a long time. By the time Dyce had hidden his own car and pulled the ladder in after him, it was growing dark and beginning to sprinkle. The rain would take care of any tracks he had left behind and the night would shield him from all but the most determined and skillful of pursuers. He was safe now and could see and hear anyone approaching, and if they approached too close, there was still a little room for them to keep the cop company.
The rain brought out the smell of charcoal that still lingered after fifteen years. The sound of rain pattering overhead had always been comforting and for a moment he felt as safe and comfortable as if he were in his old room under the eaves, waiting for grandfather to come and give him his bath.
He was excited.
Hatcher dreaded making the call and he wanted to be alone when he did it. If groveling was called for, he could do it-it was for a larger cause than his own ego-but not with a witness. He had enough trouble with the men under him with this stupid duck business. He didn’t know where they got it or what it referred to, but he had overheard them use the term, he had caught the quacking sounds when they thought he was out of earshot. There was no need to add any further fuel for disrespect.
At first he had planned to make the call from the radio in his car, but there was too big a chance someone else in the system would come in on his frequency. He did it finally from a pay phone, charging the call to his Bureau card.
Becker sounded annoyed to hear from him.
“We have a little problem here,” Hatcher said. “I thought you might want to offer your notions.”
“What.” Not even a question, as if he knew things would get screwed up and Hatcher would be forced to ask for help. Hatcher realized he was already squeezing the telephone receiver. He tried to keep his tone light; don’t give the son of a bitch too much satisfaction.
“It seems Dyce realized who Ty Hoban was and he-uh-he killed him.” The silence was thunderous.
“You sent Ty Hoban in first? And alone?” Becker spoke in a choked whisper.
“Hoban was an excellent man,” said Hatcher.
“I know that. He’s not exactly the best man for undercover work in Waverly, Connecticut, though, is he?”
“I was following policy, it was just A and D.”
“Jesus Christ, Hatcher.”
“He may have handled it wrong,” said Hatcher. “We’ll look into that.”
“And Dyce got away,” said Becker.
“We don’t think so.”
“Good, then you have no problem.”
“But we’re not sure.”
Becker sighed and Hatcher squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the sarcasm. Becker said nothing at all, which Hatcher decided was worse.
“Your friend Terhune apparently spotted Dyce driving north past the Minnot airport and went in pursuit. We’ve sealed the area, and if he made his way to any major road, the state troopers haven’t spotted him yet. My guess is he didn’t get out; he would have had to do it awfully fast. And if he was in a hurry in the first place, he wouldn’t have been going through Minnot on the back roads. We think he’s holed up in the Minnot area someplace.”
“Who’s we?”
“Well-me.”
Again, Becker was silent. The bastard wasn’t going to help a bit. “And Washington. I’ve been in contact, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And they confirmed my theory.”
This time Becker laughed, a short, nasty bark.
“You’re all right then, aren’t you?” Becker asked. “Ass covered and theory confirmed. What do you want from me that Washington can’t provide?”
Hatcher seriously considered hanging up. Why give the bastard the satisfaction of asking? There was only one good reason-Becker might very well know the answer.
“We were just wondering if you might have any notions-considering your closeness to the case-you know, just wondering if it might occur to you…”
“What.”
“Well-where to look.”
Once more, the damning silence.
“We’re following the standard procedures, of course. I’m getting more agents from New York and Boston, and we’ll go door to door starting in the morning. I mean, if he’s here, we’ll find him, but I, we, thought you might have some-insight-into how he might be thinking right about now.”
This time Hatcher kept silent, too. He had asked him; he wasn’t going to beg. The silence stretched.
“Ty Hoban is six-foot-four and black,” Becker said at last. “Did you think he wouldn’t be noticed?”
“He was sent in to A and D, that’s all. He may have exceeded his brief; we’re looking into it.”
“He would have been noticed anywhere within the town limits, you can’t blame him. Why not send a man in a clown suit to a funeral?”
“I have decisions to make, and I make them.”
“Yeah, and when it counts the most, they’re wrong,” Becker said. Hatcher breathed deeply and let it ride. “You’re a fucking menace. Hatcher.” Hatcher let that one ride, too, waiting. If Becker was belittling him, at least it meant he was still involved.
Another pause. Hatcher studied the woman dashing with her dirty clothes to the laundromat across the street from the public phone. I’m getting wet. Hatcher thought. Why don’t they put pay phones in glass booths anymore? If Becker knows it’s raining he’s probably making me stand here on purpose.
“Where did Dyce live when he was growing up?” Becker broke the silence at last.
Got him, thought Hatcher. He was too good at it to turn his back on it. Or too involved in some way that Hatcher didn’t understand.
“I don’t know.”
“When he applied for work as an actuary he would have had to list his degree. Find out where he got it, wake some people up and see what he gave as a permanent address when he entered college. If it’s in Minnot, and I think it probably was, roust the town clerk out of bed and find out who lives in the house now. Then put a man on the local cemetery where his relatives are buried.”
“The cemetery?”
“Hatcher… An inconspicuous man, out of sight.”
“I know that. Anything else?”
“Try the house where he grew up.”
“He wouldn’t go there if somebody else lives there now.”
“Do what you want, then.”
“I mean, you’re probably right-but why would he go there?”
“Because something happened there. Why would he be back in Minnot in the first place? It was the first place he ran when he was in trouble. First to Waverly, which is close enough for him to drive over every day if he wanted to, then when Ty flushed him, he went straight to Minnot itself, not the highway. Something’s there he wants, or needs.”
“Anything else?”
“Don’t fuck it up again.”
“I can have a plane at the airport for you in ten minutes,” Hatcher said.
“I’m not coming.”
“You’ll have a better feel for things if you’re here on the ground.”
“I go down no more holes for you. Hatcher. I told you that already. Find him or not, it’s up to you now. It’s no longer any affair of mine.”
“I understand,” said Hatcher. “There’s one other thing… Just after your friend the chief of police had
