A String of Beads (Jane Whitefield, #8)(25)

Jimmy fell asleep, and Jane watched him for a while. It was about two and a half hours from the East Syracuse station to Buffalo—about 150 miles of thruway. The flat, straight highway was monotonous in the dark, and Jane’s exertion in the fight made her welcome the sleep that finally took her.

She woke as the bus slowed a bit to drift through the tollbooth at exit 50. The lights of the little outpost shone through the windshield and the window beside her, and then she sat up. She studied Jimmy’s face as the bus passed through the dim light. He looked calm, relaxed, and untroubled. A terrible thought occurred to her, so she wetted her index finger and held it beneath his nostrils for a second to feel his breath. He was okay, just in a peaceful sleep. She looked at the highway signs. Even at almost midnight, the bus might take a while to get to the station, so she let him sleep. As she surveyed the bus, she and the driver seemed to be the only ones awake.

Riding with the sleeping Jimmy gave Jane a chance to consider what to do. There could be a cop or two in the Buffalo bus station. Sometimes police departments placed cops in airports and stations to watch for people who interested them—organized crime figures, parole violators, or fugitives. They were usually old-timers because experienced cops had long memories. She would have to watch for them. Where should he turn himself in? The trip to Akron or Batavia was too long and complicated to be practical unless they could find a taxi at the station.

There were several police stations in downtown Buffalo, and at least one sheriff’s station. They would probably put Jimmy in the Erie County Holding Center at the foot of Delaware Avenue, or if there was no room, put him in a station holding cell overnight and then take him to the Erie County Correctional Facility in Alden. Any police station would transport him where he needed to go. The one near the lower end of Franklin might be the closest, and that would matter if she and Jimmy were on foot.

One of the things that had been bothering Jane for the past few days was that she always felt a step behind. She had spent years learning to do something risky and difficult, and what she knew should have made this easier than it was. Now she was about to do something she knew was wrong—walk her friend into a bus station, one of the most common places to find people who were running away from something. And instead of doing it during the day, when Jimmy would have been surrounded by hundreds of respectable travelers, she was going to take him in at midnight, when there would be no more than the dozen hollow-eyed, weary people who were on this bus, and maybe a few others waiting for the next one. And she was going in with both of them wearing clothes they’d worn to jump a train and fight off muggers in an alley.

Jane had survived so many trips with runners by keeping the odds in her favor. She’d taught them to look like everybody else, to change anything that was distinctive, to travel without being noticed. She’d told them to avoid confrontations, controversy, and even speech, if possible.

The bus turned onto Ellicott Street. She took a deep breath, let it out, and shook Jimmy gently. “We’re in Buffalo.”

He sat up straight, stretched, and looked around him. There were still some passengers asleep nearby, but others sat in the dark interior of the bus, their eyes now open and unblinking so they looked like wary night creatures.

Through the windshield Jane could see the low, lighted building, the roof beside it to shelter passengers from weather, and the buses in a row. Just beyond the station was an office building like a box with rows of lighted windows. The bus pulled into the entrance to the lot, came around the building, and slid into a space in front.

Jane waited for the first few passengers to file out the door at the front, then stood and picked up her backpack. She glanced out the window from her new, higher angle, and saw a sight that made her freeze where she stood.

Through the bus window she saw an elderly female figure wearing a light raincoat over a flowered dress, and high-heeled shoes. The woman stood, unmoving, with both hands in front of her holding the strap of her purse. She was facing Jane’s window, and her eyes seemed to bore into Jane, to demand her attention. A casual observer who saw the woman would have passed on to more interesting sights, but Jane recognized the woman. She was Alma Rivers, clan mother of the Snipe clan, Jane’s father’s clan. Alma’s expression was solemn and her gaze grew more intense. As Jane stood and looked down at her through the window, her head moved, slightly but perceptibly, from side to side: No.

Jane whispered to Jimmy, “Get down and stay on the bus.” He nodded and slumped down across the seat.

Jane moved to the open door of the bus, went down the steps, and watched Alma’s eyes as she walked toward the station. Alma moved her gaze toward the interior of the station.

As Jane walked to the station entrance, she could see through the glass what Alma had been trying to warn her about. Sitting in a row in the blue plastic molded seats were three men in their thirties, watching the line of people waiting beside the bus to retrieve their luggage from the compartment in the bus’s side.

Jane veered and moved along behind their row to avoid giving them an easy look at her, while giving herself a chance to study them. One was light blond with a fleshy face, and the other two were darker and leaner. None of them had baggage of any kind, none of them had the edges of tickets visible in any pockets, and none had anything in either hand. All of them were wearing thin, loose jackets that might have been chosen to hide weapons.

Jane reached the ticket window. “When does the bus out there leave for Erie?”