Spencerville

brush his teeth and wash the stench off him, but he said, “No, I’m in a hurry.”
    “Sure thing.”
    About a half hour after they started, Keith saw the exit for Route 15, westbound. He said, “Let’s get off here.”
    “Here?”
    “I have to pick up some papers at a lawyer’s house.”
    “Okay… where’s that?”
    “Not sure. I have directions. If it takes a long time, I’ll give you a few bucks extra.”
    “No problem.”
    They traveled west on Route 15, and Keith directed Chuck onto a series of roads that he figured the man wouldn’t recall later if it ever came up.
    Chuck said, “Hey, you got all this memorized, right?”
    “Sure do.”
    “What town is it?”
    “It’s a farm. Lawyer lives in a farmhouse.”
    “Okay.”
    They got onto County Road 22, and as they approached his farm, Keith realized there was something wrong. What was wrong with the skyline—there was no house there.
     
    *  *  *
     
    Keith stood in front of the charred ruins of what had once been his home, his father’s home, his grandfather’s home.
    Chuck said, “Jesus… you think everybody got out all right?”
    Keith didn’t reply. He looked at the other buildings, which still stood, then out at the endless fields of corn, the deep blue sky, the distant tree line.
    Chuck asked, “What do you want to do now?”
    What he wanted to do was sit on the ground and look at the house until the sun went down. What he had to do was something else.
    It had been a little over an hour since he’d walked out of the hospital. The staff would not have discovered that immediately, and when they did, there’d be an in-hospital search, some confusion, and finally the police in the Toledo area would be notified. Keith figured there would be some lag time before the state police were notified, and more time before someone thought to notify the Spencerville police, who in turn were undoubtedly not famous for their reaction time. Still, the first place they’d look for him was here. He jumped back into the van.
    Chuck got behind the wheel. “Where to?”
    “Spencerville.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
    T hey drove into Spencerville, and Chuck commented, “Hey, there’s the police station. This is some coincidence, ain’t it? I mean, you comin’ all the way from New York and windin’ up here where this kidnapping happened. Not a bad-looking little town. Where’s this lawyer’s office?”
    “In his other house. Turn over here.”
    Keith directed Chuck to the north side of town, and, within a few minutes, they were on Williams Street. Keith had no expectation that Annie and Cliff Baxter would be there, sitting around trying to iron out their differences. They were in seclusion, and Williams Street was not seclusion. The van passed the house, and Keith saw the white Lincoln in the driveway, but there was no other sign that anyone was home, and no obvious sign that the house was being watched. He said to Chuck, “Pull over here.”
    Chuck pulled over to the curb.
    Perhaps by now, the Spencerville police knew that Keith Landry had escaped from the hospital, and if they did, their first thought would probably be that Landry was fleeing the state. But their second thought might well be that Landry was headed back to Spencerville, though they’d think that was a long shot. Still, they’d be on some sort of alert and would probably stake out the farm. But Keith knew there would be two places they wouldn’t expect to see him: the police station and the Baxter house.
    Keith got out and said, “Be about ten minutes.” He took his briefcase and walked to the Baxter house. It was a cool morning, and there was no one on the porches, and no one visible on the street at all. He walked up the driveway and headed toward the rear. If anyone was watching from a window, the blue trust-me suit and briefcase gave off a message of respectability and legitimate purpose.
    There was a kennel at the end of the yard, but Keith couldn’t see or hear any dogs.
    Keith walked up to the rear porch, opened the screen door, and tried the knob on the back door, but it was locked. He looked in both neighboring yards and at the windows of the surrounding houses, but didn’t see anyone through the high hedges. Holding the screen door open with his leg, he drove the corner of his briefcase through one of the windowpanes, reached inside, and unlocked the door. He slipped quickly inside, closing the door behind him.
    Keith looked around the kitchen, noting its