The Old Man(34)

“I don’t. But once the police have talked to you, they’ll know you didn’t shoot anybody, and you should be safer. The people chasing me can’t very well make you disappear if the police think you’re a witness to a homicide.”

“Oh my God,” she muttered.

She fell silent. She stared out the car window at the flat countryside for twenty minutes before she spoke again. “Were you really expecting me to come with you?”

“I talked myself into believing this wasn’t going to happen. When it did, I was concentrating on making sure you got out alive.”

“Is that all?”

“Of course I hoped you would want to be with me if I had to move on, but this wasn’t the way I thought it would happen. I can’t say coming with me would be a good idea, so I can’t blame you for not doing it.”

“No, you can’t.” She went back to staring out the window. “I hate these tinted windows.”

“Me too. But I figured they’d make it harder to recognize me.” He kept his eyes on the road for a minute or two, and then looked into the rearview mirrors to check for cars that might be following them.

Zoe waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to tell her anything more, she said, “What will you do with the dogs?”

“I have someone who will take them.”

“Where will you go?”

He seemed to come out of a reverie. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you off this morning.”

“I didn’t ask that. I asked where.”

He said, “You should realize that I’m a very big catch for these people, and I’m getting bigger every hour. Knowing things can hurt you a lot.”

“I suppose.”

“If they think you know where I am, they’ll do what they can to get you to tell them.”

“Do you believe they’d torture me or something?”

He glanced at her and turned his eyes back on the road. “I don’t know. I’ve been out of that world for over thirty-five years. But making people like them think you’re an accomplice instead of a victim is a bad idea.”

Zoe stared out the window for the next hour, looking at the increasingly open country while they cleared the circle of dense population around Chicago. The car left the interstate just at dawn. She could see that they were surrounded by farmland, and Caldwell seemed to be on his way deeper into the country. The road he had chosen was deserted. It intersected now and then with unmarked narrow asphalt roads with gravel shoulders, but in the weak gray light she saw no houses.

Then she felt a deceleration as Caldwell took his foot off the gas pedal. She saw they were coasting onto the gravel shoulder. When he stopped, a cloud of dust caught up with them and blew past.

She looked for signs. “Where are we?”

“We’re outside Springfield,” he said.

He turned off the engine. “I’m sorry to stop so far from the city. But I’ve got to give myself a little head start before you talk to the police.” He reached into his coat pocket and took out a thick envelope. He held the envelope open while he pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills.

Her eyes weren’t on the money, but on the envelope. “What’s that?”

He held out the money.

“Not that,” she said. She reached for the envelope. “This.” She held the envelope open and took out a California driver’s license. “That’s my picture. It’s the one you took with your phone in the living room.” She reached in and took out a passport. She opened it, and looked at the front page, where there was another picture of her. “This looks so real.”

“That’s because it is,” he said.

“How did you get this?”

“A long time ago I got my wife to apply for a passport in that name, so this was just a renewal. When you renew they ask for fresh pictures, so I sent yours. You don’t look that much like her, but she had long brown hair and blue eyes like yours. The passport had never been used, and there was no reason for them to think Marcia Dixon was up to something after all these years of good behavior.”

She took out a credit card, then another. “Marcia Dixon. Marcia Dixon. When did you do all this?”

“When I took those pictures. You can keep the passport and license. Maybe they’ll come in handy. Just don’t let anybody catch you with passports in two different names.” He set the stack of money on the console beside her. “And put this money away in your overnight bag. Walk back up the road the way we came, and you’ll get to the interstate. There are gas stations and fast-food places where you can call a cab. What you want is a ride into Springfield. Tell the driver to let you off at the state capitol building. It’s a good place, because there will be hotels and restaurants nearby. If he asks how you got to the interstate, tell him your car broke down and got towed. Your husband is going to wait for the car at the dealer’s and meet you in Springfield when it’s ready. Mentioning a husband means you don’t have to know all the details. Do you understand?”

“You’re good at this stuff.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean you’re a good liar.”

“Yes, I know. You’d better get started now.”