Early the next morning, Lind parked the Mustang outside a little police station along the highway in Newport, Delaware. He turned off the ignition and looked at Caity Sherman. “Okay,” he said, “this is it.”
She was bruised, he saw: her cheek and her throat, where the killer had strangled her. Her clothes were torn and dirty, her hair unkempt and her eyes tired. She looked deflated, and Lind felt something like shame when he looked at her. He’d dragged her into this mess. The man had been right to warn him not to make friends.
Caity stared out the window and sighed. “You’re going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine once I find him,” he said.
“You don’t have to find him.” She reached across and touched his hand. “You don’t have to go after him, Richard. I’ll talk to the police. You stay hidden. We’ll let them solve the problem.”
A uniformed police officer had come out of the station house. He walked slowly across the lot to a patrol car. Noticed the Mustang and studied it for a moment. Lind watched him, anxious. It was time to go. “Give me a head start,” he told Caity. “Like we agreed, okay? Don’t tell them everything right away.”
Caity snorted. “What would I tell them?” she said. “I don’t know anything. You won’t tell me where you’re going.”
“The lake house,” said Lind. “That’s where he took me.”
“Yeah, and where’s that? You don’t even know.”
“I’ll find it,” he told her. “If I can find the hospital, I can retrace his steps. I just have to remember the way.”
Caity looked at him. “This is a bad idea.”
“Just give me a head start, okay?”
“Even if I told them everything I know,” she said, sighing, “there’s a thousand hospitals and a million lake houses. I don’t even know your real name.”
Lind looked at her. “Malcolm,” he said. “That’s my first name. I don’t know my last. The man in the dream called me Malcolm. That’s my name.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded. “It feels right.”
Caity studied his face for a long time. Then she exhaled. “Well, okay, Malcolm,” she said. “I guess this is good-bye.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“I’m sorry I can’t come with you.”
“No you’re not.” He squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Caity.”
She gave him a smile. “With a C,” she said. Then she reached for the door. Climbed halfway out of the car before she stopped and leaned back inside. Fixed him with a look. “Take care of yourself,” she said. “Be careful, okay?”
Lind nodded, and she leaned across and kissed him once, quickly, on the cheek. Then she ducked out of the car and slammed the door closed behind her. Lind watched her as she crossed the parking lot. When she’d reached the police station, he turned the key in the ignition and the big Mustang rumbled to life. Slowly, he idled out of the lot and headed back toward the interstate.