Praying for Sleep

it?” she asked.
    But just then a low whistle squealed from the car’s grille. The engine choked, and kicked hard several times as the fan blade slapped water. Then with a shudder it died, leaving the night filled only with the sounds of the wind, the rain and the lilting music of a clever baroque composer.

24
    “Well, I didn’t go for help because it’s over a half mile to the neighbors and if you’ve listened to the radio you know what kind of storm it’s supposed to be. I mean, doesn’t it make sense ?”
    The words fired from the pale mouth of the petite blonde. She’d stopped crying but was pouring down brandy from a dusty bottle in a medicinal way. “And anyway,” she said to Trenton Heck, “he told me not to and if you ever saw him you’d do what he told you. Oh, my Lord. All I kept thinking was, Lucky me, lucky me, I had communion today.”
    Owen Atcheson returned from the side yard to the house’s tiny living room, where Heck and the fragile woman stood.
    “Lucky me,” she whispered and tossed down a belt of liquor. She started to cry again.
    “He just pulled one wire out,” Owen reported. He lifted the receiver. “I got it working.”
    “He’s got my car. It’s a beige Subaru station wagon. An ’89. Apologized about ten times. ‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. . . .’ Phew.” Her tears stopped. “That’s what I mean when I call him strange. Well, you can imagine. Asked me for the keys and of course I gave them. Then off he went, squatting behind the wheel. Missed the drive completely but found the road. Guess I’ll write that vehicle off.”
    Owen grimaced. “If we’d gone that way he would’ve come right to us.”
    Heck looked again at the tiny skull, resting on the paper towel in which she’d handed it to him, unwilling to touch the bone itself.
    “Well,” the woman continued, “you can find him on 315.”
    “How’s that?”
    “He’s going to Boyleston. Route 315.”
    “He said that?”
    “He asked me about the nearest town with a train station. I told him Boyleston. He asked me how to get there. And then asked me for fifty dollars for a train ticket. I gave it to him. And a little more.”
    Heck stared at the phone for a minute. Can’t keep it a secret anymore, he thought. Not with Hrubek killing one woman and terrorizing another. He sighed and sucked air through bent teeth. Very conspicuous in Heck’s mind now was the thought that if he’d called Haversham like he’d thought of doing—after figuring out that Hrubek was heading west—they might’ve caught him before he got to that house in Cloverton. All law enforcers, Heck too, had inventories of times when their mistakes and failings had gotten other people hurt—times that occasionally returned hard and kept them from sleeping, and sometimes did worse than that. Though he was removed from the sorrow at the moment, he supposed that that woman’s death would be the most prominent in his personal store of those events, and he could only guess how bad it would later come back to him.
    Now though he wanted only one thing—to see this fellow caught—and he snatched up the receiver. He placed a call to the local sheriff and reported Hrubek’s theft of the Subaru and where he seemed to be going. He turned to the woman. “Sheriff says he’ll send somebody out to the house to take you to a friend’s or relative’s, ma’am. If you want.”
    “Tell him yes, please.”
    Heck relayed this information to the sheriff. When he hung up, Owen took the phone and called the Marsden Inn and was surprised to find that Lis and Portia still hadn’t checked in. Frowning, he called the house. Lis picked up on the third ring.
    “Lis, what are you doing there?”
    “Owen? Where are you?”
    “I’m in Fredericks. I tried to call you before. I thought you’d left. What’re you doing there? You were supposed to be at the Inn an hour ago.”
    A momentary hollowness on the line. He heard her calling, “It’s Owen.” What was going on? Through the line he heard a roll of thunder. Lis came back on and explained that she and Portia had stayed to build up the sandbags. “The dam was overflowing. We could’ve lost the house.”
    “Are you all right?”
    “We’re fine. But the car’s stuck in the driveway. The rain’s terrible. We can’t get out. There’re no tow trucks. What are you doing in Fredericks?”
    “I’ve been following Hrubek west.”
    “West! He did turn around.”
    “Lis, I have to tell