Once he was out of sight, Tyrell was able to explore the rear of the store. Across from the rest room he saw that the door leading to the manager’s office was slightly ajar, the light on. Maybe the guy comes back to lock up for the night, he thought. Tyrell peered down between the aisles. The kid at the counter was absorbed in his wrestling magazine. Tyrell slipped across into the office and looked around. There on the wall was a chart of the week’s hours, with names marked in the times they worked. He could easily read Brittany’s name, written in red marker on the plastic overlay.
Brittany. That wasn’t much help. He looked down at the man’s desk, which was covered with piles of invoices, coupons and price lists. Behind the desk was a computer and a telephone with a fax machine. Her address and phone number were probably in the computer. There were neon-colored fish swimming around on the screen saver. Tyrell came around behind the desk and punched up the list of files. The list was large, but the files for employees was clearly marked. Checking the door again, Tyrell called up the employee file and began to scroll down the names which emerged on the screen.
Brittany, he said to himself. Brittany, Brittany. Brittany Guicide. He had it. He memorized her address and pressed the sleep button on the computer. Neon fish swam back into view.
Tyrell slipped out of the office, and made his way down an aisle crammed with breakfast staples. He emerged briefly near the doorway, where he was visible to the clerk. The boy looked up from his magazine. ‘Take it easy,’ said Tyrell, and pushed the doors open, stepping out into the crisp air of the evening. He didn’t have far to go but he decided to drive anyway. He didn’t want to leave his car behind and make the young man behind the counter suspicious.
Tyrell took a swig of the orange juice he had bought, and climbed into the driver’s seat of his car. OK, he thought. Next stop, Brittany’s house. He backed up, made a left turn onto the highway and then, after he crossed the intersection and passed the gas station, he signaled for another left. I’ll bet she’s hardly ever late to work, Tyrell thought. He pulled across the highway and into the asphalt driveway beside a tiny house with asbestos shingles that badly needed a fresh coat of paint. He parked behind a dusty little black Ford Festiva and got out of his car. Lights were burning in the house. Come on, he thought. Be home.
A burly guy, with a bulldog face and a gray athletic department T-shirt stretched across his large belly, opened the door and looked out at him.
‘Mr Guidice?’ Tyrell asked.
The man peered at him suspiciously. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘My name is Tyrell Watkins. I’m a police officer with the Monroe police department in Bucks County. I wanted to speak to Brittany?’
This man did not ask for a badge. As soon as he saw him, Tyrell had been betting he wouldn’t. Among men of a certain age, that would be like asking for directions at a gas station. You didn’t want to appear to be a poor judge of things.
‘Is she in any kind of trouble?’ the man asked, in a tone that would not have accepted ‘yes’ for an answer.
‘No sir, not at all. She works at the Wawa and I wanted to ask her one or two questions about a customer who was in there today.’
The man looked down and then back at Tyrell. ‘OK. Come on in. I thought you were one of them Watchtower people at first. Brittany,’ he bellowed. ‘You got company.’
A Jehovah’s Witness, Tyrell thought. Why else would a black man be knocking on your door?
Brittany’s father settled back down in his recliner. Tyrell glanced at the TV set.
The Philadelphia 76ers were tearing up and down the basketball court, holding their own against the Orlando Magic. ‘What’s the score?’ Tyrell asked.
‘It’s 23-20,’ said the man. ‘Just started.’
‘Who do you like?’ Tyrell asked.
‘I like Philly. That Embiid’s a heck of a player.’
‘Yeah,’ said Tyrell. ‘He’s kind of a punk, but he’s the real deal.’
The two men nodded in agreement. At that moment, Brittany came into the tiny living room, her blonde hair combed out long over her shoulders, wearing an oversized T-shirt over her jeans and some sort of flesh-toned cream caked around her jaw.
‘Brittany?’ asked Tyrell.
‘Yeah,’ she said warily.
‘This is Officer Watkins,’ said her father, respectful of the police.
‘I spoke to you today at the Wawa.’
Brittany looked puzzled. She would have remembered this guy, she thought. ‘About a customer who borrowed your phone.’
‘Oh yeah,’ she said. ‘I remember.’ She had been a little suspicious of the caller. She could tell by his voice that he was black. But now that she saw him in person, he looked like a nice guy. Besides, he was a cop.
‘Can we go in the other room to talk? I don’t want to disturb your father’s game.’
‘Oh, sure,’ said Brittany, and led Tyrell into a cheerful yellow kitchen with plaid curtains. He could see the moon through the back-door window. He sat down on a plastic-covered chair cushion and Brittany leaned against the sink. ‘What did you want to know?’ she said.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘The woman, today, in the Wawa. The pregnant woman. The man she’s with is wanted for questioning about a homicide in Monroe.
‘A homicide. Wow. You mean he killed someone?’
‘We need to question him,’ Tyrell said calmly. ‘The woman was trying to give us her location but we were cut off. We need to find these people.’
‘He did seem kind of mean and bossy,’ Brittany admitted. ‘I didn’t think she wanted to go with him.’
‘You didn’t?’ Tyrell’s heart began to race. ‘Did you hear them say anything about where they were going, or anything like that?’
Brittany shook her head. ‘No, the man was just insisting that she go with him, and she was saying she didn’t want to go.’
Tyrell squeezed his own wrist. ‘That’s it. Nothing else you can remember?’
‘Yeah, well then … you know …’
Tyrell looked at her in confusion. ‘Then what?’
Brittany made a face. ‘Well, you know how when a woman is pregnant. When she’s going to have a baby … you know how they say her water breaks?’ The girl was clearly embarrassed to mention it.
Tyrell felt his skin go clammy. ‘Her water broke?’
Brittany nodded and grimaced. ‘Out in the vestibule. I had to get a mop and mop it up.’
‘That means she’s about to have the baby,’ said Tyrell.
‘I guess so,’ said Brittany.
‘So …’
All at once he saw a ray of hope. ‘They must have gone to a hospital. Where’s the nearest hospital?’
‘There’s only two hospitals for miles around here. Mercy and County General.’
Tyrell pulled his cell phone from his jacket and began to call the hospitals, making his way through patient information, emergency and admissions. By the time he was done, and put his phone away, Brittany’s father had joined her in the kitchen, watching Tyrell curiously.
Tyrell shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing. Everyone I talked to swore up and down that no women in labor were even admitted today.’
Brittany looked worried. ‘Do you think they kept going?’
Her father snorted derisively. ‘With a woman in the car whose water broke, already. I don’t think so. She’d have the baby right there in the car.’
‘Minivan,’ said Brittany.
‘Minivan, car, whatever,’ said her father impatiently.
It took a moment to register on Tyrell. ‘They were driving a gray station wagon,’ he said.
Brittany shook her head. ‘A red minivan,’ she said. ‘I saw them get into it.’
It took a moment to register. Then, Tyrell saw it in his mind’s eye. The red minivan. Parked beside a cabin on a lake. Tyrell leapt up, grabbed Brittany’s hands and squeezed them. ‘Thank you, Brittany,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Brittany laughed, glad to be a part of this exciting search. ‘Watch out for that guy,’ she called after him, as Tyrell thanked her father and then rushed out to his car.
Tyrell waved as he backed out of the driveway. How they could still be in those cabins with Dena in labor, he didn’t know. But he was going to find out. As he pulled out on the highway, he nearly swerved across the lane as the cell phone in his pocket rang. He pulled it out and pressed the button.
‘Yeah,’ he asked, all the while straining his eyes to look for the sign for the lakeside cabins.
‘Tyrell?’
Tyrell nearly dropped the phone at the sound of Van Brunt’s voice. ‘Captain?’ There was a crackling in the receiver and the signal was fading in and out.
‘I know you’re out searching for Peter Ward and the Russell woman …’
‘Right,’ he said. He wasn’t going to listen to some kind of scolding. He had better things to do. But he could hear a conciliatory note in the captain’s voice.
‘Officially, of course, I can’t tell you what to do.’
You got that right, Tyrell thought.
‘But this is no time to stand on ceremony. I want you to know what you’re dealing with. We have an APB out on Ward. We think he may have killed both Jennifer Hubbell and Mrs Kelly … If you have any idea of their whereabouts …’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Tyrell breathed. He was thinking of Dena. Thinking about Brittany saying that she didn’t want to go with the man. He wondered, for a moment, if she was still alive. The thought sent a chill through him.
‘Tyrell, do you hear me? Don’t try to be a hero. This man is extremely dangerous.’
‘Yessir.’
‘Do you have any information on their whereabouts?’ the captain asked. His voice was faint. It sounded like someone was balling up cellophane inside the receiver.
Tyrell hesitated. He spotted the Hideaway Cabins sign and slowed down to make a turn. He switched on his signal. Part of him wanted to just hang up, but the sensible part of him knew that he needed the help. More than that, Dena and her baby needed the help. ‘I think I’ve found them, sir. I have information that the Russell woman is in labor and her baby may need some kind of special attention. I’m in Redmark on Route 27. Hideaway Cabins. About half a mile from the Wawa. Have you got that?’ There was no response. Only the crackle of static on the line. ‘Captain?’
There was nothing. He pressed a few buttons. There was no response. For a minute he felt panicky, thinking of what he might be confronting. He forced himself to stay calm. All right, he thought. I have to keep going. No turning back now. She was alone in there with those two kids, and a killer. Tyrell hung up the phone and turned the wheel. Switching off his headlights, he rolled slowly down the rutted road.