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into gear; then they fell silent, looks of eager astonishment on their faces
when she braked suddenly and rolled down the window. They surged forward, and
she waited until they were beside her before she spoke.
Then clearly, for the benefit of their recording devices, she said, "For the
record, no, I do not know where Jules Cameron is." She hesitated for an
instant before adding, "I wish to God I did."
Rolling up the window, she drove off, reflecting that at least "Inspector
Martinelli said she did not know where the girl is" sounded slightly better
than "Inspector Martinelli refused to comment." Some of them might even relent
and include her final phrase. Beyond that thought, her mind refused to look.
It was difficult driving while wearing slippery oversized boots and bulky ski
mittens, so before she reached the freeway, she pulled over to strip off
various garments and lace on her lighter shoes. Had she not stopped, she would
probably not have noticed the olive green car until it pulled up beside her in
front of her motel, but in the mirror she saw it brake for an instant before
accelerating past her, and when she saw the driver hide his face by lifting an
arm as he went by, she knew that some enterprising reporter had decided to
tail her. Too bad I didn't think of it earlier, she reflected grimly as she
pulled off the gloves and bent down to the soggy laces. I could have led them
off like the Pied Piper and given the other searchers a chance to get away. As
it is, the search teams are in for a round of Kate Martinelli questions.
Casting a mental apology over her shoulder, she struggled out of her boots and
drove off in her stocking feet, too tired to bother with other shoes.
With a depressing sense of inevitability, she saw the green car in her mirror,
pulling out of a dirt road behind her, keeping well back. It took her half an
hour and several illegalities before the reporter's nerve broke and she lost
him, but the effort cost her the last shreds of her energy. When she pulled up
in front of the hotel, she was trembling with fatigue and her head was
throbbing along the line where the pipe had hit her skull. She retrieved her
shoes, abandoning the wet boots and gloves, and dropped the car keys twice -
once when she pulled them from the car-door lock, then again when she was
digging in her jeans pocket for the key to her room - before she made it to
the safety of her room. She let her shoes fall to the floor, fumbled with the
bolt and the chain until they were fastened, and walked blindly across the
sterile room to the bathroom. She went inside, then came back out to look
across the room with dull incredulity at the still figure standing near the
window. "Lee?"
FIFTEEN
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"Hello, Kate," Lee said in a small voice. "You look& Oh God, Kate. You didn't
find her?"
Kate didn't bother to answer, just stood, trying to absorb the sight of the
woman standing beside the chipped veneer table, dressed in a flannel shirt, a
puffy down vest, khaki trousers, and hiking boots. Her hair was down to her
shoulders now, longer than it had been even in university days, and the arm
cuffs of her aluminum arm braces had been covered with a solid band of Indian
beadwork, a bright, complex pattern that drew Kate's eyes; they were easier to
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look at than Lee's face. Lee said something. Kate blinked, shrugged off her
heavy parka, and tossed it in the direction of the bed, where it fell slowly
to the floor.
"Sorry, I have to& " She knew she sounded idiotic, but she could not help it,
and so she turned and went back into the bathroom. The toilet flushed, and
when she came out again, Lee had not moved.
"I'm sorry," Kate repeated. "I don't seem to be working at top speed. What did
you say?"
"Nothing that can't keep. You should have a hot bath and something to eat."
Kate made an effort to rouse herself.
"Sounds heavenly."
"I'll start the bath running." Lee moved then, using the arm braces to steady
herself rather than throwing her entire weight on them. Lee was walking,
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