The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [2]
“Any idea how far up he is on you?” I asked.
Five answered. “Probably not more than a mile. I’m doing about sixty, and it’s really hard to stay on the road. His tracks look like he’s fishtailing a lot on the curves, so he’s probably about sixty too.”
“Ten-four, and where’s Nine at?”
“Ah just tried to cut ’em off and missed …” came Nine’s familiar drawl. “Ah’m behind Five somewhere, I think…”
Out of the picture, in other words. Damn.
“You think I can get to the intersection by Ullan’s farm, Five, before the suspect gets there?”
“Close …” he said. “Could be close.”
I was still on paved roads, as opposed to the gravels the chase was on, so I was able to take a few more chances. I pushed it up to about 75 on the straight stretches … but had to back off pretty far on the downhill curves.
I figured I could cut the chase off. I hate that. No lonelier feeling in the world than to have a pursuit coming right at you. It had to be done. If not, the suspect would be in Ossain County in two minutes after turning onto the paving.
“Comm, Three,” I said, after switching the radio to the INFO channel, “you might see if Ossian County has a car anywhere near this area.”
A few seconds later, as I descended a long, straight hill, I could see the intersection by Ullan’s farm. No lights visible except the golden glow of the yard light near Ullan’s house.
“Three’s comin’ down the hill to Ullan’s, and nothing yet…”
“Three, Five … he’s gotta be close, because I just passed the quarry …”
The quarry was less than three miles from the highway.
“Ten-four, Five.” I slid to a halt with my car across the gravel road at the intersection. “Uh, you got anything good on this guy, or what?” I had to know if there was any sort of a confirmation of a crime, hopefully a felony.
“No, negative, Three. Uh, I just saw him and, uh, tried to stop him and he took off…” The “uhs” told me that he was really concentrating on his driving.
Damn. I backed my car up, being sure I was leaving enough room for the suspect to get safely by. You aren’t allowed to really get serious about blocking a road unless there’s a felony charge on the oncoming driver. I got out of my car, taking my shotgun with me. I deliberately didn’t take time for my parka, because I felt the suspect should be there within a few minutes or less. I did, however, put on my down-filled vest. God, it was cold. I pulled my gloves on, and jacked a round into the chamber of the 12-gauge pump. I stood well off to the side and rear of my car. No point in getting run over if he lost control. I pulled my turtleneck up to cover my face.
The only sound was the purring of the engine on my car. Dead quiet. There was either no moon, or it wasn’t up yet. I looked up, and the stars were just everywhere. No twinkling, just millions of little steady points. The way it gets in Iowa when it’s so cold the moisture freezes and precipitates out of the atmosphere.
I became aware of a faint whining sound, growing louder. Then the squeaking of tires on fresh snow, and faint headlights coming right toward the intersection. He’d been traveling so fast, and busting through drifts, the snow had covered his headlights. He probably couldn’t see much of anything except my headlights. I could barely see him as he slid past me, disoriented by the sudden appearance of my car’s bright and flashing lights, lost control, and shot off the road and the shoulder and straight into the ditch on the other side of the paved