Palindrome

CHAPTER 52

Haynes huddled in the entryway of the sheriff's office and hammered on the door. He and the detective were already soaking wet, just from running a few yards from the car. He peered through the glass. The office was dark, except for an eerie glow coming from a back room. "I don't think anybody can hear us," the detective shouted over the wind.

Haynes tried the door, and it swung open, banging against the wall. The two men hurried inside and, together, managed to get the door shut.

"Who's that?" a voice called. A man stood silhouetted against the light from the back room. "It's Captain Ed Haynes, Atlanta PD. You the sheriff?"

He stuck out a hand. "I am. How the hell did you get here from Atlanta?"

"We drove."

"You must be out of your fucking mind," the sheriff said, his face incredulous.

"Probably so, but when this storm lifts, I want to be on that island at the earliest possible moment."

"Come on in my office, and I'll give you some coffee," the sheriff said, escorting them into the back room. A television set glowed in a corner. "That's running on my emergency power," he said. "Everything's out around here. Take a look at that, will you?" He pointed to the television and the detective peered at the screen. "Is that a hole in the storm?" he asked, tapping the glass. "That's the eye of the hurricane," the sheriff replied. "It's right over Cumberland now."

"It's a pretty big hole," Haynes said. "Could we get over there in a chopper?"

"I was right, you are out of your mind." The sheriff laughed, pouring coffee. "We aren't in the eye here, yet, although we might see some of it. If we go over there, there's still the backside of the storm to worry about, you know, although it's supposed to break up pretty fast over land."

"How long?" Haynes asked. "A couple of hours, maybe, if we're lucky. I've tried phoning the inn a dozen times, but I'm getting no answer. They've only got the one cellular phone over there, and it's in Germaine Drummond's office. I doubt if anybody can even hear it over the storm." Haynes sipped the coffee and stared at the eye of the hurricane. 'I've never felt so frustrated in my life," he said. "I'm what-five, six miles from a murderer, and I can't get to him."

"You might as well be a hundred from him, until this hurricane passes," the sheriff said. "I just hope my chopper survives the storm."