“The Slimms turned out to be a pair of college students,” Father Flannery reported.
“A fair match to the giddiness of the characters.” Derbent nodded to the priest. “As Spike Spanner, Father, you personify the golden age principle of the least likely suspect.”
“The students — at least the young man, he did the talking — refuse to take part in any effort to find the hacker.” Matt took out the list of the sleuths and their alter egos. “I’ll leave this with you, no matter what you decide. I already left it with the students.”
Oswald Derbent reached for the paper. “I’ll join you in your search, although I don’t know how useful my support will be.”
“It will mean half of us are interested in the truth,” Father Flannery said.
“A fine sentiment,” Derbent said, “as long as you don’t examine the motives behind it. Mine are simple. The six of us will either be the investigators or the investigated.” The little man shook his head. “We face a mystery, but no data — a word I prefer to the traditional
Oswald Derbent’s dark, shiny eyes had a bitter expression. “One thing I’m sure of — this mystery will be much less enjoyable than the one we signed up for.”
“That Derbent really has a way of putting things,” Father Flannery said as they drove deeper into the Virginia countryside.
Matt nodded. “For him to play a reclusive genius — maybe it was typecasting.”
“What he said about the three of us having to dig — I don’t know that I can do it,” the priest said.
“Are you going over to Kerry Jones and Suze Kellerman’s side — the one that favors ignoring trouble until it goes away?” Matt asked.
“About having someone else do the investigating? It’s tempting,” Flannery admitted. “But I don’t know if anything will be done — or how. Derbent made it clear that he’s not leaving his house to pound the pavement for clues. I’m frankly doubtful as to what I can do.”
“I think I hear an
“That leaves you — and whatever your friends can do — to clear up this mess.”
Matt shifted in his seat. “Do you think I’m up to the job?”
“I don’t think you should be expected to do it alone,” the priest replied. “Perhaps if this Knox fellow goes in with us — giving us a majority of the people involved — we could approach the lawyers, agree to cooperate in an investigation…”
He sighed. “Well, first I guess we’d better see what Knox has to say.”
They didn’t have many problems finding O’Dell’s. There were signs giving the turnoff for miles ahead on the road. Big rigs were parked all around the complex of small buildings. This wasn’t just some sort of greasy spoon. The place had pretty much everything a trucker could need — food, a motel setup, gas pumps, even a combination pharmacy and convenience store. O’Dell’s was obviously more than the joint in the old joke — the place with the sign that said EAT HERE AND GET GAS.
Matt and Father Flannery stopped by the sleeping accommodations first. They were told the boss was in the restaurant, and nobody at O’Dell’s gave out any information without the boss’s say-so.
Reaching for the door to the diner, Matt had to jump back as a big, swag-bellied guy came pushing out. The flying door just missed Matt, and the big guy’s shoulder brushed Father Flannery aside. Maybe the cloud of beer fumes explained why the guy had to turn making an exit into a pickup game of tackle football.
Matt shook his head as he caught the door on the rebound. He and the priest stepped into the glorified diner and were assaulted by a collection of delicious smells — coffee, pie, bacon, steak…
All of a sudden Matt was reminded that it had been a long time since his after-school glass of milk. They asked the counterman if the boss was around, and he replied that she was in the back. “Be with you in a minute.”
Father Flannery immediately grabbed a stool and asked for a cup of coffee. After a moment’s thought Matt ordered a chocolate shake. A round-faced, heavyset woman brought their orders over. “I’m Della O’Dell,” she said. “What can I do for you fellas?”
“Della O’Dell,” Matt echoed.
The woman grinned, transforming her face into a thing of beauty. “Great, isn’t it? Sometimes I really have to wonder what my parents were thinking.”
“I understand you let truckers use your place as a convenience address,” Father Flannery said.
“Some, Padre,” Della said guardedly.
“It’s important that we get in touch with a fellow named Harry Knox—”
“Hard Knocks Harry? He was here just a minute ago.” Della turned to the counterman. “Wilbur, where did he go?”
The man held up a bill. “I dunno, but he left a twenty.”
“Maybe he went to get something from his rig,” Della said. “Hard to miss. It’s got a huge red stripe running around the top—”
“Like that truck pulling out there?” Matt pointed to the window. A big rig roared onto the highway, the rumble of its engine making the whole diner shake.
“What in perdition is his trouble?” Della O’Dell wanted to know. “Harry said he was turning down that Florida run. What’s he doing now?”
“About fifty-five, I’d say,” Wilbur said, watching the truck rapidly disappear.
Matt looked at Father Flannery. “What do you say, Spike?” he murmured. “You up for a high-speed chase?”
The priest shook his head. Instead, he turned to Della. “Is that pie over there as good as it smells?”
A while afterward they were heading back to Washington. “I wouldn’t say that was a
The hot apple pie—a la mode — had gone down very easily, Matt had to admit. Less satisfying was the reason for the fast exit Harry Knox had pulled. “He must have caught sight of me coming across the parking lot,” Matt said.
“In that case, it doesn’t speak very well for ‘Hard Knocks Harry,’” the priest said. “As the basic manual of my profession says, ‘The guilty flee where no man pursueth.’”
“I guess it’s just as well we didn’t try to pursue,” Matt said, gesturing to the slow-moving traffic all around them. “A high-speed chase would have been out of the question in this mess.”
They crawled along the road until they reached the Francis Scott Key Bridge, where police officers haloed by the glowing lights of emergency vehicles diverted the traffic to one lane.
“Must have been an accident,” Matt said, peering into the glare. “I think a whole section of the retaining wall is gone—”
Then, cocked at a drunken angle, he saw the rear end of a truck trailer sticking up from the water beyond. The cab and engine were completely submerged. But Matt couldn’t miss the big red stripe running around under the roof of the rig. Wherever Harry Knox was headed, he obviously wasn’t in a hurry now.
10
Matt couldn’t eat supper when he got home that evening — and it had nothing to do with ruining his appetite with pie. He tossed and turned all through the night, and the next morning, even though it was Saturday, he tried Captain Winters’s office number at Net Force.
Actually, Matt wasn’t surprised when the captain answered. Winters often put in extra hours to clear the week’s paperwork off his desk. It was a little weird to see him in a sweater instead of business wear, but the
