Palindrome (32 page)

"You're an extremely attractive woman, Germaine," he said.

Germaine smiled. "Somehow, Bob, brandy doesn't seem to satisfy you. Is there anything else I can do for you?" He smiled, revealing large, even teeth.

"Where do you lay your head, Germaine?"

"In a cottage just across the lawn."

"Why don't you show it to me?"

"I'd love to," Germaine said. "Bring your drink." She picked up the cognac bottle, grabbed a large umbrella from the stand by the front door, and led him out into the night.

CHAPTER 48

The first thing he saw was the darkness; the first thing he heard was the silence. Then there was a beeping—dim, regular—and then another sound.

"Shhh," a female voice said. "Don't try to talk; I'll get the doctor."

There was a rustling of clothes, the squeak of rubber soles on vinyl, and then only the beeping. A long time seemed to pass, and he tried to orient himself. Before he could do so, there was a male voice close by.

"Don't try to talk," the voice said. "Open your eyes. He opened his eyes. The man was so close he was fuzzy. He tried to speak, but his mouth and throat were too dry to make a sound. Someone put a glass straw in his mouth, and when he sucked, wonderful, sweet water flowed. He rinsed his mouth, then swallowed. He tried to speak again.

"What?" the man asked. "Say again?"

"Haynes," Williams managed to say.

"Right here, Lee," Haynes's voice came back. "Your wife's here, too."

"Hey, baby," she said.

"Just hold your horses, Captain, Mrs. Williams," the other man said. There was a sharp pain in his foot. "Did you feel anything, Lee?" the doctor asked.

"My foot," Williams said. "See if you can wiggle your toes." Williams wiggled.

"Take my hand and squeeze." He squeezed. "Now the other hand." He squeezed again.

"Watch my finger. Without trying to turn your head, follow it with your eyes." He followed the finger.

"Good, very good. Lee, you came out of surgery a little over an hour ago, and you're in a pretty elaborate neck brace. You have some broken vertebrae in your neck, but the surgery was successful, and you have no, repeat, no paralysis. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Williams replied. "Ed?"

"I'm right here, Lee," Haynes said.

"Doctor, may I have a moment alone with him, please." It was not a question.

"A moment, no more," the doctor replied, and left.

"Lee, was it Ramsey?"

"Yes."

"I think I know what you were doing there. Don't worry about the gun; it's gone."

"Thanks. Cap, the woman is at a place called . . ." He tried to remember; it wasn't a familiar name. "An island somewhere."

"In Georgia?"

"I think so."

"Lake Lanier?"

"No, the coast."

"Jekyll? Sea Island? Cumberland?"

"That's it, Cumberland."

"Anything else? Do you know where on the island?"

"No. How long have I been out?"

"Three days. It's Friday evening."

"You better move fast; he's there by now."

"Okay. Anything else to tell me?"

"Just get him." Haynes hit the ground running.

"I want a map of the state," he said to a detective. "See if you can find one in the hospital."

"Right over there, Captain," the cop said, pointing to a wall. A framed map of Georgia hung there.

"Okay," Haynes said, tapping the glass with a finger. "It's right here, just north of Jacksonville. You call headquarters and get hold of a chopper—the big one. I'll get hold of the sheriff down there."

"Right," the detective said, and ran for a pay phone. Haynes commandeered the night nurse's desk. A couple of calls later, he found the sheriff at home. "This is Captain Haynes, Sheriff, chief of the Homicide Bureau, Atlanta PD. There's a murderer loose on your turf, and I'm coming down there just as fast as I can."

"Who and where?" the sheriff asked. "His name is Bake Ramsey."

"Football player?"

"That's the one. He's on Cumberland Island, and he's going to kill a woman named Elizabeth Barwick, unless we can stop him."

"I was on the island yesterday, and I saw Miss Barwick. She's among friends there, and it's just as well, because neither one of us is going to light on that island for a while."

"What do you mean? How far offshore is it?"

"Less than a mile, but that's a mighty long mile tonight. We got ourselves a hurricane that's going to come ashore somewhere around here, maybe tonight, and we've already got fifty knots of wind. That means no chopper can fly, and no man I know is going to try to cross the Inland Waterway in a boat. There's probably a seven-or eight-foot sea running in the waterway, and that's sheltered water."

"Shit," Haynes said. "Excuse my French, Sheriff; are there any phones on the island?"

"One, at Greyfield Inn. Hang on, I'll give you the number." He came back shortly and recited the digits. "It's one of those cellular jobs. There's no phone lines running to the island."

"Thanks for your help, Sheriff." Haynes gave his own phone numbers. "Will you call me the minute the weather lets up?"

"I sure will, and I'll get over there myself just as soon as I can." Haynes hung up and dialed the number the sheriff had given him. It rang a few times, then a recorded message said, "The BellSouth customer whose number you are calling has left the vehicle. Please try later."

He tried half a dozen times more and got the same reply. The detective approached the night nurse's desk. "The flight department tells me nothing is flying tonight, unless it's going north or west. There's a hurricane off the coast, all of southeast Georgia is bad news, and they expect it to be for at least twenty-four hours."

"I heard already," the captain said. "The sheriff down there says no boat could make it, either. We've got to think of something else." The two men stood mute at the desk and thought.

"I can't think of anything," the detective said after a while.

"Neither can I, except to keep trying to telephone the inn down there. There's been no answer."

The detective's face brightened. "Maybe we could..." He frowned again. "No, it's got to be a chopper or a boat, hasn't it?"

"That's right."

"I can't think of anything." The captain picked up the phone and dialed again. "Hello, honey, it's me," he said. "Don't wait up. I may not be back until tomorrow night. Business. You, too." He hung up and turned to the detective. "You got a wife?"

"No, sir."

"Then come on, we've got a long drive ahead of us." They headed south out of Atlanta, on Interstate 75, the red light on the dashboard clearing the way. An hour south of Macon, heavy rain began to hammer against the windshield, and Ed Haynes had to slow to eighty.

CHAPTER 49

James Moses Drummond was wakened by a huge sighing noise, followed by a groaning crash. It took him a moment to figure out what it could be: a tree, and a big one. The wind and the cabin itself were making so much noise, he was surprised he had heard it at all. There was no clock, but it felt like the dead of night. He glanced at his grandfather's bed; it had not been slept in. A glow from the other room of the former slave house told him that the fire had been built up. James got out of bed and, shivering, pulled on his jeans. He went into the other room and found Buck Moses sitting in front of a roaring driftwood fire, rocking in his chair, staring at the flames, and making a tuneless humming noise. "Granddaddy, what you doing up this time of night?" he asked.

Buck Moses noticed his grandson for the first time. "Big wind done come," he said.

"You right about that," James agreed. "I never heard so much wind." A gigantic gust came, and the house seemed to move. The noise from the rafters was frightening. James moved closer to the fire to warm himself.

"You be a good boy," Buck said, looking fondly up at his grandson. "You keep on bein' good."

"I will granddaddy," James replied.

It had been a long time since his grandfather had said anything to him about his behavior. "You got a good life before you," Buck said. "You going' to see places, see the whole world."

"I am?"

Buck nodded. "But you don' forget about this island, you hear? You got some roots here; don' you forget about em."

"I won't, Grandaddy."

"My peoples is calling to me," Buck said, looking into the fire again. "It's 'bout time I be going'." A chill ran through James, in spite of the hot fire. He couldn't think of anything to say. A squall of heavy rain pounded on the tin roof; the noise was terrific.

"Granddaddy," he shouted, to be heard over the din. As he spoke, the wind rose to a howl that drowned out even the rain on the roof. The little house groaned, and James looked up at the rafters. He went to a window to look out, and, as he did, the cabin moved with the wind. This time, it kept moving. There was a loud groaning and the splintering of timber, and, more slowly than James could have believed, the house began to come down. Not knowing which way to run, he stood and looked at his grandfather. As the house came down, the brick chimney came with it, falling like a tree onto the spot where Buck Moses sat rocking.

When James woke, it seemed that only moments had passed. He lay under a pile of boards, and broken glass was all around him. The wind was louder than ever now, and the rain came in torrents. The remains of the driftwood fire sputtered out. James found that he could move, could shove the debris aside and free himself. He struggled to his feet and immediately was blown off them by the wind. No man could stand up to that, he realized. He crawled to where his grandfather lay under a pile of bricks and, keeping low, began tossing them aside. As the last of the fire went, he felt for Buck under the debris. Then, taking a good half hour to do it, he dragged the old man, inch by inch, out of the ruin of the cabin and across the ten yards to the tiny church, which, given some shelter by two old live oaks, still stood up to the hurricane. Finally, when he had managed to shut the door during a momentary lull in the wind, he got a candle and matches from the altar and brought them to where he had dragged his grandfather. The light showed blood on the old man's head.

James felt at his throat for a pulse but could find none. He leaned against the church door and pulled his grandfather's tiny frame into his arms. Buck Moses was dead, and all James could do was wait for the hurricane to pass. His crying mingled with the roar of the wind and rain.

CHAPTER 50

Ed Haynes sat braced in the passenger seat of the patrol car and tried to see beyond the headlights. "I'm going to have to pull over until it lets up," the detective said, steering the car onto the shoulder.

"How much farther is it?" Haynes switched on the interior light and looked at the road map.

"About twenty-five miles, I reckon. To tell you the truth, I'm amazed we've gotten this far."

"I've never seen anything like this in my life," the detective said. "There must be six inches of water on the road; it's like driving down a river."

Haynes turned on the radio and searched for a Jacksonville station. "Here's the latest on Hurricane Lago," a voice said. "The storm made a sudden forty-five-degree turn about four hours ago, and made a landfall a hundred miles south and hours earlier than had been expected. The eye is expected to hit the coast north of Jacksonville around dawn, and the Weather Service tells us that the worst should be over by midmorning."

"Well, that's something, I guess," the detective said.

"I'm glad we drove," Haynes said. "At least we'll be able to get onto the island at the earliest possible moment. If this would just let up, we could make the sheriff's office in half an hour."

"It's not letting up, yet," the detective said. "If it's any consolation, Ramsey's got to be pinned down just like everybody else."

"Christ, I hope so," Haynes replied, watching the windshield wipers swim over the glass.

CHAPTER 51

Liz sat bolt upright in bed, groggy and disoriented. She was dressed in nothing but a T-shirt, and Keir was not in bed with her. The wind howled around the house, bellowing, like some prehistoric animal in heat. What was going on? What had awakened her? It was pitch dark—no moon, not even the light of the stars—and incredibly heavy rain was thundering on the tin roof of the cottage. The alarm clock at the bedside glowed green, reading just after 6:00 A.M. Above the sound of the wind and rain came another noise, a banging, crashing, shattering noise. The front door, she thought; less wind than this had blown it open before. She stumbled out of bed, hating to give up the warm covers; she groped her way toward the door to the living room, and she had reached it before she remembered that she had forgotten the chef's knife. Then the memory came flooding over her: Baker was on the island.

She was about to go back for the knife, when a protracted flash of lightning brilliantly illuminated the room. Standing in the middle of the living room, locked together in silent combat, were Baker Ramsey and Keir Drummond. Baker was striking Keir on the back of the head, while Keir had a handful of Baker's short hair in one hand and was clawing at his eyes with the other. Liz stood, transfixed, as the flash of lightning faded and, a moment later, was replaced by another. The attitudes of the two men had changed; Baker now had both arms around Keir's slender body and was hauling the smaller man to him in a powerful bear hug. Just before the light went away again, Liz saw Keir lean into Baker's head and come away with an ear in his teeth. A scream rent the darkness. She had seen something else in the flash of light: a wine rack on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. Finding her way from memory, she reached it and moved toward where the two struggling men had been. When the lightning came again, she was in position. She held the neck of the wine bottle in both hands and swung it with all her strength at the back of Baker's head.

The bottle exploded, showering red wine everywhere. Baker let go of Keir and fell to one knee, momentarily stunned. The light winked out, and, rushing at where Baker had been, Liz raised the jagged neck of the wine bottle and brought it down. The lightning returned, showing the glass embedded in the top of Baker's shoulder. Bringing all her weight to bear, she drew the broken bottle down his back, shredding his white shirt and leaving a bloody track along his spine. Baker screamed more loudly than Liz would have believed a human being could, and, in the momentary darkness, she threw herself sideways as he wheeled to strike her. As she did, she caught a glimpse of a crumpled and unconscious Keir on the floor. She was Baker's goal, and she knew he would come for her, not Keir. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed her car keys from the table before the lightning flashed again, showing Baker her path of retreat. She fled the house, tripping over a light ax on the back porch, knowing he would be after her, and flung herself from the landing. She struck the ground in the darkness and rolled; then the lightning came again and showed her the Jeep.