THE SHERIFF’S CRUISER flew down U.S. 1. The dispatcher came on the radio. She had a ’71 Buick Riviera registered to an address on Ramrod Key.
Gus grabbed a cell phone and dialed. “It’s ringing.”
Walter glanced down at the seat between them and the latest fax, the one that had finally put a mug shot with the unsolved murders down the west coast. “She looks so harmless.”
“Pick up the phone!”
“I can’t remember the last time we had a female serial killer.”
“Aileen Wuornos.”
“That’s right,” said Walter. “They got some kind of memorial garden to her at a bar in Daytona.”
“It’s still ringing.”
“Two islands to go.”
“Answer the phone!”
SERGE AND COLEMAN climbed back in the Buick for a chow run.
“I’m telling you, Coleman, I think somebody’s trying to kill me.”
“You’re crazy.”
“What about the cut brakes?” Serge stuck the key in the ignition. “And I could swear I’m being followed.”
“Hold it,” said Coleman.
Serge took his hand off the key. “What is it?”
“I think I hear the phone ringing.”
“I don’t hear anything.” Serge grabbed the key again.
“No, I’m sure it’s the phone.”
“Probably your landlord,” said Serge. “Let’s get going.”
Serge began turning the key. Coleman grabbed his hand. “But what if it’s weed? I have an order in. I’ll bet that’s what it is. It’s hard to get hold of the weed guys. You usually only get their beeper or voice mail. You have to take the weed calls when you can. Otherwise the order goes to someone else, and you have to start all over calling their beeper and waiting. That’s why you can never miss a weed call. I’ll bet it’s the weed guy….”
Serge was banging his forehead on the steering wheel.
Coleman opened the passenger door. “I’ll be right back.”
ANNA’S EYES STAYED locked on the gun in Jerry’s hand. A hundred yards from shore, alone in the open, expecting a bullet any second. The alcohol started doing its thing, and she stumbled sideways and fell again. She pushed herself back up. This was the moment. Her head told her to make a break for it. She’d probably still get shot, but she wasn’t going without a fight. Readyyyyy…
Just as she was about to spring, Jerry started walking backward toward shore, still aiming the gun.
“Now stay there!”
A SHERIFF’S CRUISER leaped the bridge to Ramrod Key. It skidded around the corner at the Chevron station and sped up the block.
“I think I see the place,” said Walter. “There’s the Buick.”
“Oh, no. Someone’s already in the driver’s seat!”
COLEMAN TROTTED OUT of the trailer and jumped back in the car. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Who was it?”
“They hung up.”
“You moron.” Serge grabbed the ignition key.
A loud whoop from a police siren. Serge glanced in the rearview as a sheriff’s cruiser screeched to a stop, blocking the driveway. Deputies jumped out.
Serge momentarily thought about the gun in the glove compartment, then sighed. “I guess the jig is up.”
They opened the doors.
They stepped away. Serge laughed offhandedly. “I’ll bet you want to talk about all those murders.”
Gus looked at Walter, then Serge. “You know?”
“What are you, a comedian? If anyone knows, don’t you think I would?”
Gus had a confused expression. “You’re taking this awfully well.”
“I try to keep an even disposition,” said Serge. “Do you really think we’re talking the death penalty?”
“Afraid so.”
“What if there’s cooperation?”
“Could help,” said Walter. “But we can’t promise anything.”
“Sure would appreciate it.”
“You don’t mean you actually still have feelings for her.”
“Who?”
“Your wife. Some guys would get pretty sore if they found out their spouse was trying to kill them.”
“She was?”
“That’s what we’re here about,” said Gus. “We came to warn you your car might be rigged.”
“She’s a serial killer,” said Walter.
“Just got the mug shot this afternoon,” said Gus. “Murdered her last four husbands or boyfriends. All after extremely quick courtships.”
“Oh,
“Yeah. Why? What murders did you think we were talking about?”
“Uh… the same ones.” Serge smiled to himself: So that’s why I got the soul-mate vibe.
JERRY KEPT WALKING backward through the water until he reached the mangroves. His hand found the side of a flat-bottomed aluminum hull.
The airboat. So that’s it, thought Anna. The reason for the alcohol. He’s going to stage a boating accident. She looked down into the shallow water. The flats. Not enough room to dive under anything.
Jerry jumped up into the captain’s seat in one motion. Anna’s heart seized on a strong beat. The moment froze; sound dropped out. Her eyes stayed straight, her mind thumbing through the final details. The roseate spoonbill on that branch. The tarpon fin to her right. The perforated mangrove islands across the horizon. The sound came rushing back in her head with a tremendous roar, and she found herself running.
