“Faster,” Luther said. “We can’t risk losing him in this fog.”
“If he makes it to New York,” Irene said, “the police and the FBI won’t be able to touch him.”
“We won’t lose him,” Oliver said.
The Oldsmobile belonged to Chester, who had done some work on it, but it wasn’t nearly as fast as the modified Cord. Speed wasn’t necessary, Oliver thought. The only thing that mattered was that they didn’t lose the Cord. But that was unlikely. On a twisting ribbon of pavement like Cliff Road, what mattered most was the driver’s skill and his knowledge of the curves.
Oliver was behind the wheel because they had all agreed that he was the best driver. Luther was in the front passenger seat. In the dim glow of the instrument panel, he looked intense. Irene was in the back, draped over the front seat, peering through the windshield.
“If he turns off on a side road—” Luther began.
“He won’t,” Oliver said. “I know that bastard. He thinks he won.”
The first part of the act had gone off without a hitch, which was somewhat amazing given the very short span of time they’d had to put it together, Oliver thought. There had been no practical way to rehearse. He and Luther had done several walk-throughs at the villa, trying to anticipate Enright’s every move. Chester had pulled a couple of the old props out of the storage locker and reworked them. He had padded a figure with material that he claimed would sound a lot like human flesh when a knife or bullet struck it.
Based on the description of Helen Spencer’s murder, Oliver had been almost certain that the killer preferred to use a knife, not only because it made less noise but because he liked his work. But it hadn’t really mattered which weapon Enright chose to use.
Willie had been briefed on her role, and she had performed it brilliantly. Just like old times, Oliver thought. He had a sneaking hunch that Willie had enjoyed herself.
Some of the guests had witnessed Irene following the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. She appeared to be sobbing hysterically. Persuading the ambulance crew to make a practice run to the villa that night was simple enough. Oliver had told the hospital authorities that he wanted to test the hotel’s emergency response system. He had also offered a hefty donation to the hospital and paid the driver and attendants for their time.
It had all been an elaborate show for an audience of one, but until the curtain rose there had been no way to be certain that the killer would attend the performance.
Oliver had tried to persuade Irene not to accompany Luther and him on the Cliff Road chase, but there was no talking her out of it.
“He’s picking up speed again,” Luther said. “I think he’s spotted us.”
“He can’t know it’s us,” Irene said. “He thinks Oliver is dead or very badly hurt.”
“He’s smart,” Luther said. “Maybe he’s starting to realize he’s been tricked.”
“If that’s the case, he’ll start taking even more chances,” Oliver said. “That would be good.”
Luther glanced at him. “You did say he was the impulsive type.”
Oliver accelerated gently.
Up ahead the lights of the stolen car appeared briefly in the fog before vanishing around another curve.