Hotline to Murder

lost. He despaired of ever seeing the silver car again. He headed north, changing lanes to pass cars, trying to make up time, and wondering whether Nathan—he pictured the kidnapper as being Nathan—would stay on this main street, where it might be easier for the police to spot him, or transfer to a side street.
    Actually, his most likely route involved getting on the 405 freeway at some point, perhaps at the Artesia or Rosecrans entrance. If he did that, it would be practically impossible to find him. He might get away with this. Tony’s heart sank.
    “Did you see how he got Tina into the car?” he asked Shahla as he accelerated past an eighteen-wheeler.
    “She was already in the backseat by the time I got outside. He was getting in the front. I ran to the car and tried to open the back door. He squirted something out the window at me and took off.”
    “It must have been mace or pepper spray. You took an awful chance. He might have tried to put you in the car too.”
    “I figured if he did you would be there in time to save me.”
    Would he? “Don’t rub your eyes. It’ll make it worse. It’s a good thing he didn’t do that to you yesterday.”
    “He’s getting desperate. Oh, Tony, this is my fault. He took Tina because he couldn’t get me.”
    Her fault? Now wasn’t the time for her to feel guilty. And now wasn’t the time for him to use listening techniques on her, such as, “Why do you think it’s your fault?” He said, roughly, “This is not your fault. And if we’re going to help Tina, we’ve got to stay focused.”
    Shahla remained quiet until she received a query over the phone. She gave their position and said they hadn’t spotted the kidnapper. As Tony approached Artesia Boulevard, he wondered whether he should turn right toward the 405. If he were the kidnapper and he wanted to get to a place north of the airport, that’s what he would do.
    A police car came racing up behind him with its red lights blinking but no siren. Tony pulled into the right lane to let it pass. The black and white crossed Artesia Boulevard and stayed on PCH, which mysteriously changes its name to Sepulveda Boulevard at that point. Tony turned right on Artesia and headed toward the freeway. Let the cop take Sepulveda.
    “What are you doing?” Shahla asked.
    “Getting on the freeway.” But just then he crossed Aviation Boulevard and realized that if Nathan had been planning all along to take the freeway, he would have probably turned right on Aviation a few blocks back, where it started at PCH, which would have been like taking the hypotenuse of a right triangle. Tony had taken the sides of the triangle. More time lost.
    Not only that, he had to wait a significant amount of time for a red light at Hawthorne Boulevard. He felt that the chase was hopeless when he finally accelerated up the onramp onto the 405 and merged with the traffic. The continuous, heavy traffic, which made spotting a single silver car as difficult as spotting a specific silver fish among the thousands in the schools he had seen on his last snorkeling trip.
    “We’re never going to find the car here,” Shahla said, echoing Tony’s feelings. She made one more report to the police and then disconnected, promising to call back if they spotted the car.
    “We’ve lost it. I’m going to get off.” Tony exited at La Cienega Boulevard, which continued straight north while the 405 headed in a more westerly direction. He drove on that street until curbside parking was available and then pulled into an open space.
    “What are we going to do now?” Shahla asked. She looked despondent.
    Tony opened the glove compartment and pulled out the Thomas Guide he kept there, a book with detailed maps of the Los Angeles area. It was invaluable to him when he made his marketing calls. Then he stuck his hand into his front pants pocket and pulled out the sheet of paper on which he had written Nathan’s address and phone numbers. Fortunately, he had done that before they had gone into panic mode.
    “We aren’t far from where Nathan lives,” Tony said. “Let’s go to his place.”
    “Do you think that he might take Tina there? That is, if he’s the kidnapper?”
    “No more ifs. As far as we’re concerned, Nathan is the kidnapper. If we think any other way, we lose all hope. And hope is the only thing we’ve got right now.”

    CHAPTER 36
    Nathan lived on a quiet street lined with apartment houses that resembled in some respects the one