for me. I’m almost there. Get the second Sno-Cat in pursuit.”
“Ten-four.”
Kunkle sat in the snow, his back against the wall, his face as white as the world around him. The only bright color anywhere was a crimson half circle of blood spattered on the wall above us and a tomato-sized stain high on his left arm. His eyes were wide open and dreamy.
He blinked and tried to focus on my face. “Go get the son of a bitch.”
“That’s being taken care of. Where’re you hit?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Shoulder, I think-arm somewhere. Not much pain; not any, really.”
I didn’t touch anything, but from the look of things the shoulder had been shattered.
“It wasn’t him,” he added after a sigh.
“Who shot you?”
“Yeah. It came from the right.”
A man appeared at my side, breathing hard. He had a small detached earphone dangling over his collar.
“You with McNaughton?”
“Yeah. Corporal Wilcox.”
“You got a car?” I stuck out my hand.
He nodded. “Jeep. Out back. Keys are in it.”
I made Kunkle focus on me. “You’re in good hands. I’ll let you know.” I got the Jeep sliding down Main before I radioed in. “This is P-Two. What’s happening?”
“P-Two from P-One. Good news, bad news. The eastern roadblock worked, but he doubled back and is heading south. That gave us a little time. Can you get to the school?”
“I’m almost there.”
“Catch a ride on the second Sno-Cat and head south on Route 16.”
“Any sign of Stark?”
“Fuck Stark. What’s with Stark?”
“Who do you think shot Kunkle?” I dropped the radio in my lap and put both hands on the wheel. I had no idea why I was still on the road. I couldn’t see a goddamned thing, and my foot was flat on the accelerator. After a pause, I heard McNaughton’s one word response: “Shit.”
I caught the dim flicker of a yellow flasher ahead and slowed down in time to avoid crashing into the Sno-Cat. One trooper was at the controls. I baled out of the Jeep and climbed up next to him.
“How’s your guy?”
“Shoulder wound-bad.” The engine noise climbed to a howl, and we lumbered quickly down the street to the Route 16 turnoff.
“This is P-Three. Suspect is in sight.” That was the roadblock just over one mile ahead. There was a full minute of silence before the radio crackleradio crd again. “This is P-Three. Suspect doubled back. We cannot pursue effectively.”
“I got him.” It was McNaughton’s voice.
Another fifteen-second pause followed. “P-One to all units. Suspect’s off the main road. He’s headed west up a logging road. We’re in pursuit.”
My driver picked up speed now that we were clear of town. The engine between us let off a deafening high- pitched wail. The blurred treads by the side of the cab sent up a flurry of snow which mixed with the blizzard. The only half-clear view was straight ahead.
I suddenly saw where McNaughton’s tracks took a violent cut to the right. We slammed into a crablike skid and followed suit, bursting through a gap in the trees and going straight up a steep, narrow trail cut in the woods, barely wide enough for the Sno-Cat.
“Where can he go from here?” I shouted over the noise of the engine.
“Anywhere if he can really drive that thing, but it’s rough going. And with all this shit, we might find him wrapped around a tree.”
“Is there any other way onto this mountain?”
He hesitated. “You mean Stark?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure, if he’s got a skimobile too. But I don’t see how he’d know where to go without following some tracks.”
I listened to the radio chatter as we crawled up the steep hill. A wall of trees pressed in from both sides, simultaneously cutting down on the light and the falling snow.
McNaughton’s voice was rearranging his troops, ordering more backups, positioning vehicles at roads that meant nothing to me. For a man who had laid too loose a net and let the fish escape, he was remarkably calm and
