Page 73 of Holmes Is Missing
Poe blasted through two intersections, then made a hard left, speeding through a quiet suburban neighborhood with police cars single file behind him.
“There!”shouted Holmes.
The truck was already about fifty yards ahead, turning onto the expressway. Poe closed the distance, ignoring stop signs and red lights. He turned left and accelerated onto the ramp.
The truck was now a rectangle in the distance, speeding in the direction of the Goethals Bridge. “He’s headed for Jersey!”shouted Holmes. The emergency lights from the pack of police cars reflected off the Pontiac’s interior. Sirens split the air from behind, along with a squawk from a PA speaker.“Charger driver! Pull over!”
“I think they’re calling your name,” said Holmes, turning his head for a quick glance at the posse.
“Who, me?” Poe replied, cupping a hand around his ear. “You know I can’t hear anything over this engine.”
With that, he floored the pedal, expanding his lead over the cops and gaining on the truck. They were now rocketing down Route 278 at nearly 90 miles an hour, shooting past other civilians in a blur. Poe’s tires whined against the pavement.
“Blockade!” shouted Holmes, pointing through the windshield.
“I see it!” Poe shouted back.
Two police SUVs were angled at the entry ramp to the metal-framed bridge.
But the truck wasn’t stopping. It blew through the barricade, spinning the police vehicles like toys, fenders smashed, windshields shattered. Poe downshifted and blasted through the gap a few seconds behind. The bridge ahead was clear, except for the truck.
“Don’t crowd him!” shouted Holmes. The truck picked up speed again, widening its lead. Suddenly, it began to wobble to the right.
“Tire!” shouted Poe, swinging hard into the other lane.
Shreds of a blown retread spun out from the right rear of the truck and hit the side of the bridge. One rubber scrap bounced cleanly over Poe’s hood. The truck tipped hard to the left, and then physics took over. In the next instant, the whole vehicle crabbed sideways and crashed onto its side, sliding along the bridge roadway, shedding sparks and shards of metal.
Holmes braced himself as Poe downshifted and hit the brakes.The Dodge went into a controlled skid. The next second felt like a slow-motion eternity. The car stopped broadside about three inches from the truck’s still-spinning tires.
Police cars pulled up behind the Dodge as Poe jumped out. He could hear the blare of radios and strident shouts from the cops, but he ignored them all. He saw Holmes running toward the rear door of the cargo box. One side was open, lying flat on the pavement, hinges torn off.
Poe headed for the cab, using a now-horizontal front wheel as a step. He pulled himself up until his head was almost level with the shattered window on the driver side. Chest heaving, he looked inside.
The driver was hanging toward the opposite door, his large body still tethered by the seat belt and peppered with pellets of glass. His forehead was bloodied by a large, oozing gash and his right shoulder was jerked out of its socket. His mouth hung open and his chest was still. The odor of scorched oil from the engine mixed with the distinct smell of alcohol.
Even with all the blood and the bad light, Poe recognized the dead man as the school bus driver. He jumped down onto the roadway. Cops were barking into their shoulder mics and spraying foam on a spreading stream of diesel fuel.
Holmes crawled out of the cargo box and stood up, pinching a hospital receiving blanket between his thumb and forefinger. “Nothing,” he said. “Except for this.”
“The driver was Bill Barnes,” said Poe.
“Past tense?” asked Holmes.
Poe nodded. “He probably came back to the farm, intending to pick up the equipment, but got spooked,” he said, lightly touching the baby blanket as it waved in the air. “Right after he delivered the goods.”
CHAPTER78
MARPLE WALKED SLOWLYalongside a young officer who held the deceased infant’s body in her arms. As they approached the ambulance, the rookie’s jaw was set and her eyes were glistening. She looked like a teenager. Marple suspected this was one of the first dead bodies the officer had ever encountered. Definitely the tiniest.
The baby was Edwin Cade, son of Sterling and Christine. Marple had ID’d the body herself from her stash of hospital pictures. She knew that within the hour, a pair of NYPD detectives would be standing in the doorway of the Cades’ spectacular Upper West Side apartment, informing them that their only child would not be coming home. Marple resisted the urge to race there first and take the brunt of their pain and outrage herself. In her mind, that’s exactly what she deserved.
“Some investigator I am,” Marple mumbled to herself. She felt more like an undertaker. Behind the trees, the team was completing its sweep of the compound. After the ambulance doors slammed shut, Marple said silent prayers for Edwin and his parents—and that no other bodies would be found.
Her phone vibrated beneath her bulletproof vest. She ripped the Velcro straps apart and let the vest drop to the ground, then pulled the phone from her pocket.
It was Poe. In the background, she heard a rumble of engines and the whine of approaching sirens.
“Bill Barnes was driving the truck!” Poe shouted above the noise. “The school bus driver from upstate! It’s all one operation!”