Читать книгу The Goodbye Man - Jeffery Deaver, Jeffery Deaver - Страница 19

Shaw watched the sheriff’s squad car amble down the road, rocking on the tortured asphalt.

He walked to the edge of the cliff once more and looked down. The sight remained difficult; Adam’s body still lay, uncovered, where it had landed. The deputies lounged about, waiting for the coroner. Two played cards on the hood of a squad car.

Shaw climbed the steep hill and returned to the Kia. He’d just arrived when he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle from the Highland Bypass—the road on which Adam seemed to have been expecting visitors. He’d forgotten about them.

Armed neo-Nazis?

He’d have to call Welles. However unpleasant the man and his crew might be, Shaw wasn’t going to let them be ambushed. From the shoulder here, gunmen would have a turkey shoot.

He checked the Smith & Wesson. In the five-round cylinder were four spent shells. One live slug remained. He slipped the gun back into his pocket. In the Glock, there was one in the chamber and six in the single-stack magazine. Returning to the brush for cover, he pulled out his phone and prepared to call Welles.

A black van pulled into view and braked to a stop on the shoulder, near where Adam and Erick had been sitting. On the side was the mathematical infinity symbol, a logo of some sort. The door opened and two men and two women got out.

Not Nazis.

More like … Amish.

They were wearing identical uniforms—dark slacks or skirts and powder blue shirts and black slip-on shoes. Only one variation in costume: two of the men wore unmarked baseball caps, and one of this pair had orange sunglasses. Most of them seemed to wear necklaces. He expected crucifixes but, no, it was something else, which he couldn’t see from this distance. Shaw supposed they were from the retreat near Snoqualmie Gap, the one that Adam and Erick were apparently headed for.

The driver stepped from the van too. He wasn’t tall but was quite broad and built like a wrestler—though not the lean, zero-body-fat athletes Shaw had competed against in college. He was clearly in charge and looked around impatiently, then barked orders. The others fanned out.

A soft cry. One of the women was staring down the cliff. She’d seen Adam’s body on the road below. She was compactly built, a brunette with dark curly hair. Her hips were broad, though she was otherwise slim. An alluring face. Not a model’s; more like that of a thoughtful, art-house actress. Her eyes were light, though he couldn’t tell the exact shade. Her complexion ruddy.

The driver, a man and the other woman joined her and gazed down at the corpse. Unlike the brunette, they glanced down without any reaction. Utterly nonchalant. The driver actually grimaced, irritated, as if the trip here had been a waste of time. He shooed the others back to the van. The brunette remained were she was, though, wiping tears. The driver strode up to her, taking her roughly by the arm. He was angry and he whispered something, his face dark. She bowed her head submissively, nodded. A reprimand. Why? For displaying emotion at the death of someone? Possibly a friend? She and Adam might have had a connection in the past.

The driver continued to whisper. More nodding. He glanced to the van and when he noted that the others weren’t looking his way, he moved his hand from her arm to her neck, the backs of his fingers. Then around to her throat, where, it seemed, he touched the chain or necklace. The hand then started down her chest. She turned abruptly and walked to the van. He frowned and called after her. Shaw caught the words “… or demerits.”

She paused, looking crestfallen, then continued into the vehicle.

Looking around once more the blunt man called out softly, so as not to draw the cops’ attention. Shaw caught what might have been two names: maybe “Jeremy.” Definitely “Frederick.”

Not far away there came a rustle and a snap of footfalls, as the man in the orange sunglasses trooped down the hill. Apparently he’d stepped away to look for Adam and Erick before learning of Adam’s death. Had he seen Shaw? Maybe. At the van he stopped and looked back. Shaw crouched. The man climbed inside. The engine started and the driver made a careful three-point turn and the curious assembly vanished back the way they had come.

Shaw climbed into the Kia and fired it up. He drove slowly back up Old Mill in the direction he’d come. He passed through Hope’s Corner and then five miles farther until he was out of Hammond County.

There he pulled over onto the shoulder and climbed out. He walked to the rear of the car and used the remote to pop the trunk. He looked down at Erick Young, who was blinking against the bright blue sky.

Shaw said, “Let’s get you out of there.”