for him. ‘Whichever way the CIA looks at it. And I’m not prepared to let that happen to Imogen.’
‘It hasn’t happened to Imogen,’ Bryce argued. ‘She’s safe now. We should go after the killer instead of wasting any more time.’
I stared at him until he closed his eyes in defeat. The silence was rather strained. Harvey coughed, maybe to remind us he was still at the other end of the phone. ‘What’s the latest from Tampa, Harve?’ I asked.
‘Mixed messages at best. Ballistics have shown that the weapon used to kill the two cops was an M40 sniper rifle. They know now that you couldn’t’ve been the shooter, but your guess that they’d assume you had an accomplice is still the main theory.’
‘So they’re still looking for me?’
‘Big style,’ Harvey said. ‘Rink, too, seeing as he’s harbouring a felon. And because he has marksman training.’
Rink grunted, sounding amused.
It stood to reason that we’d be on the Most Wanted list, but right then I didn’t care. If we stopped the real killer everything would be put right. I was thinking about the rifle that the shooter had used to kill Castle and Soames. The M40A1 is a specialist rifle developed for and handmade for Marine Corps snipers by craftsmen at Quantico, Virginia. Based on the Remington 700, it was a heavy barrelled rifle, bolt action and fed by an internal magazine of five 7.62 mm rounds. Not the kind of gun that was readily available on the open market. It made me think again that the shooter came from a military background. Maybe he’d even trained at the Marine Corps Training Unit in Quantico.
I told Harvey my theory.
‘I’ll look into it and cross-reference names against anyone who has served in Colombia.’
‘Thanks, Harvey,’ I said. ‘Keep us updated with anything on the plane’s whereabouts, OK?’
‘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 use to you there than I am in Little Rock.’
We said our goodbyes 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 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.
‘It hasn’t happened to Imogen,’ Bryce argued. ‘She’s safe now. We should go after the killer instead of wasting any more time.’
I stared at him until he closed his eyes in defeat. The silence was rather strained. Harvey coughed, maybe to remind us he was still at the other end of the phone. ‘What’s the latest from Tampa, Harve?’ I asked.
‘Mixed messages at best. Ballistics have shown that the weapon used to kill the two cops was an M40 sniper rifle. They know now that you couldn’t’ve been the shooter, but your guess that they’d assume you had an accomplice is still the main theory.’
‘So they’re still looking for me?’
‘Big style,’ Harvey said. ‘Rink, too, seeing as he’s harbouring a felon. And because he has marksman training.’
Rink grunted, sounding amused.
It stood to reason that we’d be on the Most Wanted list, but right then I didn’t care. If we stopped the real killer everything would be put right. I was thinking about the rifle that the shooter had used to kill Castle and Soames. The M40A1 is a specialist rifle developed for and handmade for Marine Corps snipers by craftsmen at Quantico, Virginia. Based on the Remington 700, it was a heavy barrelled rifle, bolt action and fed by an internal magazine of five 7.62 mm rounds. Not the kind of gun that was readily available on the open market. It made me think again that the shooter came from a military background. Maybe he’d even trained at the Marine Corps Training Unit in Quantico.
I told Harvey my theory.
‘I’ll look into it and cross-reference names against anyone who has served in Colombia.’
‘Thanks, Harvey,’ I said. ‘Keep us updated with anything on the plane’s whereabouts, OK?’
‘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 use to you there than I am in Little Rock.’
We said our goodbyes 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 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.
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