She looked around. “I don’t get it. This is the main road into town. Why aren’t there any roadblocks?”

“They think we’re going a different way. They’ve set up the roadblocks south and east of here.”

“How do you know that?”

Garrett answered, “They think I’m fucked-up. They think I’m stupid. When you’re different that’s what people think. But I’m not.”

“But we are going to Mary Beth?”

“Sure. Just not the way they think.”

Once again Garrett’s confidence and caginess troubled her but her attention slipped back to the road and they continued on in silence. In twenty minutes they were within a half mile of the intersection where Canal Road ended at Route 112—the place where Billy Stail had been killed.

“Listen!” he whispered, gripping her arm with his cuffed hands.

She cocked her head but heard nothing.

“Into the bushes.” They slipped off the road into a stand of scratchy holly trees.

“What?” she asked.

“Shhhh.”

A moment later a large flatbed truck came into view behind them.

“That’s from the factory,” he whispered. “Up ahead there.”

The sign on the truck was for Davett Industries. She recognized the name of the man who’d helped them with the evidence. When it was past they returned to the road.

“How did you hear that?”

“Oh, you gotta be cautious all the time. Like moths.”

“Moths? What do you mean?”

“Moths’re pretty cool. They, like, sense ultrasound waves. They have these radar detector things. When a bat shoots out a beam of sound to find them, moths fold their wings and drop to the ground and hide. Magnetic and electronic fields too—insects can feel them. Like, things we aren’t even aware of. You know you can lead some insects around with radio waves? Or make ’em go away too, depending on the frequency.” He fell silent, head turned away, frozen in position. Then he looked back at her. He said, “You have to listen all the time. Otherwise they can sneak up on you.”

“Who?” she asked uncertainly.

“You know, everybody.” Then he nodded up the road, toward Blackwater Landing and the Paquenoke. “Ten minutes and we’ll be safe. They’ll never find us.”

She was wondering what, realistically, would happen to Garrett when they found Mary Beth and returned to Tanner’s Corner. There would still be some charges against him. But if Mary Beth corroborated the story of the real murderer—the man in the tan overalls—then the D.A. might accept that Garrett had kidnapped her for her own good. Defense of others was recognized by all criminal courts as a justification. And he’d probably drop the charges.