The Shadow Hunter

heart…the lover’s heart…
    “The heart has its reasons,” she murmured. She had read those words someplace—where? Oh, yes. In Kris Barwood’s yearbook, in Raymond Hickle’s bedroom.
    The heart has its reasons, which reason knows nothing of. Hickle’s heart, and Kris’s, and Howard’s, and Travis’s—and hers too, she guessed. Hers too.

45
    The doctor took his time coming to see her, but by 5 P.M. he had given Abby a clean bill of health, and at five thirty she was in the backseat of a cab, riding toward Hollywood. She watched the streets flow past in a grainy smear. The orange sun burned through the taxi’s rear window and pressed against the back of her head.
    After her talk with Kris, she had turned on the TV to follow the news coverage. Hickle had achieved the status he’d always longed for; he had become, in some sense, a celebrity. His photo, several years out of date and taken apparently from an employee identification badge he’d worn on one of his various jobs, was flashed on the screen whenever any local station interrupted its Saturday afternoon programming for another pointless news update.
    Howard Barwood was no less famous. A photo of him at a charity function was broadcast with almost equal regularity. Both men were still missing. The only new development was that a car stolen last night from Malibu had been found, abandoned in the Sylmar district of the San Fernando Valley. Since the car had disappeared around the same time that Hickle made his escape, he was presumed to have taken it. How long the car had been in Sylmar, and where Hickle was now, nobody could say.
    The cab dropped Abby near the Gainford Arms. Her Dodge was still parked on the side street where she and Wyatt had left it. She unlocked the door and keyed the ignition.
    Home was where she wanted to go, but first she had a stop to make. She drove to Hollywood Station, arriving after 6 P.M. By now Wyatt ought to be on duty.
    She hated entering a police station; the fewer cops who saw her face, the better. But she had two questions to ask, which Wyatt might be more inclined to answer if she spoke with him in person.
    She left her gun and locksmith tools in the glove compartment so she wouldn’t set off the metal detector in the station house. At the entryway she paused to look again at the swollen, westering sun. Having slept for much of the day, she found it odd that the darkness was coming on so soon. She wondered what the night would bring.
    In the lobby she asked for Sergeant Wyatt. The desk officer spoke into the phone, then said the sergeant would see her in a minute or two. As it turned out, she waited more than ten minutes. When Wyatt appeared, he led her into an office down the hall. He didn’t speak to her until the door was closed.
    “Abby, how are you doing?”
    She lifted her arms to demonstrate that all her parts still worked. “Made a full recovery.”
    “You ought to be home resting.”
    “I’m on my way home now. Did you just come on duty?”
    “Yeah, that’s why you had to wait awhile. I conduct a briefing at the start of the watch.”
    “You mean like on
Hill Street Blues?
‘Be careful out there’?”
    He smiled. “I just tell ’em to watch their ass.” The smile faded. “Maybe I should start telling you the same thing.”
    “I can take care—” She stopped.
    “Of yourself? I know you can, most of the time.”
    “Okay, last night was an exception. I couldn’t have made it without you. And I guess if you want to tell me to watch my ass, I can’t argue, since you already saved it for me. That fair enough?”
    “Fair enough.” Wyatt dropped into a chair. “So why are you here, Abby? I have a feeling you don’t pay a visit to your local police department very often.”
    “I want to know something.”
    “Why am I not surprised? Go on, ask.”
    “Hickle apparently stole a car in Malibu and ditched it in Sylmar. That much is public knowledge. What isn’t public is the make, model, and plate number of the car he replaced it with.”
    “What makes you think we know what car he’s driving now?”
    “I’m not saying you know anything for certain. But come on, Vic, we’re talking Sylmar on Friday night. Auto thefts aren’t exactly uncommon in that district. My guess is, you’ve got at least a couple of grand theft autos that occurred in the appropriate time frame—say, one to three a.m.”
    “Okay, we do. Three of them, in fact.”
    “I want info on those vehicles. One of