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cried out in pain. Then she flew down the hall in the direction Corday
indicated. She caught a last glimpse of the living room in passing; the bundle
of sheepskin coat had legs, she saw from this angle, and it was stirring now,
raising a face.
A light was on already in the garage, and its door had been rolled up. She was
already behind the wheel of the
Cadillac, engine started and headlights on, as Corday arrived to stow her
brother in beside her.
 Shouldn t we telephone someone first 
 Joe will be calling for help. Drive straight home now, stop for nothing.
Leave all else to me.
 Judy? The voice coming from the pale face beside her did sound a little like
her brother s now, though terribly weak.  Take me home now?
Corday had already slammed the Cadillac s door shut and vanished back into the
house. Even as Judy gunned the engine and pulled out of the garage, two
muffled banging noises from in there reached her ears. She had driven miles
toward home before it occurred to her excited mind that they might possibly
have been shots.
TWELVE
Of the two uniformed Cook County sheriff s deputies who had met Joe at the
country gas station in response to his phone call, and had then followed him
back to this lonely house, one was now outside in their official car, busy
with its radio. The other deputy was with Joe in the house, and had begun a
more or less methodical questioning of the only other person who had been on
the scene when they arrived.
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 Now, you say he fired twice at you, Dr. Corday? Where were you standing when
that happened?
 I believe here. And Corday moved decisively to a position in the living room
not far from the entry. He seemed to have been not in the least shaken by the
peril through which, according to his own story, he had so recently passed.
 Uhuh, the deputy remarked. He was not especially excited either. Following
the old man closely he pointed to, without quite touching, a shattery-looking
place in the otherwise new-looking plaster wall behind him.  If that is a
bullet hole, I guess you weren t standing exactly where you are right now,
when she hit.
 Approximately, Corday conceded, turning to look with mild interest at the
damage.
The deputy made a note.  You say he fired twice . . . one could be in the
carpet somewhere, I suppose.
 That seems not improbable. As I recall, his arm was shaking.
 Then he ran out of the house, you say. Did you make any attempt to hold him?
 I am not as young as I once was, officer.
 Yessir, I don t blame you a bit for that. Don t get me wrong. But first, he
did let you load the kidnap victim into a car and drive him out of here? I
don t quite understand that.
Corday blinked mildly at the deputy.  Perhaps the young man, even though he
had a gun, was frightened when
Miss Southerland and I broke in.
 Perhaps. Huh. You say you re the one who broke the door in? How d you manage
that?
 Construction standards are not what they were in the old days.
 Well, that s for sure. Scratching his head, the deputy gave Joe a wary look:
You know this old guy, huh? You didn t warn me he was a little crazy.
Corday added:  And it is not always the brave, is it, who bear weapons?
 That s for damn sure. The deputy sighed.  Now, sir, tell me again how d you
know the Southerland boy was here, as you say he was?
 I repeat, I am an accomplished hypnotist  The old man broke off, turning to
watch the front door. A few seconds later it grated open. This time a piece of
the smashed lock fell completely free.
Deputy Two, wide-eyed, stopped in the doorway.  Carl! I just got the Glenlake
chief on the horn. He confirms what our witness here says. Both the
Southerland kids are home, they drove up a few minutes ago in someone s
Caddy. The girl says they came from out here. The boy has the little finger
missing from each hand. They re taking him to Evanston Hospital. The FBI and
everyone else is gonna be out here on our ass in about ten minutes.
 Jesus, said Deputy One, with fervor. He gave the old man a look that showed
how little of the old man s story had been believed, up until this moment.
 Well, let s not screw up anything until they get here.
 Carl, I m gonna take a look a round outside. The suspect is supposed to have
run out, isn t he?
Number One considered.  Right. I guess you better. But don t screw up
anything. Don t mess up the tracks in the snow, if there are any. I guess
there must be, if the guy ran out.
 I ll come along, Joe volunteered.  I can show you which tracks are mine, at
least.
 Thanks, that would be a help.
Outside, more snow was now falling, in the form of frigidly dry powder. From
the front step, Deputy Two s
powerful flashlight swept the yard.  The longer we wait, the harder it s gonna
be to find anything.
 Those tracks going all the way around the house are mine, Joe pointed out.
 Now there, those are new. From the front step a narrow, fresh trail led in a
straight diagonal across the yard, angling away from the drive.
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 I d say two people.
 Not side by side, though. One following the other.
 Or chasing the other, maybe.
They started across the yard themselves, keeping parallel with the trail they
followed. The deputy led with his flash, Joe stepping into the deputy s
tracks.
Joe said:  I think they were both running.
 Jesus, I think you re right. Look, can this be one stride, from here to here?
It must be ten feet long.
 I m no expert at this tracking bit.
 Hell, I m not either.
At the edge of the yard the makers of the double trail had somehow negotiated
a decorative, split-rail fence. On the other side of the fence the trail went
on, still practically in a straight line, through a patch of young woods and
down an easy slope.
Following the deputy over the fence and on, Joe muttered:  Couldn t have been
running to get to a road this way, could they? Highway s back in the other
direction.
 All that s down this way is the creek, I think hey.
A few yards ahead, the slope flattened into what would be in summer muddy
creek-bottom land. The dead stalks of last summer s growth of weeds made a
thin, wintry jungle, more than head-high but fragile and offering no real
impediment to progress. Along the trail a number of the dried stalks had been
broken down in its direction. Not many yards farther on, the flashlight s beam
now reached the frozen creek itself, a sunken aisle surfaced with plain snow,
twisting between overgrown banks.
On the near bank of the frozen creek the double trail ended in a broad,
trampled circle, centered on a mound of something that was not entirely snow.
Hurrying forward, looking over the deputy s shoulder along the brilliant shaft
of the flashlight s beam, Joe could see blood. The trampled space was marked
with it in little flecks and splashes, fresh, not yet sanitized by falling
snow. And there, a pair of thick-lensed eyeglasses had fallen. As they entered
the circle Joe also saw a human finger, its stump-end ragged and gory. Had
someone carried one of the poor kid s fingers out here, meaning to hide
evidence? Or
The central mound was moving in the light. It was sheepskin under newly fallen
white. Joe lifted at it with two hands, the deputy with the hand in which he
did not hold the light, and it turned over.
 Jesus.
 He s still alive, anyway.
 Yeah.
Joe lifted some more, the deputy held his light and brushed off snow. One arm
in a sheepskin sleeve fell dangling.
 Look at his hand.
 It s both hands. Jesus God.
Struggling to move the inert weight back toward the house, Joe found himself
stepping on another loose finger.
He saw a third. He didn t look for more. Halfway back to the house, the deputy [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]