Chapter 77

CHAPTER 77

AS POE STOOD over the case, heart thumping, Holmes and Marple crowded in beside him. Marple looked down, then quickly turned to face the opposite wall. Holmes dropped to his knees and started to reach gently into the case. Suddenly, Duff was behind him, roughly yanking him away by the shoulder. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted. “Back the hell off!”

Holmes stood as Duff looked down into the case. “Jesus Christ!” The captain spun on his heels and clenched his fists. He lowered his head for a few seconds, then looked up and locked eyes with the nearest cop. “Call the ME.”

Poe looked up. Suddenly, a row of bricks near the top of the foundation began to shake loose. Dirt spilled from cracks in the mortar. There was a loud roar and vibration from outside, behind the wall.

Poe and Holmes raced out of the room and up the stairs, beating the heavily armored cops to an open doorframe at the rear of the structure. A large box truck roared past, banging into low-hanging limbs as it barreled toward the near end of the police perimeter. Two SWAT officers burst through the doorway right behind Poe, rifles aimed toward the fleeing truck.

“No!” shouted Holmes, knocking one of the gun barrels aside. “There might be kids in there!”

Poe watched, eyes wide. The truck swerved through a gap between two NYPD vehicles, scraping a deep furrow in the side of an SUV. Poe grabbed Holmes by the sleeve and yanked him forward. “Let’s go!”

As police radios crackled, Poe and Holmes broke into a dead run, shrugging off their heavy vests. They split up to pass on either side of the creased police vehicle and ended up together behind a SWAT transport. The front end of the Charger was already pointed toward the street.

Poe slid into the driver’s seat. Holmes jumped in from the other side.

“What about Margaret?” asked Holmes.

“No time! We’ll catch up later!”

A half dozen police vehicles were already revving up and pulling out in pursuit. But Poe put the Dodge in low gear and muscled his way toward the front of the pack along the dirt path leading out of the compound. Once his tires gripped hard pavement, he shot out ahead. The truck was already out of sight around a turn.

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.”