Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [77]
I start to run back the way we came, guiding Angie. Espy is nearby, and I see that she has scooped up Hardy’s gun. When we’ve traveled a good distance away from Hardy’s dead body, I glance over at Angie. It seems she’s allowing determination to replace the fear. She gives me a look that is both wonder and accusation.
“Welcome to my world,” I say.
Australia’s capital city has much to recommend it as one of the most unique capitals in the world, not the least of which is that it didn’t exist prior to being named such. Before the government hired a Chicago architect to build them a ready-made city from which to govern, there was nothing here but a juxtaposition of swampland, savanna, eucalyptus forest, and a few adventurous souls staking their claim to the country’s riches.
What I like most about the city, though, is its lake. The Molonglo River winds through Canberra, and previous generations dammed it to create a scenic body of water in the City Center. It can make traveling through the area a bear, especially at the height of the tourist season, but I can remember canoeing down the Molonglo with Jim, and how the city looked from the water.
Esperanza appears wide awake as we navigate Forest Avenue, the loop around downtown that passes the National Gallery, then the Parliament House. We came in through Kings Park, crossing Lake Burley Griffin, because I wanted her to see the city at night, with the lights on the tall, silent edifices of government. We have to go back across the water on Commonwealth to find someplace to stay. But from what I see in Espy’s eyes, the extra miles are worth it.
The Mustang makes a noise somewhere between a purr and a grumble, as if torn between appreciating the rest, and anxiety about returning to do what it does best: ripping up the road at over a hundred miles an hour. When we rented the car, I was surprised to find out we could get the Mustang for only a few dollars more a day than it would cost to rent an economy car. And after all that’s happened over the last few weeks, I decided to indulge the juvenile urge of feeling the powerful engine coursing through my body.
I ease the car off the roundabout and head north toward the National University. I remember there being a selection of hotels somewhere near the university. At this point I’d settle for anything, no matter how cheap, just as long as it has a clean bed. We have to be judicious with the money Angie provided. She floated me five thousand, the max that she could coax from her credit card company.
The events in Sydney shook Angie—to the point that I’m amazed she went along with lending me the money. Someone shot a man standing behind her, the bullet passing just inches from her head. It’s enough to frighten anyone half to death. What sort of relationship we’ll have should I return to Evanston in one piece is up in the air. I wouldn’t blame her if she greets me with profanity and violence. Hardy was right about one thing: I’m to blame for dragging her into danger.
My mind shifts to the identity of Hardy’s killer; the question has followed me over the miles separating Sydney from Canberra. Whoever pulled the trigger was an expert marksman. The shooter had caught Hardy with his head sticking out from behind Angie, the timing and placement of the bullet perfect. I still believe the shot came from a considerable distance. A sniper, a one-shot kill. But why were we spared?
This is one of the reasons we stayed on course. While Hardy has been a thorn in my flesh of late, I can’t forget that Manheim and I have a personal history. It’s possible he’s the one who killed Hardy and Al. All I know is that I have to stay on task. And now that Hardy is dead, there’s some cushion built into any dealings I may need to have with his boss.
The university scrolls by on the left and I see that, as much as she’d like to, Espy is now too tired to appreciate anything beyond the promise of a place to sleep. We’re almost to Braddon before I spot the yellow sign of the Days Inn. I pull the car into a parking spot but do not hear the light snoring