No Going Back

36

The police would expect Samuel to flee Arizona so he was not concerned when the train pulled into the station at Holbrook and he alighted on to the platform alongside other passengers. If anything they’d be watching for him trying to board a train, not getting off one. His disguise was working fine, especially with the bonus of the attaché case: it reinforced the image of a businessman in town for a meeting, even at this late hour.

He wandered outside and stood in a dusty swirl of cars circling outside the station as they picked up and dropped off passengers, watching for a cab. The cabs were being snapped up as soon as they arrived, and there were still a half dozen people waiting before him. He had considered stealing another car but thought that the third time would be the charm, an unlucky one at that. He had a raging thirst and walked to a nearby booth hawking cigarettes and soft drinks. He purchased neither but pulled a newspaper from the stand. On the cover was an update of the story that had rocked his homeland. The latest headline carried the shocking discovery of Doug Stodghill’s body at his auto shop. Samuel tossed the vendor a couple of rumpled dollars and walked away, perusing the story. The journalist had taken liberties with his report, much of it speculation, but Samuel was interested in a quote stating that the female victims had remained in Holbrook to help police with their ongoing inquiries.

Never one to worry about consequences, he joined the much-dwindled queue for a cab and told the driver to take him directly to the hotel where Doug Stodghill had told him the girls had been holed up since Friday.

On the journey over he caught the cabbie glancing in his rear-view mirror, paying him too much attention for his liking. On the second occasion he stared back and the driver’s eyes returned to the road.

Ahead of them Samuel caught sight of the Tipi Hotel, though much of his view was obscured by tall swaying trees. ‘No, I’ve changed my mind. Don’t stop here. Go another couple of blocks.’

Further along the strip Samuel indicated a less luxurious place. This motel looked like it had only recently been saved from demolition, but its new owners hadn’t progressed that far with the renovations yet. It was a place he was familiar with, but the new staff would not know him — he vaguely recalled that they were out-of-towners. ‘Pull in here.’

He gave the driver a handful of notes taken from Roger Hawkins’s wallet and got out of the cab on to the high sidewalk. The driver lowered his window and leaned out. ‘Hey, mister!’

Samuel felt a bubble of anticipation pop in his chest. Had the man recognised him? Surely he wouldn’t be calling after a wanted killer? He wondered if he could drag the driver out of his window and silence him before he attracted too much attention. No, there were a couple of guys hanging around on the opposite corner.

‘What is it?’

‘Your bag,’ the driver said with a nod over his shoulder. ‘You’ve left it on the seat back there.’

Samuel relaxed. He retrieved the attaché case, then peeled a couple more dollars from his roll and handed them to the driver. ‘Thanks, buddy. Important meeting coming up. I’d have been lost without my notes.’

The driver wasn’t interested in his bogus story, and Samuel realised that his concern had been unfounded. He hadn’t been recognised: the guy was probably in the habit of checking out his passengers, making sure they weren’t the type to run off without paying for the trip. Or the type to mug him.

From where he stood, Samuel could see down Central Avenue to the Tipi Hotel, marked by the swaying trees. He pinpointed the landmark and as soon as the taxi was out of sight began walking towards it. He maintained a steady pace, but he was wheezing slightly by the time he stopped on the sidewalk. Usually fit and strong, he knew the laboured breathing was a result of his injuries. Had his wounds become infected? Did it matter now? He shook off the prickle of concern. Through the trees he peered across to where Jay was staying, trying to decide which of the rooms might be hers. He had no way of knowing. He gave up on the idea, and concentrated instead on peeking around, wondering if this was some sort of a trap and if, in the next few seconds, NCPD uniforms would flood the area to take him down. It didn’t happen, and he walked across the road and stood at the base of the steps leading into a brownstone building decked out with hanging baskets at every window. He lifted the newspaper, as if reading it, but was in reality staring back across the way at the hotel he could now see beyond the trees.

A couple strolled by; a thickset man with a brush cut and smoking a cigarette and his wife who appeared unsteady on her feet. The man offered her his arm. They were locals judging by their accents but he didn’t recognise them. They didn’t give Samuel as much as a glance. He took that as a good sign, and didn’t believe anyone else would pay a man in a suit any undue attention. The way in which the man had lent a supportive arm to his wife made him think of Joe Hunter — Jay’s protector — and he wondered if the Englishman had indeed retreated to Florida, or if he was inside awaiting his arrival. Samuel hoped so. He was going to enjoy killing the fucker this time. But what were the chances? Like he’d already thought, three times was the charm. Twice Hunter had beaten him to date, but that was as lucky as he’d get. If the saying held true, then next time they met it would be Samuel who walked away the victor.

He watched a little longer, considering heading directly for the hotel, knocking hell out of the lobby staff and checking the records for Jay’s location. After that it would be a case of smashing into her room and doing to her what he’d planned all along. But something held him back, and it took him a moment or two to recognise the alien sensation of fear. What if Hunter was inside? He knew the term for his physical condition: congenital insensitivity to pain. Although he was incapable of feeling the neurological effects of pain it didn’t make him superhuman. It gave him greater staying power in a fight, but the truth had never escaped him: a bullet to his heart or brain would kill him as easily as anyone else.

Recently he’d considered that he could be walking into a trap. The same feeling was with him now. Going into that hotel was tantamount to suicide, because he’d be heading directly into the sights of a gun, but this trap wouldn’t involve the police. If the cops had genuinely expected him to turn up at the Tipi Hotel he’d be in handcuffs by now. Somebody else was waiting in there for him and he knew who.

Did Joe Hunter think he was dealing with some ignorant hick?

He thought back to his conversation with Doug Stodghill and how the mechanic had told him that the private investigator had supposedly returned home. Stodghill had obviously been misinformed, and likely on purpose. He realised now that Joe Hunter had been laying plans for a rematch. Well, if that’s what the asshole wanted then that was what he was going to get. The difference being, Samuel wasn’t about to go charging in like some mad bull. It was time to change his approach and show Hunter just who he was dealing with.