Palindrome (33 page)

The wind gusted, throwing her off balance, and she had to correct her course, leaning against the gust as she ran as if it were a wall.

She reached the Jeep and got the door open. The lights came on inside the vehicle, blinding her when she closed the door and they went out.

Searching for the keyhole, she was vaguely aware of a large tree branch landing on the hood of the Jeep, then blowing away. She yanked on the gear lever and stomped on the accelerator, forgetting the headlights. By the time she remembered and got them on, she was heading directly for Germaine's pickup truck, which lay across the road. She swerved, but still struck a front fender of the truck, moving it sideways as if had been kicked by a giant, then she was on the road and moving fast. How had Baker got hold of Germaine's truck? Not too fast, she kept telling herself. He couldn't catch the Jeep on foot, and she had hurt the pickup. Anyway, there were no headlights behind her. Still, she drove faster than she had ever driven on the island, along the side of the airstrip, headed for the main, north-south road. Not the inn, she thought; Baker would find her there. Where could she find shelter? A place that Baker didn't know? Plum Orchard. At the T-junction, she swung right and bore down, sending the Jeep hurtling through the wild night. Suddenly, the Jeep left the ground entirely, then landed, skidding. She whipped it back onto the road and thanked her stars. These roads, which had seemed quite all right at twenty miles an hour, were something else at sixty. Squinting at the road ahead of her through the driving rain, she forced herself to slow to forty and thought about Keir. Would Baker hurt him? No, he was single-minded; he would come after her, if he could. His back was cut, and he was missing an ear, but that wouldn't slow him; he would come, eventually. She thought about help. The sheriff was only a few miles away and had a helicopter, but she had no means of summoning him, and, even if she could, he could never reach the island in this awful storm. A fork in the road was approaching, and suddenly she slammed on the brakes with all the force she could muster. A huge pine tree lay across the road at the turning for Plum Orchard. She swung right without stopping and bore down again. Wherever this road went, she was going. She was still in the full flight of panic, and simply putting distance between herself and Baker was all she wanted. She worked hard at calming herself, to slow her heartbeat and her breathing. Nothing worked. A part of her mind marveled that she could sustain this level of raw fear for such a long time. The Jeep hurtled on through the night, its headlights boring a tunnel through the trees. Then, very suddenly, there were no trees, and the headlamps illuminated nothing but rain and flying debris. She had broken into some sort of clearing. At the moment she moved to stop, something more powerful than brakes dragged the car to a halt. She lurched forward, struck the steering column with her chest, then fell back against the seat. Blinking, she peered out of the car and saw blue sky above, and the light was improving by the second. There was water all around her, but the car had not sunk. Confused, she tried to orient herself, then she realized how she could be in water and still be on the road. The dike that stretched across the lower end of Lake Whitney was underwater, inundated by the downpour. She glanced out the passenger window, then back out the driver's side. As she did, an obstruction appeared between her and the lake. It was a face, a familiar face, upside down. Baker Ramsey was on top of the Jeep.

CHAPTER 52

Haynes huddled in the entryway of the sheriff's office and hammered on the door. He and the detective were already soaking wet, just from running a few yards from the car. He peered through the glass. The office was dark, except for an eerie glow coming from a back room. "I don't think anybody can hear us," the detective shouted over the wind.

Haynes tried the door, and it swung open, banging against the wall. The two men hurried inside and, together, managed to get the door shut.

"Who's that?" a voice called. A man stood silhouetted against the light from the back room. "It's Captain Ed Haynes, Atlanta PD. You the sheriff?"

He stuck out a hand. "I am. How the hell did you get here from Atlanta?"

"We drove."

"You must be out of your fucking mind," the sheriff said, his face incredulous.

"Probably so, but when this storm lifts, I want to be on that island at the earliest possible moment."

"Come on in my office, and I'll give you some coffee," the sheriff said, escorting them into the back room. A television set glowed in a corner. "That's running on my emergency power," he said. "Everything's out around here. Take a look at that, will you?" He pointed to the television and the detective peered at the screen. "Is that a hole in the storm?" he asked, tapping the glass. "That's the eye of the hurricane," the sheriff replied. "It's right over Cumberland now."

"It's a pretty big hole," Haynes said. "Could we get over there in a chopper?"

"I was right, you are out of your mind." The sheriff laughed, pouring coffee. "We aren't in the eye here, yet, although we might see some of it. If we go over there, there's still the backside of the storm to worry about, you know, although it's supposed to break up pretty fast over land."

"How long?" Haynes asked. "A couple of hours, maybe, if we're lucky. I've tried phoning the inn a dozen times, but I'm getting no answer. They've only got the one cellular phone over there, and it's in Germaine Drummond's office. I doubt if anybody can even hear it over the storm." Haynes sipped the coffee and stared at the eye of the hurricane. 'I've never felt so frustrated in my life," he said. "I'm what—five, six miles from a murderer, and I can't get to him."

"You might as well be a hundred from him, until this hurricane passes," the sheriff said. "I just hope my chopper survives the storm."

CHAPTER 53

Liz hammered on the door lock, forcing it down. The central locking secured all four doors and the tailgate. Baker slid off the roof of the car and into kneedeep water. Baker's face, streaked with blood from his torn ear cartilage, smirked at her from outside the Jeep. He drew back with his right arm and drove his elbow at the window glass. Liz recoiled as he struck, but it did not give. Oh, wonderful, strong car, she thought, to stand up to Baker Ramsey! Baker looked as surprised as angry; then he disappeared. Some cloud scudded away, and more blue sky appeared, sending more light down onto the scene. Dawn is coming, and the change in the storm is remarkable, she thought. She still couldn't see Baker. What am I doing here? Why am I waiting for him to come back? she asked herself. She restarted the car and struggled to get it into four-wheel drive. As she was about to drive away, she realized that she was sufficiently disoriented not to know where the dike lay. If she moved ahead, she might drive along it to the other side, or she might simply drive off it into deep water. Then she remembered what was in the water, and she froze. The windshield exploded into a thousand fragments. Shielding her eyes, she could see that it was still held together by the lamination. Then she caught a glimpse of Baker outside the car. He had what looked like a fence post, and he was drawing back to swing again. He hit the windshield again, and this time the post penetrated, leaving a hole as large as her head. Baker's arm followed it, snaking inside toward her. She rolled sideways on the seat, and reached the passengerside door, clawing at the lock. She got the door open and jumped out, looking over her shoulder, determined to keep the car between her and Baker. He was wading around the front of the Jeep.

She moved toward the rear of the car, and, as she did, she suddenly became aware that another vehicle had pulled up behind hers. The door of the pickup opened, and Keir climbed out. He seemed to be struggling, and there was pain in his face. In his hand was a light ax, the tool from the back stoop of the cottage. Baker did not seem to notice the truck; his eyes were riveted on Liz as he rounded the front of the Jeep and moved toward her. Liz stood her ground, waited for him. His path would bring him near the truck. Then, as he came around the rear of the Jeep, he saw Keir, too late. Keir had leaped to the hood of the pickup, and he was swinging the ax. The flat side of the implement struck Baker alongside the neck, and his head snapped sideways, followed by his body.

He let go of the fence post and fell down. Liz thought he must be dead, but she had reckoned without the training and the muscle-building drugs that had gone into the development of that neck. Baker struggled to his feet, and, his face distorted into a mask of insane determination, came after Keir. There was something in Keir's face Liz had not seen before: a coldness and cunning, a deadly calculation that excluded reason. She knew what he meant to do.

Keir started his swing, and this time the blade of the ax pointed the way. With a sound like a lumberjack striking a tree, the ax drove into Baker Ramsey's neck, and the handle snapped. Blood sprayed both Keir and Liz, who was no more than three feet from where Baker still stood, a look of astonishment on the once handsome face. Then, slowly, like a great tree in the forest, Baker Ramsey fell forward, gushing blood, into the knee-deep water. Liz, horrified, jumped out of his way, and his momentum carried him, face down, off the dike and into the rushes at lakeside, painting the water red with each faltering beat of his dying heart. Liz stared at him for a moment, then turned to Keir, who had slumped to a sitting position on the hood of the pickup.

"Are you all right?" she asked, reaching for his hand.

"I don't know," he replied, and there seemed little strength in his grip. Then he was looking past Liz, with an odd expression on his face. Liz turned and followed his gaze. Baker Ramsey was moving again. In a blur of motion, Baker turned over on his back, then sat bolt upright, his jaw slack and his eyes blank. He was in that position for a split second, then his head snapped back, the ax blade still embedded in his neck, and he went backward under the water.

"What is he doing?" Liz said, staring in wonder.

"He isn't doing anything," Keir said, a small smile on his face, "Goliath is."

Suddenly, a huge, wet trunk broke the surface; then the twenty-foot alligator's head came out of the water, clutching Baker Ramsey in its enormous jaws. The beast whirled furiously on its own axis, whipped its head sideways, and a snapping sound seemed to come from Baker's body. Then the two vanished under the lake. The water churned for a moment, then slowly became quiet, ripples lapping against Liz's legs. The wind was rising again and the blue in the sky disappeared. Liz went to the truck and helped Keir into the cab. She brushed the golden hair away from his eyes, which looked up at her gravely. "Keir, are you all right?" she asked him a second time.

"When I hit him that last time, something stuck me inside," he said, slowly. "That guy had some bear hug." Then he coughed, and blood rose over his lips.

"Oh, my God!" Liz cried. "What's wrong?" Keir leaned against her, and she put her arms around him.

"I think he broke something," Keir said, seeming surprised. His head fell onto her shoulder, and his breath came in short gasps. She held him, talking to him, stroking his hair, while the storm rose around them again. After a while, he seemed to sleep, and, her stores of adrenaline depleted, she slept alongside him. She was awakened by stillness and by the sound of a helicopter. Starting, she looked up and saw the aircraft hovering over the water next to the truck. She watched as it moved a few yards and set down on the lakeshore.

"We've got some help, now," she said to Keir, turning his face up to her. He didn't wake, and he was cool to her touch. She looked up to see the sheriff and two strange men splashing toward her across the submerged dike. Then she pulled Keir's face into the hollow of her neck and began to cry.

CHAPTER 54

"I'm sorry about Mr. Drummond," Haynes said. "We got here just as soon as we possibly could. We'd have been here sooner, but for the hurricane."

They were sitting in the bar at Greyfield Inn, and the sheriff had poured them all a drink. Liz clutched the blanket about her, gripped the whiskey glass, and took another swig; it was creating a warmth in her belly that let her know she was still alive. "What I don't understand is why you're here at all," she said. 

We wouldn't be here at all, except for a very determined cop named Lee Williams."

"The one I talked to on the phone?"

"That's the one. It was Lee who got Ramsey to tell him where you were." He told her the story.

"I hope he's going to be all right," she said. "He will be. He'll be very gratified to know what Mr. Drummond did."

"Not as gratified as I." She was talking on automatic pilot, now, just responding. The shock was wearing slowly away, although she could still feel Keir's cold skin against her body.

What about grief? she thought. Grief must come with reality. It was still not real. From outside the room there was the low sound of voices and footsteps on the stairs. "The guests are stirring," the sheriff said. "It's after eight o'clock."

"Germaine will be getting breakfast for them," Liz said absently. Then she stood up. "Germaine!" she dropped her glass and ran from the room, down the stairs, hanging on to the blanket, followed by the sheriff and the two policemen. She ran across the kitchen to Germaine's office and tried the door. Locked.

"Oh, dear God!"

"What's the matter?" Haynes asked. "Baker was driving Germaine's truck. He would have to have gotten the keys from her." She ran up the stairs and out the front door of the inn. She flew down the front steps and, trying her best to hold on to the blanket, sprinted across the inn's lawn toward Germaine's cottage. The lawn was littered with tree limbs and other debris, and she had to detour more than once to make it across the expanse of grass. As Liz neared the cottage, she could see shingles missing from the roof, but nothing else seemed damaged. The front door was locked. She ran around the house and entered through the kitchen, then stopped. Everything seemed quite normal there. With trepidation, she walked into the living room; a brandy bottle and two glasses rested on the coffee table. "Germaine!" she called. No answer. Slowly, Liz went to the bedroom door. As it swung open, she saw a shapeless form on the bed, covered with a sheet.