“Thanks, Harvey,” I said. “Keep us updated with anything on the plane’s whereabouts, okay?”

“Will do. What’s your plan now? You heading back home?”

“Not yet. I have to see Imogen first.”

“Right,” he said. “Give her my best, huh? I’ll see y’all back in Florida.”

“You’re flying over?”

“I am. I’m more used to you there than I am in Little Rock.”

We said our good-byes while Rink aimed the 4x4 along the last quarter mile of road to Culver. The town was very small, with the number of cops on scene boosting the population tenfold. Really it was just a collection of houses strung out along the road that hugged the coastline. Most of the police cruisers were parked near to a timber-framed house that looked like the one Norman Bates called home. A narrow track was cordoned off with crime-scene tape, leading no doubt to the boathouse where Imogen had made her break for freedom.

“She’ll be gone from here by now,” Rink said.

“Nearest hospital?”

“More likely she’s been taken to a police station,” Bryce said. “They’ll want to interview her as soon as possible.”

The parked police cars bore the livery of the Hancock County Sheriff’s Department and also some from the local police. Often the sheriff and police departments shared offices to keep down running costs, so it was no stretch of the imagination to think Imogen had been taken to Ellsworth, the nearest large town.

Rink was cautious passing the throng of police and we barely registered with them as we went past. Then he stomped the throttle and we headed for Ellsworth. On the way I came to a decision.

“No way can I con my way into a police station. Neither could you, Rink. By now our faces will be on every bulletin board in the USA.”

Bryce peered across at me. “You want me to do it?”

He didn’t appear too happy at the idea.

“No, Bryce. I have to do this myself. I have to see Imogen face-to-face.”

“They’ll arrest you.”

“Probably,” I said. But I’d been taken prisoner by worse jailers than the HCSD before now, and no one had managed to hold me long. The only difference here was that on those other occasions I’d hurt people—killed others—and that was unthinkable this time. “I’m not worried. I can prove I had nothing to do with the shooting of the cops.”

“There’s always Jessica and her father. They still think you were responsible for that,” Bryce said.

“That was before the real killer targeted Imogen. Her testimony can clear things up.”