"Let's make a deal," he said, looking out his window.
"Maybe." "Let's go to New Orleans." "I'm not digging for a body." "Okay, okay. But let's go there. No one will expect us. We'll talk about the body when we get there." "We've already talked about it." "Just go to New Orleans, okay?". The highway intersected another one, and they were on top of an overpass. She pointed to her right. Ten miles away, the Memphis skyline glowed and flickered under a half-moon. "Wow," he said in awe. "It's beautiful." Neither of them could know that it would be his last look at Memphis.
THEY STOPPED IN FORREST CITY, ARKANSAS, FOR GAS AND snacks. Reggie paid for cupcakes, a large coffee, and a Sprite, while Mark hid on the floor. Minutes, later, they were back on the interstate headed for Little Rock.
Steam poured from the paper cup as she drove and watched him inhale four cupcakes. He ate like a kidcrumbs on his pants and in the seat, cream filling on his fingers, which he licked as if he hadn't seen food in a month. It was almost two-thirty. The road was empty except for convoys of tractor-trailer rigs. She set the cruise control on sixty-five.
"Do you think they're chasing us yet?" he asked, finishing the last cupcake and opening the Sprite. There was a certain excitement in his voice.
"I doubt it. I'm sure the police are searching the hospital, but why would they suspect we're together?" "I'm worried about Mom. I called her, you know, before I called you. Told her about the escape, and that I was hiding in the hospital. She got real mad. But I think I convinced her I'm safe. I hope they don't give her a hard time." "They won't. But she'll worry herself sick." "I know. I don't mean to be cruel, but I think she can handle it. Look at what she's already been through. My mom's pretty tough." "I'll tell Glint to call her later today." "Are you going to tell Glint where we're going?" "I'm not sure where we're going." He thought about this as two trucks roared by and the Honda veered to the right.
"What would you do, Reggie?" "For starters, I don't think I would have escaped." "That's a lie." "I beg your pardon." "Sure it is. You're dodging a subpoena, aren't you? I'm doing the same thing. So what's the difference? You don't want to face the grand jury. I don't want to face the grand jury, so here we are on the run. We're in the same boat, Reggie." "There's only one difference. You were in jail, and you escaped. That's a crime." "I was in a jail for juveniles, and juveniles do not commit crimes. Isn't that what you told me? Juveniles are rowdy, or delinquent, or in need of supervision, but juveniles do not commit crimes. Right?" "If you say so. But it was wrong to escape." "It's done. I can't undo it. It's wrong for you to dodge the law too, isn't it?" "Absolutely not. There's no crime in avoiding a subpoena. I was doing fine until I picked you up." "Then stop the car and let me out." "Oh sure. Please be serious, Mark." "I am serious." "Right. And what'll you do when you get out?" "Oh, I don't know. I'll go as far as I can, and if I get caught then I'll just go into shock and they'll send me back to Memphis. I'll claim I was crazy, and they'll never know you were involved. Just stop anytime you feel like it, and I'll get out." He leaned forward and punched the Seek button on the radio. For five miles they listened to Conway Twitty and Tammy Wynette.
"I hate country music," she said, and he turned it off.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Sure." "Suppose we go to New Orleans and find the body. And, according to your plan, we then cut a deal with the FBI and you go into their witness protection plan. You, Dianne, and Ricky then fly off into the sunset to Australia or wherever, right?" "I guess." "Then, why not cut a deal and tell them now?" "Now you're thinking, Reggie," he said patronizingly, as if she'd finally awakened and was beginning to see the light.
"Thank you so much," she said.
"It took me a while to figure it out. The answer is easy. I don't completely trust the FBI. Do you?" "Not completely." "And I'm not willing to give them what they want until me, my mother, and my brother are already far away. You're a good lawyer, Reggie, and you wouldn't allow your client to take any chances, would you?" "Go on." "Before I tell these clowns anything, I want to make sure we are safely put away somewhere. It'll take some time to move Ricky. If I told them now, the bad guys might find out before we can disappear. It's too risky." "But what if you told them now, and they didn't find the body? What if Clifford was, as you say, jok-ing?" "I would never know, would I? I'd be undercover somewhere, getting a nose job, changing my name to Tommy or something, and all of it would be for nothing. It makes more sense to know now, Reggie, if Ro-mey told me the truth." She shook her bewildered head. "I'm not sure I follow you." "I'm not sure I follow me, either. But one thing is for certain: I'm not going to New Orleans with the U. S. marshals. I'm not going to face the grand jury on Monday and refuse to answer questions so they can throw my little butt in jail down there." "Good point. So how do we spend our weekend?" "How far is it to New Orleans?" "Five or six hours." "Let's go. We can always chicken out once we get there." "How much trouble will it be to find the body?" "Probably not much." "Can I ask where it is at Clifford's house?" "Well, it's not hanging in a tree or lying in the bushes. It'll take a little work." "This is completely crazy, Mark." "I know. It's been a bad week."
Chapter 34
SO MUCH FOR A QUIET SATURDAY MORNING WITH THE kids. Jason McThune studied his feet on the rug next to his bed, and tried to focus on the clock on the wall by the bathroom door. It was almost six, still dark outside, and the cobwebs from a late night bottle of wine blurred his eyes. His wife rolled over and grunted something he could not understand.
Twenty minutes latec, he found her deep under the covers and kissed her good-bye. He might not be home for a week, he said, but doubted if she heard. Saturdays at work and days out of town were the norm. Nothing unusual.
But today would be unusual. He opened the door and the dog ran into the backyard. How could an eleven-year-old kid simply disappear? The Memphis police had no idea. He just vanished, the lieutenant said.
Not surprisingly, traffic was light in the predawn hours as he headed for the Federal Building downtown. He punched numbers on his car phone. Agents Brenner, Latchee, and Durston were roused from sleep and instructed to meet him immediately. He nipped through his black book and found the Alexandria number for K. O. Lewis.
K. O. was not asleep, but neither was he in the mood to be disturbed. He was eating his oatmeal, enjoying his coffee, chatting with his wife, and just how in the hell could an eleven-year-old kid disappear while in police custody? he demanded. McThune told him what he knew, which was nothing, and asked him to be ready to come to Memphis. It could be a long weekend. K. O. said he would make a couple of calls, find the jet, and call him back at the office.
At the office McThune called Larry Trumann in New Orleans, and was delighted when Trumann answered the phone disoriented and obviously trying to sleep. This was Trumann's case, though McThune had worked on it all week. And just for fun, he called George Ord and asked him to come on down with the rest of the gang. McThune explained he was hungry, and could George please bring some Egg McMuffins.