Clarkson swallowed hard. “I haven’t heard anyone say. I don’t think anyone knows.”
Tom surveyed the stonewalled faces. If they knew Bowie’s whereabouts, they weren’t saying, and, although it was humiliating to admit, he feared that his continued attempt to beat it out of them would be futile.
He straightened to his full height and addressed Clarkson. “Since Bowie lives outside the city’s jurisdiction, call the sheriff’s office, have them dispatch deputies to see if he’s at home.”
He stabbed the young cop in the chest with his index finger. “Remind them about the arrest warrant for assault. Also inform them that he’s currently impersonating a police officer.”
He headed toward his office but, after a few steps, stopped and turned. “Has Frank Gray come in?” The rookie shook his head. “Then see if you can get hold of him. He’s not answering his phone.”
Tom heard someone say under his breath, “Can’t blame him.”
Ignoring the snickers that followed, he slammed his office door. The original crack in the window sprouted an offshoot.
Since John was concentrating on driving, Beth answered an incoming call from Mitch. Without preamble, he said, “Our target just sped past me. I could tell he was coming right at me, so I’d pulled into the ditch, opened my hood, and was bent over it as he went by. The license plate was his.”
“Any sign of Molly in his car?” John asked.
“No, but we have him in a hot box now. He’s between us, still traveling on thirty-four. Where I am, it’s so narrow it doesn’t even have a stripe. Isolated area.”
“Are you turning around?”
“Already have.”
“Don’t get too close.”
“I’m following his pings, not his car, which is a gray Honda. Have you got to the turnoff yet?”
“Beth says we’re close. But, damn it! Not close enough. If he stops at a place that looks dodgy, don’t wait for me to go in.”
“Roger that,” Mitch said. “His kidnapping days will be history.”
Just as they disconnected, Beth exclaimed, “There’s the road!”
She braced herself as John turned the car sharply to the right, toward the east… and straight into a blinding sunrise.
“Damn!” Reflexively he turned his head away from the disk of eye-piercing light.
Otherwise, he might have missed it.
He slammed on the brakes and swerved to the side of the road.
Beth cried out, “What?”
“Tin roof. The sun hit it just right. There’s no car there. Get Mitch.”
She had him on the phone in under three seconds. John shouted, “Spotted a dodgy place. Gonna check it out. How far away is he from us?”
Mitch said, “About to close on you.”
“Shit! Stay on the line.” John put the car in park and chambered a bullet in his pistol. Talking to Beth, he said, “I want to be there when he arrives. Back up the car. Back onto the highway. Out of sight. Hurry. And call 911. Ask for sheriff and medical. Mitch?”
“Here.”
“If he doesn’t stop here, keep following him; we’ll catch up. But this feels right.”
“I have your back.”
John got out of the car as Beth ran around the hood to the driver’s side. She clambered in, put it in reverse, and stomped on the accelerator.
John ran along a weedy path up to the structure he’d seen thanks to one benevolent sunbeam that had found its way through a thick vine, making a beacon of a patch of tin.
The keypad lock on the door was too sophisticated to bother with; he’d never get it open in time. Instead, he ran along the far side of the building around to the rear, where he wouldn’t be seen if Wallace arrived.
He knocked on the corrugated tin wall with the butt of his pistol. “Molly! Molly! It’s Dad. Are you in there?”
It seemed that an entire lifetime slowly unspooled in the seconds between his shout and her feeble answer. “Dad?”
His knees went weak. His head thumped against the wall in relief. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m waiting on the son of a bitch who took you, and he’s due to arrive any second, so listen up. First, did he hurt you? Are you injured?”
“He hit me in the head. I think I have a concussion.”
“Okay, okay, Beth is calling 911. Are you tied up?”
“Yes. Hands and feet. How’d you find me?”
“Later, sweetheart. Listen. Are you sitting or lying?”