The major kept his eyes on the road. “Seems the suspect knows how to handle himself.”
They arrived at the state troopers’ station. The three men in uniform straightened their backs when they saw their superior officer.
Peter Sebastian swept up the steps. “I want to see Trooper Condon.” He stopped inside the door and eyed the young man who had followed him. “Take me somewhere private. You don’t want your bosses to hear this.” He looked beyond him. “I’ll handle it from here, Major,” he called.
Stu Condon opened the office door and took him inside. “He pulled a gun on me,” he said, before the FBI man could speak. “I couldn’t-”
“What kind of gun?”
“A Glock,” the trooper replied, his face pale. “Seventeen shot, I reckon.” He paused. “He…he took mine, too.”
“Another seventeen?”
Condon nodded, his eyes to the floor. “And…and he had a combat knife in his belt. On his back.”
“Is that the full total of his arsenal?” Sebastian asked, acidly.
The trooper shook his head. “I saw a rifle on his shoulder before he got into the car.”
The Bureau man’s eyes widened. “A rifle?”
“Yes, sir. I think it was an M16.”
“Jesus Christ! Where did he get that?”
“Couldn’t say, sir.”
Sebastian glared at him. “What can you say about the woman, then?”
“Mary Upson? Schoolteacher, sir. Been here a year.”
“I’m looking for local knowledge here, Trooper. She married? Have a boyfriend? What kind is she-lively, reliable, depressive, what?”
Condon looked at him awkwardly. “Well, sir, I don’t really know. She isn’t married. I don’t think she has a boyfriend. Don’t know if she has any friends, actually. She goes to the bar at weekends. Sometimes leaves with guys.” He looked away.
Sebastian laughed. “How about you, Trooper? I see you’re wearing a ring. You try your chances?”
Trooper Condon shrugged. “Nothing happened.”
“All right, I’m not interested in your private life. This Mary sounds like a bit of a live wire.”
“Yeah, I guess she can be. Sometimes she gets raging drunk. Then she won’t let anybody near her.”
“What about at school? Is she popular?”
Stu Condon chewed his lip. “My…my wife is a teacher, too. She doesn’t like Mary. Says she’s a troublemaker, always trying to change procedures. The kids seem to appreciate her, though.”
“She got any family here?”
“No, sir. I heard she was from Portland.”
Sebastian called in the major.
“Have your people in Portland been notified about Mary Upson? Apparently she’s from there.”
Stevens nodded. “They’re checking on her now. Shouldn’t take long.”
The FBI man glanced at Trooper Condon. “I take it your men know about the weapons Wells is carrying?”
“They do. Anything more you can tell us about this guy?”
“Yeah,” Sebastian said. “He’s a judo and karate black belt, he knows boxing and he’s trained in rifle and pistol use. Oh, and he’s killed at least one person before.”
Major Stevens and Trooper Condon exchanged glances.
“Um, there’s been a development,” the major said.
“Spit it out,” Sebastian said, instantly alert. “Has he been sighted?”
“No. But local troopers have found two men tied up behind a house not far from here.”
“Who are they?”
“We’re not sure. There’s no ID on them. They’d been knocked unconscious and only recently attracted attention-one of the locals heard shouting and called it in.”
“Wells,” Sebastian hissed.
“But why would he have been involved with them?” Stu Condon asked. He ran his hand over his short hair. “There was something strange about Mary Upson. She was wearing a kind of uniform jacket, gray like the pants Wells had. And her jeans were trashed.”
Peter Sebastian eyed him dubiously. “Anything else you haven’t told us?”
The trooper pursed his lips. “No. But why did they come into the station house, if he’s on the run like you say?”
The Bureau man gave him a tight smile. “Let us do the thinking, Stu. This uniform, what was it? Military?”
“I don’t know.” Condon glanced at the major. “I never saw it before. There were some letters on the shoulder, but I can’t remember them.”
Sebastian’s cell phone rang. He answered it and then groaned. “Another one? Jesus, Dana, what’s going on?” He held the phone tightly to his ear. “Yes, I realize that means Wells couldn’t have done it. But he could still have killed the first two victims and got up here on the early shuttle. He’s involved some-what’s that?” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, obviously using a false ID. Have you checked the airport CCTV? Well, get on with it. Anyway, he could still have a confederate who did the latest one.” He listened again. “Okay, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Bad news?” the major asked.
“Yes,” Sebastian said, “very bad news indeed.”
He stepped past them, his expression thunderous.
Nora Jacobsen drove her daughter’s Toyota out of the shed and down the driveway. It was a chilly night and the ground wasn’t quite soft enough to register tracks. When she got back, she would rake the gravel. The place she was heading was a couple of miles up the road. The local farmer dumped his old machines in a clearing he’d made in the woods. She’d leave Mary’s car there. Old Snodgrass wouldn’t even notice. Better still, the law wouldn’t, either.
It occurred to Nora that she shouldn’t be helping her daughter-at least, not this way. She should have sent this latest man of Mary’s on his way with the shotgun up his ass, like she’d done in the past. But she reckoned there was no point anymore. Mary was old enough to make her own mistakes. She laughed. The one who’d made the mistake was the man called Matt.
Nora turned down the narrow track. No, Mary would be all right. She always got herself together again after the flings. That was the good thing: her daughter fought her own battles-she wasn’t one of those overgrown kids who were continually around the parental home. That was just as well. The Antichurch of Lucifer Triumphant didn’t take kindly to snoopers.
Twenty-Three
There was no map in Ms. Jacobsen’s pickup. Road signs were rare and Mary sometimes even took gravel tracks. I had no idea where we were going. I put my hand on the Glock, fearful that the vehicle would suddenly be surrounded by gray-clad figures carrying assault rifles. That didn’t happen, but there was something about the schoolteacher I couldn’t put my finger on. In the light of the dashboard, her face had taken on a weird hue-pale green like a ghost in a child’s dreams. Her jaw muscles were set hard as she concentrated on the difficult road surfaces and constant bends. That only made her more attractive. I tried to forget the fire that had ignited in my veins when she’d kissed me. I had the feeling that the blonde woman who was haunting me wouldn’t be at all keen on that.
I looked at the compass from time to time. We had headed west for several hours, but had now turned south. That made me feel better. I assumed the camp was in the north of the state and the farther away I was from it, the nearer I’d be to some kind of safety. Then I recalled that the troopers were looking for us all over Maine. No doubt
