Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [99]
Kylie had grown very quiet in the backseat, so when he had gone a mile or two, he looked back at her to see if she was all right. She sat staring at him without speaking, her hands clutching the stuffed dinosaur he had bought for her earlier.
“Kylie? Are you okay?” he said.
“What happened to the other car?” she asked. “He hit the tree. Is he going to be all right?”
“I don’t know, honey, but I’m going to call the police as soon as I can so they can go rescue him.”
“Why did you go off the road like that?”
Because he was trying to kill us.
“Well, I just wanted him to stop following us.”
“Why was he following us?”
“I think he must have been drunk or something.”
Kylie began to cry. “But what if he died?”
“Don’t worry, Kylie—it’s going to be all right. The police will take care of him. Everything’s going to be all right.”
But the more he said the words, the less he believed them. Someone was after him, and he suspected that whoever it was, they wanted him off the case—very, very badly.
Chapter Forty-three
Lee drove for a while without looking back, taking side roads and detours. When he was certain that he wasn’t being followed, he pulled off the road to call the police. After dialing 911 and reporting the accident, he started the Honda’s engine up again. He was worried about his family’s safety. The attack had taken place in their backyard this time, and he couldn’t be there to protect them constantly.
Kylie had fallen asleep in the backseat again—with the emotional resilience of childhood, she had forgotten her panic, accepting Lee’s explanation that the whole thing was just the crazy actions of a drunk driver. He had no intention of telling her the truth.
As the engine turned over, he was seized by an uncontrollable wave of shivering, and had to turn off the car again for a while to calm down. He realized that all he knew about the other car was that it was a dark sedan—any other details were lost in a blur of action and decision making. He couldn’t even say how many people were in the car. It could have been more than one, for all he knew, though he didn’t think so. Every instinct in his body told him that the pursuer was one man and one man alone.
When he arrived at Fiona’s house it was three in the morning. The grandfather clock in the front hall ticked loudly as he tiptoed in through the front door, Kylie in his arms. Surrounded by the familiar smell of apples and old wood, Lee had trouble imagining the threat they had both just survived—here, at his mother’s everything felt so familiar, so comfortable, and so safe.
He closed the heavy door behind him quietly and carried Kylie upstairs to her bedroom. She hardly stirred as he laid her on the bed, removing her shoes and socks and tucking her under a thick layer of blankets and quilts. Fiona Campbell kept a watchful eye on the thermostat, and the house was cold at night. “A cool room at night is better for you than a stuffy one,” she would say. “A bit of fresh night air never hurt anyone.”
Lee was exhausted but wide awake, so he went down to the living room and lit a fire. He then took out his cell phone and dialed the state police headquarters, located in Somerville, about twenty minutes away. He had a feeling that the state troopers would find an empty car down by the stream, but he wanted the car held and checked for evidence: blood, DNA, anything that could help identify his pursuer. He gave his name to the sleepy operator who answered.
“New Jersey State Police. How can I help you?”
“Hello, this is Lee Campbell of the NYPD. May I speak with your shift commander, please?”
“That would be Lieutenant Robinson. Just a minute, please.”
“Robinson here.” The voice was deep, educated, probably African American. Lee hadn’t had much contact with Jersey troopers, but they had a reputation for