And returning to the same place every night wouldn’t do it. So his decision was the right one. He said the words to himself. Sell the house. The house is on the market. The house is for sale. The house is sold. He said the words and a weight came up off of him. It wasn’t just the practical weight, although that was important. No more fretting about leaks in the pipes and bills in the mail and oil deliveries and insurance coverage. It was the release. Like he was back in the world, unburdened. He was free and ready to go. It was like a door opening and sunlight flooding in. He smiled to himself in the thrumming darkness of the tunnel, Harper at his side.
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“You actually enjoying this?” she said. “Best mile of my life,” he answered.
You wait and you watch, hour after hour. Perfectionism like that, you don’t find everywhere. But you are perfect, and you have to stay perfect. You have to stay sure. And by now you’re sure the cop is a permanent fixture. He eats in his car, he uses her bathroom from time to time, and that’s it. So you think about hijacking the cop, maybe tomorrow morning, just before eight o’clock, and impersonating him. Replacing him on duty. You think about sitting in his car for a spell and then walking up to Scimeca’s door and knocking, like you were ready to relieve yourself. m You think about that for around a second and a half, and then you reject it, of
course. His uniform wouldn’t fit. And you’d be expected to chat with the Bureau guy at the eight o’clock handover. He’d know you were a fake, straight off the bat. It’s not like he’s dealing with a big anonymous police department like he’d get in New York or LA.
So either the cop has to be moved, or you have to go in right past him. At first you toy with the idea of a diversion. What would it take to get him out of there? A major automobile accident at the crossroads, maybe. Afire in the school, perhaps. But as far as you know the village doesn’t have a school. You’ve seen yellow buses on
Ithe road, heading in and out toward Portland. The school is probably in another
jurisdiction. And an automobile accident would be hard to stage. Certainly you’re not about to involve yourself in one. And how do you induce two other drivers to get in a crash?
[• Maybe a. bomb threat. But where? At the station house? That would be no good.
The cop would be told to stay where he was, safely out of the way, until it was checked out. So where else? Some spot where people are gathered, maybe. Somewhere the whole police department would be needed to handle the evacuation. But this is a tiny place. Where do people gather? The church, maybe. You can see a spire, down near the through road. But you can’t wait until next Sunday. The library? Probably nobody in there. Two old dears at most, sitting there doing their needlepoint, ignoring the books. Evacuation could be handled by the other cop on his own in about three and a half seconds.
And a bomb threat would mean a phone call. You start to think about that. Where from? Calls can be traced. You could head back to the airport in Portland and call from there. Tracing a call to an airport pay phone is the same thing as not tracing it at all. But then you’re miles out of position at the critical time. A safe call,
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but a useless call. Catch-22. And there are no pay phones within a million miles of where you’re crouched, not in the middle of the damn Rocky Mountains or whatever the bell they call them. And you can’t use your mobile, because eventually the call would appear on your bill, which ultimately is the same thing as a confession in open court. And who can you call? You can’t allow anybody to hear your voice. It’s too distinctive. Too dangerous.
But the more you think about it, the more your strategy centers around the phone. There’s one person you can safely let hear your voice. But it’s a geometric problem. Four dimensional. Time and space. You have to call from right here, in the open, within sight of the house, but you can’t use your mobile. Impasse.