She tells him how to do a quick
housecleaning. She gets him a car, and some papers. She arranges to
meet him in the one place in Las Vegas where there aren’t a
million lights. She gets him out” Earl’s face assumed a
look of puzzlement. “But then she doesn’t go too, she
hangs in to buy him time.”
Linda sighed. “This isn’t
getting me anywhere. So she bought him time.”
Earl’s irritated look
froze her. “You’re not thinking. You know any pros who
are going to hang around to get in a fight in an elevator if the
client’s already driving out with a big head start?”
“No women, anyway.”
“No men either. The pay
doesn’t go up any for bruises. She must have thought he needed
the extra minutes, and that means he wasn’t safe until a
particular time.”
“It can’t be
anything but an airport,” said Linda. “He wasn’t
going to be invisible until the plane was in the air.”
“How much time did she
need to buy him?” Earl leafed through the piles of tourist
literature the maids had left on the coffee table. He found a number
and dialed. “Yes. I’m interested in the midnight show,
but I want to see another show, too. Is it one of those things where
you have a bunch of warm-up acts? What time does the Miraculous
Miranda actually get on stage?” He wrote something down. “Then
when does the show end?” His pencil scribbled another note.
“That’s too bad. I may have to catch her act on another
trip. Thanks.” He hung up and studied his notes. “Okay.
Miranda comes on right at twelve, first thing. She’s on the
stage for two hours.”
“So what?”
Earl scowled. “So this
woman figures Hatcher is going to have two hours to drive before the
lights come on again and somebody sees he’s not sitting next to
her. He’s driving to an airport, and she’s planned on two
hours. His plane has to leave pretty soon after he gets there,
because she doesn’t want him sitting in an airport when
Seaver’s people start looking for him. She wants him to arrive
about the time the plane is boarding, so he can walk right in and
disappear.”
“Seaver said she bought
him an hour after that.”
“Right,” said Earl.
“She did it, but she couldn’t know in advance that she
could do it. How could this one woman think she could tie up those
guys that long? No, she was counting on two hours, and whatever she
got after that must have been insurance. Figure he drives sixty miles
an hour, so there’s no chance he’ll lose twenty minutes
getting a speeding ticket.”
Linda stood up and pulled the
map out of her suitcase. She measured 120 miles on a piece of dental
floss, tied it to Earl’s pencil, and ran it in a circle around
Las Vegas. “Kingman, Arizona, on Route 93; Bullhead City,
Arizona, on 95. Maybe Lake Havasu if he pushes it on Route 95 south.
Baker, California, on 15 south. There’s no airport for another
hundred and twenty miles, so scratch 15 south. Nothing at all on 93
or 95 north, so scratch them. That leaves 93 or 95 south into Arizona
or 15 north, into Utah. If it’s 93, it’s Kingman. If it’s
95, it’s Lake Havasu City. Both have airports.”
“What about Utah?”
“No airport until Cedar
City. About a hundred and eighty miles.”
“Okay, scratch that too.
We’re down to two possibilities, then,” said Earl. “He
flew out of Kingman or Havasu City. Now what we’ve got to do is
see what flights go out on a Tuesday night at those airports between
two in the morning and, say, three. There can’t be many.”
“What if they go to
Chicago and Dallas? Little airports usually just feed big ones.”
“We’ll just hope the
other things we’re doing give us a break, and tell us which
one.”
“What other things?”
He pawed through her purse and
saw the apartment rental bill. “First thing is, put on some
gloves and mail this in with some cash. I want to make sure his
landlord doesn’t evict him, in case we need to go back there.”
“Okay. But where would
housecleaning. She gets him a car, and some papers. She arranges to
meet him in the one place in Las Vegas where there aren’t a
million lights. She gets him out” Earl’s face assumed a
look of puzzlement. “But then she doesn’t go too, she
hangs in to buy him time.”
Linda sighed. “This isn’t
getting me anywhere. So she bought him time.”
Earl’s irritated look
froze her. “You’re not thinking. You know any pros who
are going to hang around to get in a fight in an elevator if the
client’s already driving out with a big head start?”
“No women, anyway.”
“No men either. The pay
doesn’t go up any for bruises. She must have thought he needed
the extra minutes, and that means he wasn’t safe until a
particular time.”
“It can’t be
anything but an airport,” said Linda. “He wasn’t
going to be invisible until the plane was in the air.”
“How much time did she
need to buy him?” Earl leafed through the piles of tourist
literature the maids had left on the coffee table. He found a number
and dialed. “Yes. I’m interested in the midnight show,
but I want to see another show, too. Is it one of those things where
you have a bunch of warm-up acts? What time does the Miraculous
Miranda actually get on stage?” He wrote something down. “Then
when does the show end?” His pencil scribbled another note.
“That’s too bad. I may have to catch her act on another
trip. Thanks.” He hung up and studied his notes. “Okay.
Miranda comes on right at twelve, first thing. She’s on the
stage for two hours.”
“So what?”
Earl scowled. “So this
woman figures Hatcher is going to have two hours to drive before the
lights come on again and somebody sees he’s not sitting next to
her. He’s driving to an airport, and she’s planned on two
hours. His plane has to leave pretty soon after he gets there,
because she doesn’t want him sitting in an airport when
Seaver’s people start looking for him. She wants him to arrive
about the time the plane is boarding, so he can walk right in and
disappear.”
“Seaver said she bought
him an hour after that.”
“Right,” said Earl.
“She did it, but she couldn’t know in advance that she
could do it. How could this one woman think she could tie up those
guys that long? No, she was counting on two hours, and whatever she
got after that must have been insurance. Figure he drives sixty miles
an hour, so there’s no chance he’ll lose twenty minutes
getting a speeding ticket.”
Linda stood up and pulled the
map out of her suitcase. She measured 120 miles on a piece of dental
floss, tied it to Earl’s pencil, and ran it in a circle around
Las Vegas. “Kingman, Arizona, on Route 93; Bullhead City,
Arizona, on 95. Maybe Lake Havasu if he pushes it on Route 95 south.
Baker, California, on 15 south. There’s no airport for another
hundred and twenty miles, so scratch 15 south. Nothing at all on 93
or 95 north, so scratch them. That leaves 93 or 95 south into Arizona
or 15 north, into Utah. If it’s 93, it’s Kingman. If it’s
95, it’s Lake Havasu City. Both have airports.”
“What about Utah?”
“No airport until Cedar
City. About a hundred and eighty miles.”
“Okay, scratch that too.
We’re down to two possibilities, then,” said Earl. “He
flew out of Kingman or Havasu City. Now what we’ve got to do is
see what flights go out on a Tuesday night at those airports between
two in the morning and, say, three. There can’t be many.”
“What if they go to
Chicago and Dallas? Little airports usually just feed big ones.”
“We’ll just hope the
other things we’re doing give us a break, and tell us which
one.”
“What other things?”
He pawed through her purse and
saw the apartment rental bill. “First thing is, put on some
gloves and mail this in with some cash. I want to make sure his
landlord doesn’t evict him, in case we need to go back there.”
“Okay. But where would
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