Exit Strategy Read Free Page A

looked at it, looked at me, looked back at it. It was my photo. A few years old but, hell, the last time I’d changed my hairstyle was in high school. I didn’t exactly ride the cutting edge of fashion.
    “Passport?” he asked.
    “Never had any use for one, I’m afraid. This is about as far from home as I get.” I dug into my purse and pulled out three other pieces of fake ID. “I have a library card, my health card, Social Insurance number…”
    I held them up. The agent lifted his hand to wave the cards away, then stopped. The wordless mumbling of a distant radio announcer turned into clear English.
    “—fifth victim of the Helter Skelter killer,” the DJ said.
    “Sorry,” I murmured, and reached for my radio volume, only to find it already off.
    The agent didn’t hear me. He’d turned his full attention to the radio, which seemed to be coming from the truck on the other side of the booth. As the announcer continued, in every booth, every car, the occupants seemed locked in a collective pause, listening.
    “Police are searching for a suspect seen in the vicinity. The suspect is believed to be a white male…”
    I exhaled so hard I missed the rest of the description.
    “Although police are treating Dean Moretti’s death as a homicide, they are dismissing rumors that he was the Helter Skelter killer’s fifth victim. Yet speculation continues to mount after a witness at the scene claimed to have seen the killer’s signature…”
    The announcer’s voice faded as the truck pulled away. I strained to hear the rest, but my agent had already turned back to me again.
    I held up my fake IDs, gripping them tightly to keep my hand steady. “Did you want to see…?”
    The agent shook his head. “That’s fine. You should think about getting a passport, though. One of these days we’re going to need to ask for it.”
    “Okay. Thanks.”
    The agent leaned out from his booth to check the backseat, his gaze traveling over the crunched-up drive-through bag. Necessary cover. A spotless car can seem as suspicious as one piled hip high in trash.
    I held my breath and waited for him to tell me to pull over.
    “Have a nice day,” he said, and handed me my fake license.
     
    In Fort Erie, I swapped the rental car for my own. Then I headed to the QEW, drove through Hamilton and kept going. My real destination was four hours away—past Toronto, past the suburbs, past the outlying cities.
    I found CBC on my radio dial and kept it there, waiting for news of the Moretti case or the Helter Skelter killer in general. As I listened, my heartbeat revved as every news item concluded, certain the next one would be what I wanted.
    For almost two weeks, this killer had been splashed across the news, even in Canada, and I’d been so damned good. I’d slammed the door shut, as I did on news of any particularly vicious or noteworthy crime—anything that might set a fresh match to that tamped-down fire in my gut.
    But now I had an excuse to delve into the details of these crimes—and it was like a recovering alcoholic handed a champagne flute at a wedding and expected to offer a toast.
    So I listened. And heard bitching about the softwood lumber dispute, bitching about the Kyoto Accord, bitching about the education funding formula, bitching about the provincial government, bitching about the federal government…No wonder immigrants landed here and hightailed it to the U.S. Our national broadcasts scared them away.
    I stopped in Oshawa and grabbed a jumbo bag of Skittles, something sweet to keep my hands and mouth busy. Finally, as I got back into the car, the ten o’clock morning news brought word of the Moretti case.
    “It is expected that police will provide a description of the man wanted in connection with yesterday’s subway killing. Authorities stress that the man is wanted only for questioning. He is not considered a suspect, but police believe he may have witnessed…”
    Amazing how that “wanted for questioning”