pulls in with a woman maybe a third of his age, it’s kind of interesting.”
The young man looked alarmed. “I didn’t make none of this up.”
“I don’t mean that,” said Marshall. “I meant you might have thought, ‘This is a father and daughter. He’s sick, and she’s taking him to the emergency room, but suddenly she sees she’s out of gas. So she’s in a hurry, maybe looking scared.’ Or, ‘This is some rich old guy who’s making a fool of himself with a woman who’s probably a hooker.’ Or, ‘This is an undercover policewoman who’s taking the editor of the local paper on a ride-along to show him a crime scene.’ ” Marshall paused and waited. The young man’s blue eyes were opaque, like marbles.
“I guess the last one.”
Marshall wondered if he had heard correctly. “You mean you thought the woman was a police officer?”
“No,” said Dale. “I didn’t think anything. But if it was one of them, that would probably be the one. She wasn’t scared or nervous, and she seemed kind of … tough. Not like prostitutes.”
“Have you seen prostitutes?”
“Yes … not exactly. I mean I think I’ve seen them, but seeing them on a street isn’t proof that’s what they are. What I mean is she didn’t look like the ones looked that I thought might be.”
“Was she carrying a purse?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He blinked and seemed to achieve clarity. “No. She pulled the money out of her jacket pocket.”
“Wearing jewelry?”
“No.”
“Not even a ring or a watch?”
“Maybe.”
Marshall felt sorry for the boy. He said, “Okay. We’ll get back to her. You took her money, turned on the pump, and sat down again to watch TV.”
“No. She asked for the men’s room key. I gave it to her, then sat down. The news was on. I saw the picture of Dr. Dahlman, and he looked familiar. It was because I’d just seen this old guy in the car. But I wasn’t sure. So I took the mop like I was going to swab the men’s room. When he came out I got a good look. It was him.”
“You’re forgetting something.”
“I am?”
“The gun. It’s usually hidden by the cash register, over here?”
The boy nodded.
“What made you decide to take it with you?”
“I thought it was the smart thing to do. I mean, the guy was supposed to be a killer, right?”
“That’s what I hear.” Marshall felt tired, but he decided that it was part of his job. The kid was nineteen, and he had a long way to go. “Let’s talk about that for a minute. You’re alone. You see a man who’s a killer, so you pick up a gun. What were you planning, a citizen’s arrest?”
“Me? No. I just wanted to see if it was him.”
“If it was, what would you do—shoot him?”
“Call the police.”
“If that’s what you wanted to accomplish, I have a suggestion. You see him. You duck down behind this counter, pick up the phone, and call the police right then. By the time he finishes filling up and using the men’s room and paying, it’s possible the cops could be here. At that time of night they’re usually not too busy, and out here they can drive a hundred miles an hour without fear of killing anybody. They might very well have ended it right then. Or, you could have waited until the car left, watched which way it went, and then called the police.”
The boy was confused. “But I wasn’t sure.”
“I understand the way you felt. But I’ve known a lot of cops over the years. They like getting called out for nothing a lot better than they like working around bodies.”
The boy’s unlined face seemed to elongate. “It was for self-defense.”
Marshall’s eyebrows knitted and his dark eyes looked apologetic. “I sympathize with you. There are so many decisions in a situation like this. One of the problems is that armed killers don’t react the way you want them to. If you pull out a gun and say, ‘Freeze,’ they hardly ever do. They try to shoot you. They don’t hesitate, but you do. Or they turn and run, and you have to decide. Maybe this is just some guy, running because a gas station attendant suddenly pulled a gun on him, and he has no idea he resembles some wanted killer. But maybe he’s a killer running to get behind something and open up on you. If he’s guilty, you can’t let him reach cover. He knows you recognized him, and he knows you’re alone late at night, and that the next thing you’re going to do is call the police. If you make it to the phone, his chances will go from so-so to zero.” Marshall rapped on the wallboard beside him and listened. “This wall won’t stop a bullet.” He seemed to remember something. “And in this case, you’ve got this woman to figure out.”
“To figure out?”
“Well, who could she be?”
“I don’t know.”
“That puts you in a hard place. You saw on TV that the man is suspected of being a killer, but there wasn’t anything on the news about her. It could be she’s a hostage.”
“He let her come in to pay. She couldn’t be.”
“Maybe he’s got her month-old baby lying on the back seat. Maybe she’s a hitchhiker he picked up, who knows nothing about any of this.” Marshall gave him a moment to assess the possibilities and dream up a few of his own. “On the other hand, it could be she’s an armed killer too. Before guns come out you’ve got to make a decision about her. Either protect her, or kill her—it’s hard to do anything in between, because all a gun can do is put holes in people. Will you put one in her?”
The boy was lost, floundering. His blue eyes squinted, blinked, but this time it didn’t seem to clear his mind.
Marshall pressed him. “Suppose you were in that position right now. What would you do about her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Make your best choice. Now.”
“I don’t know!” He was sweating, frustrated, angry. “What? What’s the right answer?”
“You fired a round. Did you know what you were shooting at?”
“I fired through the door. I heard bangs, and I thought they were shooting at me.”
“Who was?”
“Whoever was shooting.”
“And what they really were doing was nailing the door shut. Right?”
“I guess so … well, yeah.”
Marshall nodded and thought for a moment. “You’ve worked in a gas station for a while. You must know that firing blind through a door in the direction of the pumps is a little risky. You must have thought you were saving your life. In that half second you had a brief, clear vision of what you were shooting at. Was it him, or was it her?”
“Mmmmm.” The boy was straining, trying to see it and feel it again.
“Who?”
“Him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Him. I was afraid of being killed, and he was the killer. I saw him right there a few seconds before, coming out. I wasn’t thinking about where she was. When I heard the bangs, I fired at him.”
“But not her.”
“Not her.” He was full of indignation and shame. “Who is she?”
Marshall shrugged. “You’re the only one who’s seen her. When you thought your life depended on it, what you guessed was that she wasn’t the problem. So for the moment, she’s a woman he picked up who doesn’t watch much TV.”
“But I’m not sure of any of it.”
Marshall said, “No, but one thing we know is, if they’re both hardened killers, neither of them is any great shakes at it.”
“Why?”
“All they had to do was look at the hole in the men’s-room door, and fire eight or ten rounds at it. Then you
