Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

months. Walter had drawn it out of her in two minutes, even after she'd promised herself not to tell him.
    "Maybe you'd better drive on," Julia said.
    Walter nodded, seeming grateful at having something to divert his attention. He put the Jeep in gear and continued down the dirt road. The vehicle smelled of grease and gum, foam spilling from splits in the vinyl seats, the windshield grimy with bug guts.
    "I'd met Mitchell Austin during my freshman year, during a summer house party at my adoptive parents' country club," she said, realizing that refined world was totally different from Walter's rural, working life. "I know, boring old coots who play croquet and drink, it sounds more like a prison sentence than a vacation. But Mitchell was—"
    She searched for the right word, fumbled over "pleasant," "trustworthy," and then found the most accurate one. "Reliable. He comforted me when my new parents were killed. He kept in touch while I finished college at Memphis State, and then asked me to marry him. That was about the time I started having my . . . little problems."
    "Problems," Walter said. Not questioning, but not judging, either.
    "Sleeplessness. Irritability. Forgetfulness. Fatigue alternating with periods of manic activity. Then it got worse. I broke out in a cold sweat when I was in cramped quarters or surrounded in a crowd. I'd have episodes of anxiety, when my heart rate doubled and my ears rang and I was afraid I'd never be able to take another breath."
    Julia actually laughed. After all the give-and-take, the careful baiting, the strategic questioning of psychotherapy, she'd forgotten what it was like to just talk to somebody. Somebody real. She had so little left to lose that she had embraced this different kind of surrender.
    "Panic disorder," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. "Sort of like freaking out?"
    "How do you know about that?"
    "My wife started having that. Before she–"
    His wife. Who had walked off the face of the Earth one night, just as Julia's father had done.
    Julia was going to ask about his wife, despite the sadness in his eyes, when Walter whipped the Jeep to the right. A police car was coming up the road toward them, silent but with its bar lights flashing.
    "Damn," Walter said. "They've cut us off."
    He steered the Jeep into an open hayfield. The Jeep bounced over the rugged terrain, Julia holding on, tools rattling in the back. She looked through the rear window and saw that the police car had stopped at the edge of the road.
    "Thank God they don't have four-wheel drive," said Walter.
    "Do you think the whole department's in on it?"
    He shrugged, heading for a copse of trees on the far side of the meadow. "Doesn't matter. Snead can put out an APB and get his people out in force."
    They drove into the trees, and the police car was out of sight. The Jeep climbed a steep grade and, for one stomach-grabbing moment, Julia thought it was going to flip over. Then they crested the hill and reached the stream they had crossed minutes earlier, only now it was wider, the current slower.
    "They've probably blocked the highway," Walter said. "But they don't know the back country like I do. Hang on, and say a prayer or two if you know any."
    He steered the Jeep into the water and headed upstream. The wheels fought over the damp rocks, but the water was only a few inches deep. "I learned this from Clint Eastwood," Walter said with mock seriousness. "Except he used a horse."
    "You'll have to work on your wounded squint."
    Walter flashed her a bad-guy glare that actually made her giggle, a crack in the stress that had a manic quality to it.
    "Gee, I really must be crazy," Julia said. "Here we are, being chased by who-knows-how-many Creeps and cops, and you're making goofy faces."
    "It's normal to be crazy," Walter said. "If you're not crazy, something's wrong with you."
    They drove about two hundred yards up the streambed until they came to a bridge. Walter veered onto the low bank. The highway was clear, and Walter gunned the engine, accelerating toward the east.
    "Where are we going now?" Julia asked.
    "Well, I think we can take our chances once we get out of Snead's jurisdiction. He might trump up a resisting arrest charge or something, but I'd bet he won't push it too far."
    "You don't know how badly he wants me."
    "I'm starting to get an idea."
    "Snead was a detective in Memphis. He worked my father's disappearance. He was also in charge of several mutilation cases that were never