23
Jane checked into a motel near the airport in Syracuse and read newspapers. She started each day by finding more of them. When she had read all the ones she could buy, she spent the afternoon in a branch of the public library that subscribed to even more.
The car had about 530 miles on its odometer when he had gotten it from Lewis Feng. Jane guessed he had then driven it five hundred miles to Medford, six hundred to Santa Barbara, one hundred down to the big east-west routes that started in Los Angeles, and almost three thousand to Upstate New York. Make it five thousand miles, then. Jane searched the newspapers for the dealers’ ads. There was a nearly new Honda Accord in a dealer’s lot in Watertown, but it had a standard transmission. A lot in Ogdensburg had a Honda Accord and it was even gray, but seventeen thousand was too many miles. There was nothing in Massena.
As she moved outward, the odds got worse. Syracuse, Rome, Utica, Troy, Albany all had lots of used-car dealers, and she wasn’t sure anymore whether she was seeing all of their ads. Her best hope was that it was the sort of car they could clean up in half an hour and then use as bait to draw people onto the lot. John Young would have taken their second offer, right after the ridiculous low-ball one they always tried. As soon as they could get the Oregon plates off it, they would have it in the front row, all shined up and looking seductive.
It would have to be a dealer. He couldn’t abandon it, because leaving a new car would set off a search for John Young. He couldn’t sell it himself, because that meant staying in one place, having an address and, probably, a phone number in the papers for a few days. And by now there probably wasn’t anybody alive who would buy a barely driven new car from a stranger who didn’t advertise it and couldn’t wait a day for a decision, without checking to see if it was stolen. It had to be a dealer. He would be relying on the fact that in a few days it would be in the hands of a new owner with a set of New York plates on it.
Then, after three days of staring at identical advertisements for identical cars in newspapers from all over the state and calling dealers on the telephone who wouldn’t tell her no until they had offered her everything they had, she found it. The ad was small but effective. "Almost new! Less than five K mi.! Dave’s Honda-Subaru in Saranac Lake." When she called, she talked to Dave himself.
Jane rented a car in Syracuse, drove to Saranac Lake, and saw the car. It was sitting in the front row, right under the line of colored pennants, gleaming in the sunlight. She found a motel and checked in, spent a few minutes dressing in a modest schoolteacher’s spring dress, then strolled back to the lot. She walked into the showroom and let Dave find her.
"Hi there!" said Dave. He was tall and blond, with eyes so blue that they seemed to be clouded somehow. There was another man with a tie in the showroom, sitting at a desk with a telephone on it, but from the look of the place, he was just there so Dave would have someone to talk to. "What can I show you today?"
"That Honda out there," said Jane. "Is that the one in the paper?"
"That’s it," said Dave gleefully. "You don’t often see a used one that new. Want to drive it?"
Jane thought for a moment, then glanced at her watch. "I guess so." They hated that. The whole game was taking as much time as possible, talking to you, making friends, and getting you to accept what they thought about cars and money. If they were really good at it, at the end they could get you to feel ashamed of using up so much time and then quibbling over a few hundred dollars.
She followed Dave out to the lot and stood by the door while he dropped the key chain into her hand. Then he said diffidently, "Mind if I come along? I can answer any questions you might have."
"If you want to," said Jane. "But I don’t want to take up too much of your time."
He slipped into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt. "No problem," he said. "I got Bob in there to mind the store, and to tell you the truth, it’s a real treat to get out." He looked like a dog going with the family on a picnic, gazing around him happily and pushing his muzzle toward the half-open window. "You from around here?"
"No," she said. "I just came up on vacation and I saw your ad."
"That’s pretty much what happened to me. That was twelve years ago. Somehow I had the idea it would be fishing in the spring and summer, hunting in the fall, skiing in the winter. But I seem to spend just as much time on this lot as I did in Jersey."
She drove south on Route 3 toward Tupper Lake. It was a good road, and in the spring it was cold and clear at this altitude. The green pine forests on the sides of the mountains looked sparse, turning thick and wet where they merged into the leafy trees halfway down, and below them the lake started so abruptly that it looked like the mountains went down into it.
"See that?" asked Dave.
"See what?"
"The miles. Less than five thousand."
"Are you sure the one who sold it to you didn’t turn it back?"
Dave laughed. "You’re just like my wife. Suspicious. No. The cable’s untouched, and I checked the labels on the doors. It only cleared customs from Japan two months ago. The guy drove it here from Oregon. Those are all good miles."
"Good miles?"
"Yeah. He broke it in right. He didn’t beat it to death in city traffic, just drove the long, easy straightaways across the country."
"It’s a nice car," she conceded. "What made him get rid of it?"
"If you’d seen him, you wouldn’t have to ask. He was a big, tall fellow. I’ll bet he was six-foot-six. This is a fine piece of machinery, but for a man that size driving it four thousand miles—well, it was pretty hard on him. The Japanese don’t design a car for a man that size. It would be stupid: They don’t have any."
"You’d think he would know how tall he was when he bought it."
Dave was stumped for a moment. "You would, wouldn’t you?" He recovered quickly. "He fit in okay, but I guess a long trip like that makes little problems seem like big problems."
Jane pulled the car onto the shoulder, then hooked into the far lane to drive back to Saranac Lake. Dave didn’t like the look of that. "This is a real steal. I don’t know if you read the papers, but the dollar has gone way down against the yen since this baby was built. You try to buy one of these right off the boat, it’s going to cost you an extra three thousand dollars."
"Is that right?" She had read so many newspapers in the past three days that she could have quoted the figures. The small papers always printed the car ads at the end of the business section. She turned into the lot and drove the car into its space with its nose to the sidewalk.
As they got out, Dave said eagerly, "Well, what do you think?"
"I just don’t know," she answered, her eyes fixed wistfully on the car. "I like it, but ..."
"But what?" he asked.
"I just keep wondering why the last owner got rid of a new car."
"I told you why."
"What did he buy when he traded it in?"
"Nothing. He said he made one mistake by being too hasty and that he wanted to look around some more first."
Jane was beginning to feel a hope. It was too early to let it grow. Of course he wouldn’t buy another car from the same lot; it would be too easy to trace. But if he had no car at all, maybe he was still in the area. "I wonder ... I know this is kind of unusual, but I can’t afford to buy a car and go buy another one next month like he did. Do you think I could talk to him?"
Dave’s face was beginning to show the strain. "I don’t know. Talking to him isn’t going to do you much good. The car is what it is, no matter what he says. Take the car to your own mechanic. Have him look it over."
"I just drove in today. I don’t have a mechanic."
"I can recommend a couple."
She just looked at him sadly, and he saw the problem. The town was just too small, and anybody she picked could be a friend of his. "I’ll go look at the papers and see if we can get him on the phone."
She followed Dave inside and watched him finger through the drawers in his single filing cabinet. At last he pulled out a manila envelope and shook it out over the desk in front of Bob. Whatever Bob’s function was, it didn’t include moving or even looking down. He never took his eyes off Jane.
There were an owner’s manual, a couple of slips of white paper with seals and computer printing on them, a pink slip, and a yellow bill of sale. He snatched it up and stared at it for a moment. "There," he said. "Annabel Cabins in Lake Placid. Let’s give them a call." He was pursuing this with stoical determination now. She had made him decide he was going to prove there was nothing hidden by his sheer persistence in uncovering it. He dialed the number he read off the paper.
"Hello," he said. "This is Dave Rabel down at Dave’s Cars in Saranac Lake. How are you this afternoon?" He listened for a second, then said, "No, I’m not trying to sell you anything. I just wanted to get in touch with a fellow who’s staying there. His name is John Young. He still with you?" There was a long pause while wrinkles appeared on Dave’s forehead. "You sure? Well, thanks for your time." He hung up, shrugged, and looked at her.
"He’s not there?"
He shook his head. "I’m sorry. Well, we tried."
She decided she could take the risk of not letting go. "He checked out, or he’s never been there?"
Dave looked indecisive, but he sensed that he wasn’t going to be able to get past it. "I remember he said that was where he was going, but I guess they didn’t have a vacancy or something." She could tell he was wondering why John Young had been able to give him the phone number but hadn’t used it to call for reservations.
"What if it’s stolen?"
Dave smiled. "No, there are built-in safeguards. His name was on the pink slip, and I saw his license and it had the same name. Besides, when you register a sale, they run the I.D. number of the car on the computer."
Jane backed away from the desk. "Well, I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble."
"You mean you’re giving up?"
"I just wouldn’t be able to feel comfortable unless I knew more about the car’s history."
Dave was fighting his frustration now. "It doesn’t have any history. It’s brand-new. Anybody can see that."
"I’m sorry," she said. "But that’s the thing that’s worrying me. I know it’s probably silly, but ... Well, thanks for trying."
She headed for the door, but Dave couldn’t bear it. "Wait," he said. She turned and looked at him. Her shamefaced expression wasn’t forced. She hated putting this nice man through hell for nothing.
He said, "Maybe we can dig him up. He wouldn’t have driven across the country just to sell me a car. He’s got to be staying around here."
"But how could I find him?"
"Let me make a few calls. If he’s looking for a car, there aren’t that many places to look. Give me your phone number and I’ll call you if I have any luck."
She said, "I’m at the Holiday Inn down the road. My name is Janet Foley."
He grinned. "But you’ve already checked in, right? You’re not going to disappear like he did?"
"No," she said. "Room two forty-three."
She had lunch in a small restaurant on the way back to the hotel, then walked back to her room. The telephone was ringing when she opened the door.
"Janet?" he said. "It’s Dave Rabel. It’s pretty much what I was trying to tell you. John Young bought a used Ford Bronco up at Taylor’s Used Cars in Lake Placid. He must have decided he needed a big, roomy car."
"Did they have his address?"
"I got his hotel from them, but he checked out three days ago."
"I give up," said Jane.
"You mean you’ll buy the car?"
"No," said Jane. "I mean I can’t. I appreciate your trying so hard, but I’ll just have to wait until I see a car I’m sure about."
He sighed. "You’re passing up the best used-car deal in the north country." He waited for her answer and nothing came, so he decided to end it on a friendly note. "But I guess you get hurt less by being too careful than not careful enough."
’’Thanks,’’ she said. "I knew you’d understand," and hung up. She said aloud, "Where were you when I met John Felker, Dave?"
She kept her key but picked up the suitcase she hadn’t unpacked, went downstairs, and then drove to Lake Placid. She parked the car and began to walk from store to store in the small downtown section. She knew exactly what clothes he had because she had bought them. His suit and sportcoat would be useless here, because they would make him stand out. He had a couple of pairs of jeans and some shirts, but he would need a warm jacket for spring in the Adirondacks. James Michael Martin would not have bought one on the way here. He would have waited so he could choose something that local people were wearing, and buy it where they had bought theirs.
At the first store, Jane showed the young man at the cash register the picture of Felker she had taken. The clerk was in his thirties, wearing shorts like the ones she could see on the rack near the door and a T-shirt that said LAKE PLACID. He barely glanced at the picture, so she had to force out a few tears. "He’s my boyfriend and we had a fight and ..." The clerk was alarmed enough to reassure her. "No. Honest. I’d remember. He hasn’t been in here."
At the second store an older woman said, "Are you a policewoman?" When Jane tried the tears, the woman seemed to harden. "I don’t think chasing a man around is any basis for a relationship. If I had seen him, I’d be doing you a favor to keep it to myself." Jane could tell that she hadn’t.
The part about the policewoman gave her an idea. She went back to the car to dig out the prison file. At the third store, she showed the mug shots. "Have you seen this man?" The clerk looked closely, and said, "No, ma’am," very quickly.
The fifth establishment was a big sporting-goods store. As soon as she produced the picture, she knew she had crossed his trail. The girl at the cash register looked as though she was in high school, and at the sight of the mug shots she turned pale. "What did he do?"
Jane pressed her. "Have you seen him?"
"Well, yes. He bought some things. About three, four days ago."
The manager was thin and alert, not many years older than the girl at the register. He had been labeling stock in the back of the store when he realized something out of the ordinary was happening. He hurried to the front. "Darlene," he said officiously. "I’ll handle this." But when he saw the picture, he looked worse than the girl had. "Oh yeah. What did he do?"
Jane was stern. "Did he buy anything?"
"Yes," said the manager. "Lots of things."
Jane said, "He would have paid cash. Large denominations, probably hundreds."
"He did," said the manager. Jane could tell that his mind was running quickly through the list of crimes that hundred-dollar bills proved without a doubt.
"Do you, by any chance, have any of the money on hand?"
"No," he said helplessly. "It went to the bank."
"What bank?"
"Winslow Federal." His mind tripped over the conclusion she had placed in front of him. "Is it counterfeit?"
"If it is, we’ll let you know." She hurried to bury the "we" in the middle of the conversation. "What did he buy?"
"Oh, God," he said. "You confiscate it, don’t you? If it’s not real you just take it."
Jane felt sorry for the man; he seemed to be sure he was going to have it taken out of his pay for the next six months. "If you took it to the bank, it’s not your problem anymore," she said gently. "It’s like a hot potato. Nobody gets burned except the one who’s holding it." This seemed to make him feel better. When she could see the blood rising back into his face, she said, "Now, I’ll need a copy of the receipt for what he bought."
"Sure," said the manager, who, looking about fifteen years old now, ran to the back of the store. He returned with a carbon copy of the receipt. Jane took it and slipped it into her file without looking at it. She said, "Now, is there anything he said or did that would help us find him?"
"His car," said the manager. "I helped him carry all this stuff out. It was black. Big—"
"A Ford Bronco?" she asked.
"Yes!" he said, looking astounded. "Big wheels."
"Do you remember any of the license number?"
He looked ashamed. "No. I’m sorry. I didn’t think—"
Jane decided it was time to get out. "I didn’t expect you to," she said kindly. "You’ve both been a big help. Thank you very much." She was already at the door by the time she finished the sentence.
When Jane was back in her car, she took out the receipt and studied it. As she read it, her mind was tracking him: a pair of hiking boots, a sleeping bag, a tent, a fishing rod and reel, lures, a hatchet, a down-filled nylon jacket, a compass. He wasn’t going to a hotel in Saranac or Lake Placid. He was on his way into the mountains.