“Yeah. He made a call. He was at her house. He called this St. Thomas guy, told him to get his ass over there, they had an emergency and he had to drive a car. That sounds like trouble to me. Hill wasn’t even supposed to be there, was he?”

“No

“

“Anyway, St. Thomas said he’d be right there.”

“All right, we’re on the way. Call John, try his motel and Marvel’s place

tell him

“

“OK.”

Even when you’re in a hurry, it takes a long time to get going. We dressed, rushing, but it still took six or seven minutes to get to the car. Add that to the two or three between the time Hill hung up and Bobby got to us

And I got us lost, trying to improvise a shortcut. We got tangled in a series of cul-de-sacs on the wrong side of the municipal golf course, and we had to go back out to my first wrong turn.

“What’re we going to do when we get there?”

LuEllen said. “We just can’t come busting up to the door.”

“We could do that,” I said. “Tell her we were in the neighborhood and just thought we’d stop by

“

“She’s too smart,” LuEllen argued. “She’d make a connection. We’re still strangers, too friendly too fast. Then Harold comes out of the blue

“

“Maybe Marvel will think of something. When Bobby explains, all she’ll have to do is call Dessusdelit, and say, ‘Listen, we know you got him.’ “

“Hope she does,” LuEllen said. “Hope she does

“

She didn’t. And we were late. A white Ford turned out of the lane from the country club as we were approaching.

“That’s the car Harold drove to Greenville,” I said. We’d stood next to it for a few minutes, talking, before I left.

“Well, shit, maybe he’s out,” she said.

I accelerated, went on past the country club road, and closed on the Ford. There was a man inside, in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t see him that clearly, and closed further.

“No, no,” LuEllen said. “Back off, back off. Take that turn.”

“What, what?” I braked and swerved down a turnoff.

“That was St. Thomas, the guy who was killing the cats.”

“Sure?” But I had no real doubt.

“Yeah, didn’t you see the red hair?”

I hadn’t, but I believed her and turned the car around, stopping at the highway, uncertain which way to go. “So where’s Harold? In the trunk?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “What?”