Trial by Richard North Patterson

Author:Richard North Patterson [Patterson, Richard North]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781637588055
Publisher: Post Hill Press
Published: 2023-03-14T08:57:57+00:00

47

Returning to town, Chase reflected deeply on his conversation with Allie’s mother. But operating in tandem, a new hyperalertness sparked his nerves and sinews. The sheriff’s deputy at the foot of the drive marked what, for him, had become a Twilight Zone from which racists on motorcycles who carried military-grade weapons fired gunshots into the home of the woman he still loved, his son’s mother.

Turning onto Old County Road, he once more reimagined the night Malcolm had killed another deputy—who, Chase felt certain, had followed him until he reached the darkest stretch of asphalt. As on that night, the road was unlit, and lowering clouds had begun blocking the moon. Glancing repeatedly in the rearview mirror, Chase saw nothing.

He had chosen to return here, could not have done otherwise. But Janie Hill was right—he had lost control of his life. Drawn to helping a son who did not know him, he had begun making decisions with unknown consequences, to no certain end—for Malcolm, Allie, and himself. He had never felt less confident in his own judgments, more adrift, and in some ways, more alone.

He could find no ready answer. Certainly not in the fathomless dark of a sultry night hanging over rural Georgia.

He was driving deeper into the countryside, bereft of light, where Malcolm had encountered George Bullock. A pair of headlights coming the other way became, as it passed, a truck, before darkness enveloped him again. Then a sudden spatter of rain struck the windshield. This was followed, abruptly, by swirling sheets of windborne water making an arhythmic drumbeat that, fully reawakening his apprehensions, evoked a ragged fusillade of gunshots. The wipers cleared the moisture with a futile rubbery squeak.

The glass began smearing in front of him. Turning on the defroster, Chase perceived—or imagined—a single headlight in the distance, a shimmering Cyclops that disappeared, then reappeared, brighter, a little closer.

A second light flickered, a solitary speck in his rearview mirror, vanishing in the sweep of the wipers clearing the back windshield. Then it, too, became brighter.

Involuntarily, Chase flinched.

Motorcycles. One coming toward him, the other closing behind him.

Ahead, the single headlight grew larger, and he heard the first low thrum of an engine. Reflexively, he checked the gravel apron on the road. As he turned on the brights, their beams captured what might have been the stubby shadows of new pine trees planted in symmetrical rows.

He had little time to decide. Then a motorcycle and driver shot toward him from the darkness, and he slammed on the brakes.

His car spun sideways on the slick asphalt, tires squealing and spitting gravel. The motorcycle veered, then righted itself. As it passed him, his windshield shattered.

Shards of glass struck his face. In a reflex born of panic, Chase stomped the accelerator, heading for the field. As the second motorcycle passed him, he felt the car shimmy, then heard and felt the pounding thud of a flat tire.

The car lurched forward, suddenly stopping as it struck the first row of trees, jolting Chase backward as its spinning tires dug into the damp earth.

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