No Going Back

31

‘You think he might try to take Nic back again?’

The women had returned to their hotel rooms to freshen up, and it was left to me to deal with their parents who had arrived in Holbrook only a short time earlier. Their reunion had been an emotional affair, at first dominated by tears, then mild recrimination, followed by more tears, but within minutes it had segued into laughter all round. While their mothers accompanied Jay and Nicole inside, Jameson Walker, and Nicole’s dad, Herb, had cornered me in an alcove adjacent to the exit door of the Tipi Hotel. Jameson looked like the burly landowner from a John Wayne Western; in contrast, Herb Challinor was a small balding man who shared the same bone structure as his daughter. We made an odd-looking grouping. Nearby, hotel guests sucked on cigarettes that had been denied them inside, but none of them was in earshot. Both men wanted to show their gratitude to me for bringing home their babies. There was more hugging. I didn’t grow up in a family where men hugged, and it was something I’d had to grow used to after meeting Rink. Lately though, I’d kind of had my hug quota and was a little embarrassed.

My get-out was to mellow the proceedings by informing them of my fears that Samuel had survived and still represented a threat to the girls.

‘Yes, Mr Challinor. That may very well be the case.’

‘Herb,’ he said. ‘Please call me Herb.’

Nodding, I went on, ‘I’m not going to run out on you, so don’t worry. If you want me to, I’ll stay until Samuel has been captured.’

‘How long must the girls stay here?’ Herb asked.

‘The police may need to speak to them again, but I’m sure they’ll be allowed to return home soon.’

Jameson surveyed the hotel, and it seemed to his satisfaction. ‘I’ll arrange rooms for us all here, as well as one for you, Hunter. If there’s anything else that you need, just tell me, and it’s yours.’

When I’d set off on this search it had been as a paid employee; now the cash was secondary. Ordinarily I’d have refused his kind offer, but this five star joint was beyond my usual expense bill and it was important that I stay close to the women. I nodded my thanks.

Then I touched on a subject that I would rather have avoided like the plague, but it was necessary. To Herb I said, ‘You’re taking Nicole to a clinic?’

My words engendered a typical response from a loving father. Tears sprang from the corners of Herb’s eyes, and he chewed down on his bottom lip. The blood drained from his face. His hands curled into half-formed fists and I knew if Samuel chose to show his face now, the little man would likely rip it off.

Nicole had endured rape. She had undergone examinations by doctors engaged by the Navajo County police department, but that had been for forensic evidence. Now she must tolerate a second round of tests. As horrific as the notion might sound, any of those beasts could have been carrying a sexually transmitted disease, but, worse still, Nicole could be pregnant. I haven’t given the subject of abortion much thought in the past, but here was a firm argument for termination. With luck that wouldn’t be an issue and Nicole would be given the all-clear.

‘Do you think that this… this man could make a try for her at the clinic?’

‘I can’t see how that’s possible, Herb. I’ve no doubt that he’ll find out Nicole’s identity, the story has been in all the papers and on the TV networks, but he’ll be too busy avoiding the police at present. I think it’ll be a day or two until he’s ready for his next move. That’s if it ever comes. I shot him twice. Best-case scenario is that he’s out there in the desert somewhere, his corpse being picked at by the buzzards.’

‘You don’t believe that though, do you?’ Jameson had jammed his thumbs into his belt. I could imagine a pair of six guns holstered on his hips.

He was right. I’d just been trying to allay some of Herb’s fears. ‘If he has survived, I’m going to be waiting for him.’

It was apparent that Jameson and Herb had spent some time together in the last few days, and the subject of my legend had come up during their discussions. Jameson must have spoken well of me because Herb looked reassured by my promise. Still, I was only one man and couldn’t be there twenty-four hours a day.

‘If necessary I can call in more help.’

‘Hopefully things won’t come to that,’ Jameson said.

After our telephone discussion yesterday, I had caught a bus back to Holbrook, but on my return to my room at the motel I’d called Rink again to organise where I should collect my weapons. He’d already had one of his employees send them overnight to a nearby Fed-Ex depot.

‘You’re expecting trouble, don’t deny it. Just give the word and I’ll be there,’ Rink had offered.

‘We’ve fought psychos before. But this one’s different: I don’t think that Samuel will come here.’

‘I think it’s a given. You attract the frog-giggers like you’re some kinda magnet to nut-jobs.’

‘That doesn’t say much for you.’

‘Opposites attract, brother.’

If there was a sliding scale for measuring this kind of thing, then Samuel Logan and I would be at opposite ends.

Jameson and Herb went inside to check on their daughters. There would be more hugging and tears, so I elected to keep out of the way. I bought vending-machine coffee from the lobby and again stood outside with the smokers, craving something as acutely as they did nicotine. I spied to the north, fading out the nearby structures as though I could see through them all the way back to the Logans’ ranch.

Jameson Walker was a very wealthy man now, but things hadn’t always been that way. It was only in the past few years that his business had boomed, and that the dollars began rolling in. It explained why Jay hadn’t attended any of the Ivy League universities but the state-run Pennsylvania State University. Due to her enrolment at Penn State the family had found an affinity with Pennsylvania, but since their wealth had grown, Jameson had purchased further properties down the Eastern seaboard, and amongst others he owned a penthouse on Park Avenue with a view of the Empire State Building. The apartment in the heart of Manhattan could be easily defended but there was too big a risk of collateral damage in the heart of the city. Once the police were finished with us and the women free to leave I’d requested that the family go to one of their other properties and Jameson had suggested a beach house at Ellisville on Cape Cod. For the purpose of protecting both the women, Herb had agreed that Nicole could stay over with Jay for as long as she liked.

It was a dilemma. The remote house had its obvious problems, notwithstanding the fact that if Samuel took me out first, then help for the girls could be long in coming. But I was thinking more of the advantages. If I chose to fight Samuel in New York City, or any of the other major conurbations where Jameson had property, then I’d be on a timeline of minutes before the police came down on us like a ton of bricks. Out on that wooded coastline, where the nearest neighbour was over a half-mile away, I’d have the time needed to put Logan down without any outside interference.

When I was with the Special Forces the message had been drummed into me over and over: preparation is the key. Some of the lads called it the Six Ps. Proper planning prevents a piss-poor performance. Although plans are something I often frown at, because speed and the ability to think on the move beat anything static, it does make sense to plan some things in advance. When thinking of the situation: protecting the girls at all costs — and the objective: killing Samuel — and achieving both within a short time frame, then it was imperative to choose your battleground wisely. The house at Cape Cod was surrounded by woodland and shallow inlets of salt water, with only one road in and out. Ordinarily it would be a trap, but this time it would provide the ideal location in which to ambush a killer.

Yet I wondered now if this was another wasted plan.

I had a hunch that our final battle would not play out in Massachusetts, but here in this desert where it had begun.

Still staring into the distance, I hoped that I was right and the bastard was coming. Like my nearby smoking friends who were dragging hard on their cigarettes, it was the only way I could feed my addiction.

‘Where are you Samuel, you sick son of a bitch?’

I wasn’t conscious of having spoken out loud, but I received a dirty look from an elderly woman tugging a wheeled suitcase behind her.

‘Uh, excuse me, ma’am,’ I said.

She pursed her lips, shaking her head, like she was sucking on a sour grape. Then she flagged a cab pulling into the hotel’s forecourt. She looked back at me as the cab pulled away, shook her head again. I don’t know if her disapproval was for my bad language or the look of murder on my face.