Where Southern Cross the Dog (34 page)

I heard the Helena whistle blow.

—Charlie Patton

HIGSON PARKED REVEREND COULTER'S CAR IN AN empty lot across the street from where the
River Belle
was docked. He paid the attendant.

“When will you be returning, sir?” the attendant said.

“In about a week.”

“Do you need help with your suitcase, sir?”

“No, I've got it.” The professor crossed the street and entered a small two-story whitewashed building a short walk from the dock. He joined a line of travelers. He kept his eyes on the ground and spoke to no one.

When the man behind the counter asked, “May I help you?” Higson muttered a simple yes, knowing the less he said, the better.
He also knew that no one would forget his accent, so he tried to disguise it. “One to Vicksburg, please.”

“And when will you be returning?”

“I haven't decided.”

The cashier glanced up, but said nothing. He stamped the one-way ticket and took Higson's money. “Will you need someone to carry your bags?”

“No.”

With a languid wave, the cashier directed Higson toward a walkway that led to the ship. Passengers and well-wishers crowded the pier, the walkway, and the deck. This suited him just fine. It would be easy to go unnoticed in a large crowd.

The professor boarded, weaving through the mass of people, jostling and bumping his way through the narrow aisles. When he found his room, he shoved his suitcase under the foot of his bed.

The ship's whistle sounded, and Higson looked at his watch. It was 4:25 p.m. He was relieved that the departure would be prompt. What was left of his house would be swarming by now with law enforcement officials from the FBI. He wondered what was happening with Thums and his other associates in Washington. He had a long way to go before he could relax and look forward to his return to Germany.

Higson strolled out on deck and leaned on the railing with the other passengers awaiting their leisurely voyage down the Mississippi. For almost everyone but him, New Orleans was the final destination. He gazed idly to shore. He saw two men emerge from a police car in front of the office where he had just bought his ticket. One was dressed in a dark-blue uniform, the other in a suit. They stared at the ship for a moment, took a couple of steps toward her, and surveyed the passengers from afar. Then they disappeared into the building.

He looked down from the upper deck and watched as several men loosened the massive ropes that secured the boat to the dock.
They manhandled the ropes on board, secured them, and quickly vanished below deck.

A cheer went up when the engine roared and the horn blasted, once, twice, three times. The
River Belle
began to move and passengers lurched backward, grabbing a handrail or a fellow passenger for stability.

Higson kept his eye on the building's door until, a moment later, the two men he had spied walked out and got back into their car. He watched the dock recede, holding his breath while he waited for the current to take hold and push the boat into deeper water. There was no turning back.

The professor relaxed and ordered a drink.
Prost
! he said to himself, draining his glass immediately after the waiter had departed.

Down Highway Sixty-One.

—Charlie Pickett

HANNAH HELD ON TIGHTLY AS TRAVIS STREAKED north on Highway 61. He hit the cutoff about twelve minutes after they'd left the diner and squealed around the corner, heading for the bridge that spanned the Mississippi River between its east bank and Helena's downtown. The bridge came up fast, and the impact of a small elevation in the road was magnified by Travis's speed. Hannah shrieked when the car's tires momentarily left the ground.

“Are you all right?” Travis asked. His knuckles ached from gripping the wheel.

Hannah nodded. Her eyes were wide.

“Which way?” Travis called out.

“Turn right. I think that's the way to the boat dock.”

Travis finally slowed when they neared the city limits.

“Thank goodness,” Hannah said, relaxing her grip on the dashboard.

Once they entered the city, it wasn't long before the dock came into view. Travis skidded on the gravel as he came to a stop in front of the office, the dock just up ahead. A Helena police car pulled out of the far end of the parking lot and onto the main road.

Travis shut off the engine and slumped back in the seat. His eyes scanned the dock. He didn't want to believe they were too late.

“Looks like we just missed the
River Belle
,” Hannah said.

“Yeah,” said Travis, looking at his watch. “They left on time after all.”

They stared while the boat slowly entered the rapid waters of the river's main channel. As the
River Belle
pulled away from them, she hardly seemed to move at all, but within ten minutes she turned a corner and was out of sight.

“What now?” Hannah said, breaking the silence.

“Let me check the travel log.” Travis stepped out of the car. “I'll be back in a minute.”

Travis walked to the building's door and disappeared inside.

“May I help you?” a man said.

“Yes, sir. I'm looking for someone. I was hoping to say good-bye before the boat left, but it looks like I'm a little late. Is there any way to make sure my friend is on board? I need to give him something from his mother. It's important.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Yes, sir, of course. His name is Conrad Higson.”

The clerk shuffled the papers before him, then opened a drawer and removed a ledger. He scanned down several columns on different pages. “Good news, I don't think he made it. You can certainly catch him before the next departure.”

“When is that?”

“Next week.”

“Do you mind if I take a look?” Travis pointed at the book.

“Those are private. We're not supposed to let anyone look at the ledger.”

Travis stared at him and waited a few awkward seconds. The man sighed. “Be quick.” He flipped the book around for Travis to read. Travis scanned the sheets but Higson's name was not on them. He looked up at the man.

“What's this mean?” Travis pointed to one of the columns on the sheets.

“That indicates whether someone bought a one-way ticket or a round-trip.”

Travis counted ten one-way tickets, including one purchased immediately before the boat departed. “Do you remember this gentleman, sir?”

“Oh yes, Mr. R. Coulter. He was quiet. Didn't want any help with his suitcase. Most folks like the assistance.”

“Hmm, I've heard of a
Reverend
Coulter. Did he have an accent?”

“No, I don't think so. But I couldn't tell you. Like I said, he was quiet.”

Travis pushed the ledger back toward the clerk and thanked him. He opened the door to leave, then turned back. “Where does the boat stop next?”

“Greenville.”

“And what's her name again?”

“
River Belle
. B-e-l-l-e.”

“Thank you, sir, much obliged.” Travis walked out the door.

The squeak of the car door opening roused Hannah. She had dozed off. “Find anything out?”

“No. There's no record of a Conrad Higson buying a ticket.”

“What do you want to do, now? Maybe it's a good time to contact the police?”

“I think he's on that boat. But we've got to make sure before we go to the sheriff.”

“Why don't you let them find out for themselves? We'll tell them what we know, about finding the newspaper. Then they can board wherever the boat stops next and arrest him.”

“But Higson could get off anywhere between here and Greenville. That's just where she stops next.”

“Really, Travis. How would he get off in the middle of the Mississippi River?”

“He could jump. Or someone could pick him up before the boat docked. Maybe he's already planned that.”

“Do you really think so? Listen, Travis, the police will send someone out to the
River
Belle
and search from stem to stern if we notify them. But we have to tell them first. ”

“No, I don't want to risk it. He's on that boat, and he's not very far away right now. We can't let him get away this time. Should we just drive to Greenville?”

“There must be something not right in my head, because I can't believe that I'm even going to utter these words. Higson's a fugitive, running from the law, and I should know better even if you don't.” She took a breath. “My uncle has a small fishing boat.”

“Where?”

“At his cabin south of Moon Lake. Not much there: just a few supplies, a bed, a stove. But couldn't you just board in Greenville?”

“I don't want to wait that long. Besides, it's too obvious. He'll be watching for police and anything else that seems suspicious. And he knows what I look like, remember? He sees me, and he'll know something's wrong.” He shifted into gear and stepped on the gas.

Travis tried to stay parallel to the river, along back roads, shortcuts, and makeshift bridges. The river's meandering path wandered two or three miles for every one they drove. Soon they reached a rutted road—more a path than a road—that was wide at its entrance but tapered gradually to the car's width farther ahead. Tree branches and undergrowth reached inside the windows at the narrowest part when Travis finally stopped the car.

“It's up the trail another quarter mile,” Hannah said, setting out confidently. Travis followed. “My uncle used to come here quite a bit, but not so much anymore.”

“Who owns the land?”

“I don't know. My uncle kind of found it one day and built the cabin. He said he never saw anyone come out this way, so he figured nobody would care if he did.”

“What about the road?”

“He cleared the way originally, and then all his trips to the cabin kept it that way.” She stepped gingerly over fallen trees and carefully bent branches back as she made her way forward. “There it is.” Hannah pointed along the path toward a barely visible structure in the distance.

Travis strained to see the cabin through the underbrush, but only when they came within fifteen yards of it did the cabin come into full view.

Travis stood behind Hannah while she fiddled with the doorknob and then pushed it open. “Whew, what's that smell?” Travis said, stepping through the doorway.

“Uncle Roger must have left some fish somewhere.”

“Or maybe something crawled in and died. Whatever it is, let's don't stay too long.”

Hannah quickly opened and closed several drawers.

“What are you looking for?” Travis asked.

“A key. The gas for the boat is outside, locked up in a shed. We need a key to get in.”

Travis started doing the same, opening, searching, and closing several drawers. “Are these the right keys?” He held up several that were all tied together on a string.

Hannah squinted across the small, poorly lighted room. “Good, you found them.”

Travis tossed her the keys then they headed outside to the shed behind the cabin.

Inside the shed, Hannah immediately spotted the gas can and a toolbox. “Take this.” She passed the can to Travis. “And this.” She handed him the toolbox. “All right, let's go get the boat.” She closed the shed door but left it unlocked.

Hannah pulled back a tarp that covered the small boat, which was lying twenty feet from the water's edge. “What do you think?”

“It looks a little small for two people. But it'll do.”

“Who's driving?” Hannah asked.

“You drive, and I get on the
River Belle
. Then you come back here, get the car, and contact the police. Tell them where we think Higson is and to pick him up in Greenville.”

“And if you're wrong, and he's not on the boat?”

“We'll add that to the list of things we're in trouble for.”

Hannah and Travis dragged the boat to the water. Hannah inspected the engine, filled the tank with gas, and then pulled a wrench from the toolbox.

“You know what you're doing?”

“My uncle showed me how to get the boat ready a few times.” She tightened several bolts. “He does the same thing every time he puts the boat in.” She closed the toolbox and handed it and the gas can back to Travis. “Could you put these back in the shed, please, and then lock up and put the keys back in the drawer?”

“Sure.”

After locking up the shed, Travis went back inside the cabin and started opening drawers, trying to remember where the keys had been. At a small makeshift desk, he pulled so hard on the top drawer it flew out and landed on the floor with a thud. He stared down, startled by its contents. Travis picked up the revolver and peeled back the oily handkerchief it was wrapped in. He cracked the cylinder; it was fully loaded. He tucked it in his belt, making sure to cover it with this shirt. He replaced the drawer, threw the keys in another, and left the cabin.

Hannah was waiting in the boat. “Push us off.”

Travis pushed the boat away from the bank and quickly jumped in.

“Get your foot wet?” Hannah asked.

“Just a little.” Travis picked up the oar that lay in the boat and dug it into the river bottom to propel the tiny boat into deeper water.

“Once we get out a little farther, I'll drop the motor in. It's still too shallow.”

Travis rowed hard until Hannah finally eased the propeller into the water. The small motor sputtered and coughed, but when it finally started, it ran effortlessly.

“We probably should have started it closer to shore,” Travis said. “I would have hated to row all the way back.”

“I wasn't worried. Not about the motor, anyway. Where are we heading?”

“We've got to figure out some place where we can wait for the
River Belle
.”