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Authors: Harlen Campbell
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eyes were full. “I did love him,” she said. “I honestly did.”
“Get up and pack. We’ve got to get moving.”
She just lay there. “Where are we going?”
“Phoenix.”
She didn’t ask why. “You told them we are in Los Angeles.”
“I told him two people named James and April Bow are in Orange County.” I explained about the other two tickets I’d bought in Vegas and why I’d made the scene at the airport. “The police should assume those people were us. If they check back to Vegas, they’ll find we spent last night at the Palace. I knew I was going into your house, April. I wanted to be able to prove you weren’t in town in case they learn about the entry. Maybe they’ll look harder for another suspect.”
“You think ahead,” she whispered. She didn’t sound impressed.
She hadn’t moved from the bed. I sat beside her and took her hand. “Only stupid people act without thinking,” I said softly. “What’s wrong, April? Don’t you feel well?”
“I’m just tired,” she said. “I don’t know why. I’ll be okay in a few minutes. Go away.”
April kept her eyes shut while I packed our bags and called Hertz about keeping the car for a couple more days. Her breathing was slow, but irregular. I didn’t know what to do about her. I carried our bags down and packed the car. When there was nothing left to do, I alternately coaxed and growled until she began moving.
We were on the road by five, headed east. I stopped in San Bernardino long enough to pick up a sack of burgers, fries, and a six-pack of Coke, then pulled back onto the freeway. It was a waste of money. April wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t talk. She just sat in the green glow of the instrument panel and stared into the darkness ahead. Somewhere near the Arizona border, she fell into an uneasy sleep. I turned off the radio so that it wouldn’t disturb her and drove through the night in a silence broken only by the girl’s occasional soft whimpers.
Chapter 3
PHOENIX
At night, Phoenix telegraphs its presence from fifty miles away. As you drive across the desert of western Arizona, the lights of the city gradually smudge the eastern horizon. You feel like you’re driving into the dawn, even when your watch says it’s a little after two in the morning.
I found a motel on the outskirts of the city and left April in the car while I checked us in as Harold and Ann Stephenson. She didn’t awaken until I pulled our suitcases from the backseat. Then she just followed me into the room.
The drive had tired me. I dumped the suitcases and hit the shower. When I came out, she was asleep. It was then that I realized the room had only one bed. It didn’t matter. I just crawled in beside her, closed my eyes, and let the world go away.
The shower woke me the next morning. I lay with my eyes closed while the world gradually came into focus. April on my doorstep. Toker dead. The booby-trapped bedroom in Los Angeles. The interview with Pearson. Toker’s last message.
Bow’s death and April’s predicament were the clearest elements of the situation. The Claymore had orphaned her a second time, counting the death of her mother. And then the will that cut her completely from Toker’s estate left her with nowhere to go.
Her immediate needs could be taken care of. I could provide her with a new identity, if it came to that. A name, a degree, eventually a job. The message Toker sent with her, “You owe me,” was the last IOU he would ever call in, but it was a good one. I had owed him a debt that was not fully paid by the money I’d funneled to him in ’seventy-three and ’seventy-four, a debt I didn’t mind repaying to his daughter. At first glance it looked as if we could both walk away from Los Angeles, if April would abandon another chunk of her past. But she probably couldn’t do that. She was showing some of the signs of depression, and she didn’t seem to be grieving as I’d expected her to. She hadn’t asked me about
“Get up and pack. We’ve got to get moving.”
She just lay there. “Where are we going?”
“Phoenix.”
She didn’t ask why. “You told them we are in Los Angeles.”
“I told him two people named James and April Bow are in Orange County.” I explained about the other two tickets I’d bought in Vegas and why I’d made the scene at the airport. “The police should assume those people were us. If they check back to Vegas, they’ll find we spent last night at the Palace. I knew I was going into your house, April. I wanted to be able to prove you weren’t in town in case they learn about the entry. Maybe they’ll look harder for another suspect.”
“You think ahead,” she whispered. She didn’t sound impressed.
She hadn’t moved from the bed. I sat beside her and took her hand. “Only stupid people act without thinking,” I said softly. “What’s wrong, April? Don’t you feel well?”
“I’m just tired,” she said. “I don’t know why. I’ll be okay in a few minutes. Go away.”
April kept her eyes shut while I packed our bags and called Hertz about keeping the car for a couple more days. Her breathing was slow, but irregular. I didn’t know what to do about her. I carried our bags down and packed the car. When there was nothing left to do, I alternately coaxed and growled until she began moving.
We were on the road by five, headed east. I stopped in San Bernardino long enough to pick up a sack of burgers, fries, and a six-pack of Coke, then pulled back onto the freeway. It was a waste of money. April wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t talk. She just sat in the green glow of the instrument panel and stared into the darkness ahead. Somewhere near the Arizona border, she fell into an uneasy sleep. I turned off the radio so that it wouldn’t disturb her and drove through the night in a silence broken only by the girl’s occasional soft whimpers.
Chapter 3
PHOENIX
At night, Phoenix telegraphs its presence from fifty miles away. As you drive across the desert of western Arizona, the lights of the city gradually smudge the eastern horizon. You feel like you’re driving into the dawn, even when your watch says it’s a little after two in the morning.
I found a motel on the outskirts of the city and left April in the car while I checked us in as Harold and Ann Stephenson. She didn’t awaken until I pulled our suitcases from the backseat. Then she just followed me into the room.
The drive had tired me. I dumped the suitcases and hit the shower. When I came out, she was asleep. It was then that I realized the room had only one bed. It didn’t matter. I just crawled in beside her, closed my eyes, and let the world go away.
The shower woke me the next morning. I lay with my eyes closed while the world gradually came into focus. April on my doorstep. Toker dead. The booby-trapped bedroom in Los Angeles. The interview with Pearson. Toker’s last message.
Bow’s death and April’s predicament were the clearest elements of the situation. The Claymore had orphaned her a second time, counting the death of her mother. And then the will that cut her completely from Toker’s estate left her with nowhere to go.
Her immediate needs could be taken care of. I could provide her with a new identity, if it came to that. A name, a degree, eventually a job. The message Toker sent with her, “You owe me,” was the last IOU he would ever call in, but it was a good one. I had owed him a debt that was not fully paid by the money I’d funneled to him in ’seventy-three and ’seventy-four, a debt I didn’t mind repaying to his daughter. At first glance it looked as if we could both walk away from Los Angeles, if April would abandon another chunk of her past. But she probably couldn’t do that. She was showing some of the signs of depression, and she didn’t seem to be grieving as I’d expected her to. She hadn’t asked me about
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