The cops didn’t have a case, couldn’t have a case. Had something happened to her? Had Carmel’s name come up through Pamela- had Pamela been caught? Was she in one of those stainless-steel federal pens somewhere, sweating through the sensory-deprivation stage of a multi-level interrogation? Was the phone connection corrupt, or discontinued, or worse, tapped? What was going on? She’d worked through her defense two hundred times, and all two hundred times, she’d walked. Carmel didn’t understand the silence: days had passed since she’d left the message for Pamela-if Pamela was her name, which Carmel doubted. He looked down at the broad multicolored grid of lights that made up the Cities and thought, Somewhere. If she had done that, he thought, she’d be here now.
Were driving to Minneapolis, she’d go through Des Moines.
0 kommentar(er)
