Until Proven Guilty - J. A. Jance [87]
Until she saw the size of the tip, I think the waitress was prepared to be upset. She pocketed the twenty. “Thank you very much,” she said, smiling.
The interruption allowed a new train of thought. “Where’d you get the bike? The owner left town in March.”
“St. Vincent de Paul’s over on Fairview.”
“Where’d you keep it?”
“In the parking garage of the building right behind the Royal Crest. It was just one night.”
“And you got it out after I fell asleep?”
She nodded.
“What about Kincaid?”
“After the man from the phone company called, I went to Auburn and found his house. He had a black van.”
“It could have been the wrong man.”
“He wasn’t. He confessed. I didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.” She paused. “Is that all you wanted to know?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. There was nothing else. I knew far more than I wanted to.
“Let’s finish this outside, Beau. It’s too crowded in here.”
With catlike grace, she picked up the Adidas bag and walked outside.
Chapter 25
I know how Pharoah felt trying to catch Moses as he disappeared into the Red Sea. Anne Corley Beaumont melted through the vestibule crowd the same way, leaving me pushing and shoving, trying to catch up. When I finally hit the outside door, I made a dash for the Porsche, expecting to see her speeding away. The Porsche sat empty, untouched.
The roar of the falls filled my head. I kept my hand on the gun without drawing it. This could be a trap, I reminded myself. I was dealing with Anne Corley the enemy. She had enough of a head start that she could easily have hidden herself away and be lying in wait. Even then I could have gone back inside and called for help, for a backup, but I didn’t. Stubborn, stupid, I thought I could talk to her, persuade her to turn herself in.
Cautiously I made my way around the restaurant. In a heap near one corner of the building I found the blouse, suit, shoes, and discarded Adidas bag. Up the path, heading toward the observation area, I caught a glimpse of red. She had changed into the jogging suit. Any advantage I had because of dress was instantly nullified. With me in my suit and slick-bottomed shoes, she now had an edge. I started running too.
I didn’t try for speed. I don’t do wind sprints, but I can keep a steady pace for a fair distance. She was running up the path, away from the lodge, toward the hordes of tourists filling the viewpoint and picnic area. I kept my hand on the concealed .357 as I passed a group of picnickers. I didn’t want them to raise an alarm, to cause a panic.
I saw her turn down a trail, one that veers steeply down the basalt canyon wall to the pool at the bottom of the falls. I had never been on it. I was sure it was the only way back up. Three different times I pushed my way around huffing sets of climbers. Two of them were large groups. The last was a couple, a retired couple, walking by themselves.
“Did you see a woman?” I gasped. “A woman in a red jogging suit?”
“She almost knocked Mabel here down,” he said.
I stopped, trying to catch my breath. “Are there any other people down there?”
The man shook his head. “There weren’t when we left.”
I reached in my pocket and pulled out my badge. “Stand at the head of the trail,” I said to him. “Don’t let anyone else come down.” He looked at me questioningly. I wanted to shock him, galvanize him to action. “She’s dangerous, armed and dangerous.” I took the .357 from my pocket then, for emphasis, to get his attention. It worked. He grabbed his wife’s arm and they hurried up the trail.
I stood for a few moments after they left, slowing my breathing, steadying my nerves. It was more than I could have hoped. We were isolated from the crowd above. I had bought some time. Maybe I could lay hands on her, shake some sense into her, talk her into surrendering. Before reinforcements arrived. Before someone called in a SWAT team.
I stood immobile, listening. Except for the roar of the water, the forest was silent. It was the eye of the hurricane.