Diamond Solitaire by Peter Lovesey

Author:Peter Lovesey [Lovesey, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781405519908
Google: vFOk9uNL_FYC
Amazon: 1569472920
Barnesnoble: 1569472920
Goodreads: 214617
Publisher: Soho Crime
Published: 1991-12-31T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Extensive bruising, definitely. Some torn skin on the shoulder and left arm, which was smarting. A rapidly developing headache. Really, though, there was no serious injury, except to his confidence. He’d blundered. Blown it Gone down the tubes, as they would say in this city of fertile phrases. After flying thousands of bloody miles and actually catching up with Naomi, he’d allowed her to be snatched away again. She was being driven God knew where.

Hopeless

He hauled himself painfully upright, more stricken with self-reproach than pain. Damn it, he’d ignored even the most basic procedures. Hadn’t even got the car’s number.

He could imagine the reception he’d get from the New York cops if he asked mem to trace a white Buick with red trimmings and no number.

What now, then?

Was this really the end of the chase?

He glanced around, at the cart, still lying on its side in the space the car had occupied. He supposed he ought to look over the side of the car lot in the hope of seeing the Buick making its getaway, but he was damned sure his eyesight wasn’t good enough to read a license plate from up here-even if he had the good fortune to spot the car.

And then it occurred to him that a vehicle making a getaway from here still had to conform to the procedures. The designers of car lots made sure everyone was obliged to check out in an orderly way. There would be a barrier downstairs and a place where you paid. Maybe, in a busy car lot like this, where you lined up to pay. Even if this place had automatic gates, you could only get out as fast as the machinery and die cars in front allowed you. Actually, he was quite sure Leather-jacket hadn’t stopped at a prepayment facility. So they couldn’t race out without paying. A car, however fast, took a little time to get out to the street He hobbled across to the lift at the best pace he could manage. The only point of exit from the car lot was on the basement level, and this was the quickest way down. By good fortune—and he was overdue for some—the lift door had remained open, so he stepped in and pressed the control. Each delay was mental agony—the pause before the door operated, the slow progress down—saying a silent prayer that the cage wouldn’t stop at the floors between—and the hesitation before it opened. Then he was out and looking for the exit signs, trying to see the shortest way across the floor, because he didn’t need to go by the same roundabout route as the cars.

He decided on a line to his left, through the ranks of cars, which meant some tight squeezes and several wing mirrors being knocked out of alignment, but it proved the quickest route.

Ahead five or six cars were curving out of sight up a ramp. He ran past four and was in time to see the barrier descend and the Buick—or at least a red-and-white car—on its way out.

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