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“No, we’re playing hopscotch, but Hinkelbaan rules.”
It seemed impossible, but North thought he could hear Emery grinding his teeth.
“Oh, we’re working on our gymnastics routine,” Shaw said. “But no peeking because that’s going to be your birthday present.”
“Actually, a mosquito bit my dick,” North said, swatting at the insect as it hummed by his ear again. “We were just performing lifesaving first aid.”
“Because it was engorged,” Shaw said. “Because of all the blood flow.”
On the other end of the call, Emery was saying, “Keep making those calming noises, John, and see how very fucking calm I become.”
John-Henry said, “I’m going to disconnect—” Then he stopped, and a moment later, his voice came back with an edge. “Here we go.”
Ahead of them, the Highway Patrol guys rolled out, then the Auburn PD, then the Mustang with John-Henry and Emery, and then North and Shaw.
Al’s RV Park and Self-Store was located behind a line of old cottonwoods, and the drive was nothing more than washboard gravel. Behind the trees, the drive snaked past an office building and a pavilion toward the RV lots, and farther back was the self-store facility. North had been to trailer parks and mobile home communities once or twice, and it reminded him of a similar layout: pull-throughs and back-ins with concrete slabs and utility hookups, each lot separated from its neighbor by what looked like overgrown strands of honeysuckle. It was, in official police terms, a walking knob-fuck of a tactical setup. The honeysuckle meant lots of places to hide, which was a hell of a lot of fun when you were looking for an escaped convict who’d already killed two men.
North scanned the pads, trying to spot anything that might suggest where Welch was hiding. Some of the RVs, you could tell, weren’t planning on being there long. Those had nothing more than a few camping chairs set up, maybe a sign that said THE JOHNSONS, the kind that you could stake in the ground and pull up the next day. But others were clearly here for the long haul, maybe even permanently. An aluminum Airstream, for example, had chili pepper lights strung across its awning. Window boxes with tiny, frosted spruce trees decorated a Roadtrek. In front of a mammoth Winnebago, an inflatable Rudolph’s red nose was on the fritz, flashing rapidly and then going dark for long stretches. At first North thought they’d been here since December. Then he caught the sign next to the manager’s office announcing JOIN US FOR CHRISTMAS IN JULY.
By the time North parked behind the Mustang, one of the Highway Patrol brass was already directing officers to begin their search. John-Henry moved to join him, while Emery stayed near the car, arms folded and a glower on his face. North started toward the Highway Patrol officer, and Emery said, “You stay here.”
“Nah,” North said, ignoring Shaw’s worried look. “Thanks, though.”
The Highway Patrol guy had to be in his forties, and he had that special asshole look that some cops seemed to think was a badge of honor. As North approached, the officer broke off whatever he’d been saying to John-Henry and said, “Wait by your car, sir.”
“Chief Somerset,” North said, “I think we could help—”
“Go back to your car,” the Highway Patrol guy said. “I’ll let you know if we need you for anything.”
“I’m asking Chief Somerset a question,” North said. “If I want somebody to wipe my ass, I’ll give you a holler.”
“What if we—” Shaw began.
Gravel crunched under the Highway Patrol guy’s feet as he shifted his weight and spoke over Shaw. “I don’t have time for this. Where’s—Eaton!” A chinless redhead in an Auburn PD uniform jerked to attention. “Escort these men back to their car. If they give you any trouble, arrest them.”
“These men are contracted to the Wahredua PD,” John-Henry said, and although his tone was mild, there was iron behind the words. “I’ll handle this.”
“Get them out of here.”
John-Henry waved North and Shaw ahead of him, and they moved back to the cars. Emery was scowling, his gaze fixed on the Highway Patrol officer, who was back to issuing orders.
“I need you to wait with Emery,” John-Henry said.
“As I told you,” Emery said, still glaring past them.
“We broke this open,” North said. “It’s bullshit to stick us in the corner now.”
“North, this is a complicated situation—”
“What’s complicated about it? I can knock on doors. Believe it or not, Shaw can too.”
“I can,” Shaw said. “And you need as many bodies as you can get.”
“I appreciate that,” John-Henry said, “but as you can see, there are a lot of factors in play right now. For now, please wait here.”
“Again,” Emery said sourly, “as I told you.”
North made an understanding sound. “Ok. Gotcha.”
