Paul barely seemed to notice. In the daylight he looked awful, the skin on his face grey and lined. He seemed increasingly withdrawn, lost in a private zone of suffering. The only time he came to life was when the phone rang. Each time he would snatch it up, tense with expectation, only to sag a moment later when it was just another friend or persistent journalist. After saying a few words, he’d hang up and retreat back into his shell. I felt for him, knowing all too well what he was going through.
But there was nothing I could do to help.
It was just before noon when the pattern was broken. The remains of sandwiches lay curling on plates beside us. Mine were half eaten, Paul’s untouched. I was beginning to think it was time for me to go back to my hotel. I was doing no good here, and Sam’s parents would be arriving in a few hours. When the phone rang again Paul grabbed for it, but I could see from the way his shoulders slumped that it wasn’t Gardner.
‘Hi, Mary. No, I haven’t—’ He broke off, his entire posture radiating a new urgency. ‘What channel?’
Letting the phone drop he grabbed for the TV remote.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
I don’t think he heard. He was flicking through the channels as soon as the screen came to life, scrolling through a cacophony of noise and images until he suddenly stopped. A young woman with lacquered hair and too- red lipstick was talking animatedly to camera.
‘… breaking news story, a report is coming in that an ambulance has been found abandoned in the Gatlinburg area of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park…’
Paul’s face had gone slack as the impact of the words struck him.
‘… exact location has not been revealed, and TBI sources are refusing to confirm that this is the same vehicle used in yesterday’s abduction of Samantha Avery, the pregnant thirty-two-year-old from Blount County. There’s no word yet on the whereabouts of the missing woman, but unconfirmed reports say the ambulance may have been damaged in a collision…’
The newsreader continued, her voice breathy and excited, as a photograph of York appeared on the screen, but Paul was already grabbing for his phone. It rang before he could dial a number. Gardner, I thought, and saw my guess confirmed in Paul’s expression.
‘Have you found her?’ he demanded.
I watched him slowly deflate at Gardner’s answer. In the silence I could hear the TBI agent’s voice, tinny and indistinct. Paul listened, his face tortured and intent.
‘And you let me hear about it on TV? For God’s sake, you said you’d call when you had any news… I don’t care, just call me, OK?’
He hung up. He stood with his back to me, bringing himself under control before he spoke.
‘They found the ambulance half an hour ago at a picnic spot close to I-40,’ he said dully. ‘They think York abandoned it and stole a car before he got to the Interstate. That’d take him halfway across North Carolina. Unless he headed west. He could be on his way to New Mexico by now. He could be anywhere!’
The phone shattered as he hurled it against the wall, scattering plastic across the room.
‘Jesus Christ, I can’t stand this! What am I supposed to do? Just sit here?’
‘Paul—’
But he was already heading for the door. I hurried after him into the hallway.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To see the ambulance.’
‘Wait a second. Gardner—’
‘Screw Gardner!’ He started to open the front door. I put my hand on it. ‘Get out of my way, David!’
‘Just listen, will you? If you go out now you’ll have TV crews trailing you all the way there. Is that what you want?’
That stopped him.
‘Is there a road at the back?’ I went on quickly, while I had his attention.
‘This one loops around the houses there, but I can’t—’
‘I’ll get my car. The press won’t follow me, but it’ll distract them. You go out the back and cut across the gardens, and I’ll meet you round there.’
He didn’t want to, but he could see the sense of what I was saying. Reluctantly, he nodded.
‘Give me a couple of minutes,’ I told him, and went out before he could change his mind.
Sunlight slapped my face when I stepped outside, dazzling me. I made straight for the car, trying to ignore the sudden clamour my appearance had sparked. The press surged forward, a wall of cameras and microphones, but their excitement was short-lived. ‘That isn’t Avery,’ someone said, and it was as though someone had nicked a switch. A few halfhearted questions were fired at me, but interest quickly waned when I didn’t answer. The attention of the TV crews and reporters was already back on the house as I climbed into the car and drove away.
The road meandered round in a slow curve before doubling back on itself behind Sam and Paul’s house. The street here was empty, except for Paul. He ran over as I pulled up, and had the door open before the car had even stopped.
‘Go back to the main highway and head for the mountains,’ he said, out of breath.
No trailing press cars followed us as we left the development. The route was signposted once we reached the highway. Apart from the occasional terse direction from Paul, we drove in silence. The mist-shrouded Smoky Mountains loomed up on the horizon ahead of us. The sight of them stretching into the distance was sobering, bringing home the impossible scale of any search.
The sun was high overhead, warm enough to pass for a summer’s day. After a few miles I had to use the screen wash to clear the glass of dead insects. The tension in the car grew as we reached the foothills and drove through Townsend. It wasn’t far from here where York had clipped the car and hit a tree. A few miles past the town we came to a tall oak by the roadside that had been ringed with police tape. The jagged white gouges in its bark were clearly visible. Paul stared at it as we drove past, his face bleak.
Neither of us spoke.
A few miles further on, he directed me to branch off the highway and we began to climb into the mountains. They rose up around us, plunging the road in and out of shadow as it wound through them. We saw a few other cars but it was still too early in the season for there to be many. Spring was everywhere. The woods were carpeted with wildflowers, blue, yellow and white dappling the vibrant new grass. At any other time the Appalachian beauty would have been breathtaking; now it seemed like a cruel joke.
‘Take the next right,’ Paul told me. The turn-off was a narrow road, gravelled like many of the minor roads and tracks out here. This one was steep enough to have the car’s automatic transmission straining. After a half- mile it levelled out. We rounded a bend and found our way blocked by a patrol car. Beyond it, I could make out wooden picnic tables and parked police vehicles before trees blocked the view.
I wound down the window as a uniformed deputy approached the car. He looked barely out of his teens, but walked with an older man’s swagger. He stared down at me from under the wide brim of his hat, one hand on his holstered gun.
‘Back up. Y’all cain’t come up here.’
‘Can you tell Dan Gardner that Dr Hunter and—’ I began, and then I heard the passenger door open. I looked round to see Paul climbing out of the car. Oh, Christ, I thought, as the young deputy scrambled to head him off.
‘Hold it right there! Goddammit, I said stop!’
I hurried out of the car after them, grabbing hold of Paul as the deputy planted himself on the track in front of him and drew his sidearm. I’d never realized how much I disliked guns until then.
‘OK, it’s OK,’ I said, pulling Paul back. ‘Come on, take it easy!’
‘Back in the car! Now!’ the deputy yelled. He gripped the gun in both hands, pointing it at the ground between us.
Paul showed no inclination to move. In the bright sun his eyes didn’t look fully focused. He couldn’t touch York, but the need for confrontation was consuming him. I don’t know what might have happened, but at that moment a familiar voice rang out.
‘What the hell’s going on?’
I never thought I’d be glad to see Gardner. The TBI agent was striding down the track, tight-lipped. The
