HE HADN’T COMMITTEDto calling the Tifton police to alert them of his presence, as Weather had demanded, because he didn’t want to lie directly to her. He would eventually call the police, he believed, but not until after he’d dealt with Dunn.
If he talked to the police, and told them what he believed about Dunn’s movements, they’d probably throw a cordon around the house, which Dunn would see. And the cops would probably call the feds, who’d send in even more troops. The same thing would be true if he talked to the Coils ahead of time. If all those officers and agents did everything right, and Lucas had guessed right about Dunn, they’d wind up surrounding him and maybe arresting him.
They’d make him a hero to a segment of the population.
Rae had guessed right about why Lucas had sent her, and Bob, back to Louisiana. He didn’t want witnesses.
Lucas hadn’t come to Tifton to arrest Dunn.
He’d come to kill him.
—
HE WENT TO BED EARLY, after spending more time with the Google Earth satellite views of the Coil house; by the time he was finished with them, he felt he could find his way around the timberland across from the house. He also found a place where he could leave the car, before walking into that timber. The walk would cover the best part of a mile, on the margin between a long strip of timber and an agricultural field of some kind, so he’d have to be careful not to be seen with the rifle, which would attract the police.
Dunn had different problems. Unless he was on a straightforward suicide run, which seemed unlikely for a man of his qualities, he’d want his truck nearby. The most likely place for it, Lucas thought, was a farm road that ran parallel to the road where the Coil house was located, but on the other side of the woods and perhaps four hundred yards away from either shooting position.
From the woods, he could shoot Audrey as she came out of the house, then spray the place with the rest of a magazine, then run. A long run, probably a minute and a half, but it was doable.
Of course, Dunn might still be in Virginia, or at that property in West Virginia...
—
EVEN WITH ALL THAT TO THINK ABOUT, Lucas got some sleep that night. His cell phone alarm kicked him out of bed at 4:30,and he showered, shaved, carried the rifle, his vest, and the camo down to the car at five o’clock, on a cool damp morning. He’d found a Walmart Supercenter in Tifton, checked the parking lot for Dunn’s truck—didn’t find it—went inside and bought some bakery and two Diet Cokes.
He was back on the road at 5:15, with more than an hour before first light, and two hours before sunrise. He found the turnoff to the place he’d leave the car, parked, got out into a heavy dew. Thought about snakes: he always thought about snakes when he was in unfamiliar territory. He’d planned to change his jeans for the camo pants, but the camo pants were commodious, so he pulled them on over his jeans. If a snake could bite through two layers, well... okay, he’d die. Probably of a heart attack.
When he was dressed, he took the rifle out of the case, slapped in a full mag, jacked a shell into the chamber, checked the safety, touched the butt of the Walther on his belt, and started off in the dark. There were clouds, and only occasionally a strip of moonlight, but the woods loomed to his left, dark, an impenetrable mass. To his right, he could see across an open field, with farmhouse lights a few hundred yards away. The difference in feel allowed him to keep moving, though he stumbled from time to time, catching himself, cursing under his breath. His shoes were soaked within a hundred yards.
His iPhone was tracking him, through the GPS app, and thirty-five minutes after he started away from the car, he thought he was about opposite the Coil house and turned into the woods to his left, walking into a nightmare.
He began by tangling with a barbed-wire fence at the edge ofthe field. He managed to clamber over it, though he ripped the shirt and probably the pants; he thought he was clear, but the binocular strap caught on the fence, twisted and yanked at his Adam’s apple.
More cursing, ineffectual because it had to be so quiet. Once in the woods, the tree branches slapped him in the face, until he was forced to walk with his arms up in front of him, fending off the low-hanging branches. Inching forward, he took another half hour to travel what he thought was perhaps two hundred yards, falling twice, stumbling all the time, like an over-the-edge drunk, barely managing to keep the rifle’s muzzle out of the dirt.
The GPS hadn’t let him down. When he got to the edge of the woods, he found he’d overshot the Coil house, but not by much. Staying back in the trees, but with some light now, from the house, he worked back to the high point where he could see down the driveway to the front door.
Three cars were parked in the driveway—one of the cop cars was gone, as well as a Lexus SUV, probably a friend. A couple of lights still burned in the house, but it felt as though it were asleep.
He backed away, got as deep into the woods as he could, while keeping the front door in sight. He found a tree trunk, down in a swale, and sat down and leaned into it; the tree smelled of sap, of turpentine. As he settled, he could feel the night quiet settling on him, the stillness that comes just before first light.
He put the binoculars in his lap, and waited.
Very slowly, the morning’s light began to seep through the trees.
—
DUNN FOUND HIS WAYthrough Tifton. He got turned around once, but as he was unable to use his cell phone’s navigation apps, he was driving a route he’d sketched on a piece of paper. He was a surveyor, though, so the map was a good one, if the streets turned out to be confusing.
The truck was a rattletrap: he’d need to get another one soon. Half a tank of gas, that’d get him a couple of hundred miles. The thing smelled of ten years of bad food and frequent farting, plus a bit of wet dog. He’d never let a truck go like this one had...
He found the Coil house after that minute’s confusion, cruised it, not slow, but right at the speed limit. He didn’t need to get stopped. There were lights on, three cars in the driveway. He continued on down the road to the intersection, took the left turn, waited a few minutes, then drove back past the house. Maybe slowed a bit, to look. Took the next right.
First light had come and gone, giving way to the dawn. Still an hour or so to sunrise, but landscape and building details were beginning to crystallize across the countryside.
—
LUCAS SPOTTED THE RATTLETRAPpickup rolling down the road past the Coils’ house. There hadn’t been much traffic, and what there was, he’d scanned with the binoculars. Light was bad, and he hadn’t been able to see much, but when the rattletrap went by, with weak yellow headlights that seemed to jiggle in their brackets, he caught a glimpse of an angular white face turned toward the Coils’ place.
