Day Three
July 23, 1952
Wednesday Morning
At the break of dawn, barely awake before a shower or coffee, River threw on sweats and scouted the grounds for January. Last night’s storm was now a humid mess up top and sloppy puddles down below. A light breeze was breaking up remnants of gray-bellied clouds and herding them to Kansas.
January was nowhere to be found.
Her live body wasn’t there.
Her dead body wasn’t either.
The latter brought enough relief to let him set out on a run, almost a sprint, letting his stride lengthen and his lungs dig. A mile clicked off, then another. The sky softened and an eerie mist lifted off the ground.
It was possible that January had left of her own volition.
Maybe she spotted the guy but couldn’t call out.
Maybe the guy spotted River and called it off.
Maybe January followed him.
Maybe she’d show up any minute and tell him where to find the guy.
The run turned into six or seven miles, all Tarzan style. Back home, everything was the same.
January wasn’t there.
No notes were on the door.
He took a shower.
As he was drying off, the phone rang and a deep, menacing voice came through. “Listen carefully asshole, because what you do in the next thirty seconds is going to determine whether your tattooed little friend lives or dies. Do you understand?”
River exhaled.
“Let me talk to her.”
“She’s alive, don’t worry about it,” the man said. “Now, where is Alexa Blank?”
River pulled up an image of the woman chained in the graveyard. She should still be there, alive and well, unless something went wrong.
He needed time.
“I’ll take you to her,” he said.
A beat.
“Just tell me where she is and then stay put. After I have her, I’ll release your little friend. You have my word. All I want is a fair exchange, nothing more.”
River shook his head.
“Drive south out of town on Santa Fe, about twenty or twenty-five miles,” he said. “You’ll see my car at the side of the road. Be sure January’s with you. Be smart and we’ll both get what we want. Be stupid and I’ll rip your heart out and throw it to the maggots. Go now. I’ll be waiting.”
He slammed the receiver down.
His blood raced.
Someone was going to die.
Ten seconds later the phone rang. River watched it without answering as he threw on clothes, then grabbed his gun and headed for the car with his hair dripping. Halfway there he turned back long enough to get an eight-inch serrated knife from the top dresser drawer.
The knife and gun got thrown on the seat next to him.
Then he squealed out.
The traffic was thick.
Everyone in the universe was in his way.
The minute he passed someone, some other idiot popped up in front.
Calm down.
Calm down.
Calm down.
That’s what his brain said, Calm down.
Calm down and be smarter than him.
Calm down and come up with a plan.
Calm down and kill the little prick.
Traffic loosened.
River actually got some breathing room and opened it up. Then a car at a crossroad turned right in front of him. The jerk could have waited-should have waited-but was just one more of those selfish bastards who thought they owned the road.
River got on his tail and honked his horn.
The guy looked in his rearview mirror.
His hand came up.
His middle finger came up.
The finger waved back and forth.
River put every muscle of his leg into the accelerator and swung violently into the other lane to get alongside.
The massive grill of an oncoming 18-wheeler suddenly appeared from out of nowhere directly in front of him.
Shit!
He slammed on the brakes.
The rear wheels locked and went into a fishtail.