Lee drove for a while without looking back, taking side roads and detours. When he was certain that he wasn't being followed, he pulled off the road to call the police. After dialing 911 and reporting the accident, he started the Honda's engine up again. He was worried about his family's safety. The attack had taken place in their backyard this time, and he couldn't be there to protect them constantly.
Kylie had fallen asleep in the backseat again-with the emotional resilience of childhood, she had forgotten her panic, accepting Lee's explanation that the whole thing was just the crazy actions of a drunk driver. He had no intention of telling her the truth.
As the engine turned over, he was seized by an uncontrollable wave of shivering, and had to turn off the car again for a while to calm down. He realized that all he knew about the other car was that it was a dark sedan-any other details were lost in a blur of action and decision making. He couldn't even say how many people were in the car. It could have been more than one, for all he knew, though he didn't think so. Every instinct in his body told him that the pursuer was one man and one man alone.
When he arrived at Fiona's house it was three in the morning. The grandfather clock in the front hall ticked loudly as he tiptoed in through the front door, Kylie in his arms. Surrounded by the familiar smell of apples and old wood, Lee had trouble imagining the threat they had both just survived-here, at his mother's everything felt so familiar, so comfortable, and so safe.
He closed the heavy door behind him quietly and carried Kylie upstairs to her bedroom. She hardly stirred as he laid her on the bed, removing her shoes and socks and tucking her under a thick layer of blankets and quilts. Fiona Campbell kept a watchful eye on the thermostat, and the house was cold at night. "A cool room at night is better for you than a stuffy one," she would say. "A bit of fresh night air never hurt anyone."
Lee was exhausted but wide awake, so he went down to the living room and lit a fire. He then took out his cell phone and dialed the state police headquarters, located in Somerville, about twenty minutes away. He had a feeling that the state troopers would find an empty car down by the stream, but he wanted the car held and checked for evidence: blood, DNA, anything that could help identify his pursuer. He gave his name to the sleepy operator who answered.
"New Jersey State Police. How can I help you?"
"Hello, this is Lee Campbell of the NYPD. May I speak with your shift commander, please?"
"That would be Lieutenant Robinson. Just a minute, please."
"Robinson here." The voice was deep, educated, probably African American. Lee hadn't had much contact with Jersey troopers, but they had a reputation for being fierce and efficient.
Lee explained the situation as calmly as possible, emphasizing to Lieutenant Robinson that he didn't know if the attacker was related to the case he was working on, but that he suspected there was a link. Robinson listened, then asked if Lee and his niece were all right.
"We're fine, thanks-just shaken up a little. I'm at my mother's house, and if it's all right with you I'll come by tomorrow to have a look at that car."
"Fine. I've already spoken with the troopers who found it-it's right where you said it was, but it's empty. There's a trail of footprints in the snow leading away from the car out to the road, but that's where they disappear."
"How many sets of prints?"
"One. A man, by the look of it. Medium-sized feet-about a size nine, Trooper Edwards said. Guess we should take a cast of the prints, if there's a possible connection to a murder suspect."
"I would appreciate that very much."
"And we'll do a trace on the car, of course. Doesn't look like a rental."
"Thanks."
"You're sure you're okay now?"
"Yeah, fine-thanks."
"Okay, then, we'll see you tomorrow."
"Right."
Lee hung up and stared into the fire. The flames licked greedily upward, as if they wanted to fly straight up the chimney and into the night. The pointed tongues of flame reminded him of pitchforks, and, listening to the wind whistling through the house's ancient eaves, he imagined he was hearing the howls of the damned.