More Twisted

You saved my life.” Kitty, though, was still angry. She lapsed into silence.
    They drove for another twenty minutes. Kitty realized they were going in circles a lot and doubling back. She looked behind her once and saw that they were beingfollowed—only this time it was an unmarked police car driven by that tall officer with hair as red as her own, Amelia Sachs.
    Norma’s phone rang. She picked it up, had a conversation and then disconnected.
    “That was her, the policewoman behind us. No sign of the Jeep.”
    Kitty nodded. “And nobody saw the license plate?”
    “No. But they’re probably stolen tags.”
    They continued on, driving in a random pattern. Sachs would disappear occasionally, driving up one street and down another, apparently looking for the man’s Jeep.
    The agent began, “I guess—”
    Her phone rang. “Agent Sedgwick . . . What?”
    Kitty looked in the mirror, alarmed. What now? She was getting sick of the intrigue.
    “It’s Amelia,” Norma said to her. “She said she spotted the Jeep! He’s nearby.”
    “Where?”
    “A block! He was driving parallel to us. How? There’s no way he could’ve followed us!”
    She listened into the phone again. Then reported to Kitty, “She’s in pursuit. She’s called in some other units. He’s headed toward the FDR.” Into the phone she asked, “How did he find us? . . . You think? Hold on.”
    Norma asked Kitty, “He was hiding behind our car in Madison Square Park, right?”
    “Yes.”
    She relayed this to the policewoman. There was a pause. “Okay, maybe. We’ll check.”
    Norma disconnected. “She thinks he might not’ve beentrying to hurt you back in the park. He wanted to get us out of the car to plant a tracker after we jumped out.”
    “A tracker?”
    “Like a GPS, a homing device. I’m going to look.” She parked and climbed out, saying, “You check the backseat. And your suitcases. He might’ve slipped it in there. It would be a small plastic or metal box.”
    Lord, what a nightmare this was, Kitty thought, even angrier now. Who the hell was this guy? Who’d hired him?
    Kitty tore open her two suitcases and dumped the contents on the seat, looking through everything carefully.
    Nothing.
    But then she heard: “Hey, check it out.”
    Kitty looked out the window and saw the State Department agent holding a small white cylinder about three inches across, resting on a tissue so she wouldn’t disturb fingerprints, Kitty guessed. “Magnetized, stuck up in the wheel well. It’s a big one. Probably has a range of five miles. He could’ve found us anywhere in the area. Damn, that was a good call.” She set it on the street near the curb, hunched down and, using the tissue, tinkered, apparently disabling it.
    A moment later Norma’s phone rang again. The agent listened and then reported in a grim voice, “He got away. Disappeared on the Lower East Side.”
    Kitty rubbed her face, disgusted.
    Norma told the detective about the tracking device and added that they were going on to the hotel.
    “Wait,” said Kitty as she repacked the suitcases. “Why do you think he only left one tracker?”
    The agent blinked. Then nodded. She said into the phone, “Detective Sachs, you think you could give us a ride?”

    Fifteen minutes later Amelia Sachs arrived. Norma handed her the tracker and she put it in a plastic bag.
    Then the agent hustled Kitty Larkin into the detective’s car and together the three women drove to the hotel. On the way the agent arranged for another State Department security person to pick up the Town Car and get it back to the pool for a complete inspection. There was even some speculation that the killer might’ve planted an explosive device at the same time he stuck the tracker in the wheel well, so the NYPD bomb squad would have a look as well.
    Sachs dropped the women off, explaining that she’d take the tracker back to the town house of that officer in the wheelchair, or consultant, whatever he was, Lincoln Rhyme. She sped off.
    Norma escorted Kitty inside the hotel. It was a pretty seedy place, the woman thought. She would have expected material witnesses and security-conscious diplomats to be housed in better digs.
    The agent spoke to someone at the front desk, handed him an envelope and returned to Kitty.
    “Do I need to check in?”
    “No, everything’s taken care of.”
    They got out on the fourteenth floor. Norma showed her to a room, checked it out herself and handed her the key.