The condominium complex was peaceful as night fell. It was not as ritzy an address as the townhouse that Susana Alvarez had called home, but it was clean and quiet and pleasant. It was also affordable on an FBI agent's salary. Unit 252 was like most other units in the complex. On the first floor, a reasonably sized kitchen and living room. A stairway led down to a finished basement area for entertaining. Another stairway leading up led to a bathroom and two bedrooms. The larger bedroom was Lisa Starling's. The second she used as an office.
And that was where she was now, seated in front of her computer. In the flickering light of the monitor, she was checking her personal mail and chatting with friends. It was getting late, and she had work in the morning, but it was pleasant enough to chat. Her eyes flitted about the room. Next to a picture of her family on the wall hung a set of handcuffs on a wooden plaque. Those handcuffs were the ones she had locked two months before on the wrists of Susana Alvarez Lecter.
She heard the roar of an engine outside and automatically recognized it. A cop car: big-block Police Interceptor. That surprised her: it was a quiet neighborhood, and the police weren't out here much. Maybe it was some domestic call. As the sound grew louder, she padded over to the curtain and pulled open the curtain. What she saw made her start in surprise.
Two Alexandria cruisers and an unmarked car had pulled up in front of her condo. She saw a uniformed officer hop out and run up to her door. He began banging on it lustily with his flashlight. Quickly, she ran downstairs and opened the door for him.
"Agent Starling?" he said hurriedly. He gave her a slightly odd look. She knew why: the flannel pajama pants and T-shirt weren't exactly glamorous.
"Yes, that's me," she said. "Is something wrong?"
From the unmarked car padded the large, bulky form of Don Quincy. Lisa blinked at him in surprise. He seemed strained and nervous. He glanced around the kitchen and then gestured for Lisa to follow him into the living room.
"What's all this about?" Lisa asked. The uniforms were looking at her emotionlessly. Chief Quincy cleared his throat and sat down on the sofa. Part of Lisa wondered if she should be offended, but he looked like something horrible had happened to him.
"Lisa," Chief Quincy said, "do you know why I'm here?"
Lisa looked from the uniforms to him and back. They were looking at her neutrally, not the way most cops look at each other. It made her nervous.
"No!" she said. "Should I?"
"What do you know about Susana Alvarez?"
"That she's a killer, she's my cousin, and she's in jail," Lisa snapped. Then she remembered she was talking to her boss and took a deep breath to calm down. "I mean…we got her. She's in jail."
Slowly, Quincy shook his bald head. "Not anymore."
The bottom dropped out of Lisa Starling's stomach. "She…she escaped?"
Quincy nodded. "She was taken to the hospital around seven or so tonight. Emergency appendectomy. When she woke up, she overpowered her guard somehow, got her uniform, and waltzed out of the jail ward."
Lisa started. She's out. She's out. Oh God, she's out.
Quincy continued. "And…we were wondering what you might know about it."
She blinked, not understanding the question. Hadn't they come and told her? "Uh…wait a minute," Lisa said. She observed how their carefully neutral stares hid their suspicion. Hid it well, but not entirely. "Are you accusing me of helping her escape?"
Chief Quincy sighed calmly and spoke very carefully. "Your name was on the visitor's log at the jail today," he said delicately. "According to the lieutenant in charge of her block, you asked to visit her and gave her something."
Lisa's jaw dropped. She could feel the pouches of a kangaroo court pressing in on her. She opened her mouth and then closed it. She could feel the automatic suspicions of the suspect rising up in her and fought it off. She hadn't done anything wrong. She couldn't make them think she had.
"Her mother had just died," she said. "I felt like I had to tell her. And I gave her a radio. That's it, just a little radio she could listen to."
The look of carefully maintained neutrality on Chief Quincy's expression did not change. A flash of anger coursed through her.
"It was just a cheap little radio," she snapped. "It was on the list of things they were allowed to have. I didn't give her anything else, just that." She felt herself beginning to pant.
"We have to ask," Chief Quincy said calmly.
Lisa closed her eyes and tried to calm down. She wondered if this was how Clarice had felt all those years ago, when she, too, had been wrongfully accused. She had to make them believe her.
"No. I visited Susana to tell her that her mother had died. And I gave her a radio. Nothing else. I didn't give her appendicitis. If you'd like, you can search the house and check my phone records, whatever you like." She rose. "I'll get changed and head over to the hospital, see what I can find."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Chief Quincy asked.
"Are you asking me or ordering me?" Lisa parried. "Remember, I was the one who tracked her down in the first place. On Susana Lecter, I'm the best source you've got."
Quincy sighed. "Lisa, you've never given me cause in the past to doubt you. So all right. I'll allow it." He rose then and stared her down solemnly.
"But you'll have to give a statement eventually. And if I ever do have any reason to think you had anything to do with this…if she got to your head, or if you felt sorry for her, or if you helped her out in any way…you know what I'll have to do."
Lisa nodded and tried to avoid storming as she ran upstairs. She hauled out a pair of slacks, a blouse, and a jacket. One of the deputies followed her upstairs. She turned and glared at him as he stood in the doorway of her bedroom.
"I don't think you need to watch me change," she snapped.
The deputy shuffled. "Um…no. I just wanted to make sure you were OK with us searching the house. And…well, if you think she might come after you,…well…we can make a call. Get some people over here to stand watch."
Lisa thought for a moment and realized what he meant. Law enforcement was a brotherhood of sorts, and when one of their own was threatened, police officers stood together to ensure that they were protected. Her anger began to dissolve. He was only trying to help.
"Thank you," she said calmly. "Now, if you'll excuse me." She closed the door firmly and got dressed. Her Glock and ID were on the nightstand. When she came back downstairs, Quincy was standing and resolute.
"Starling," he began quietly.
"I know," she said. "I'm her cousin, I'm a suspect. But I didn't. Now let's go catch her."
On the ride over to the hospital, Lisa was quiet. Quincy supposed she was still angry about being questioned about the escape. Actually, she wasn't. The deputy's words echoed in her mind.
Would Susana come after her? She wasn't sure. They had tangled in the past, but this was the first time Lisa had ever managed to track her cousin down and arrest her. She'd seemed to be getting by in jail. But when Lisa had told her about her mother, she'd seen Susana's self-possession crack. From here on out it was uncharted territory.
Lisa Starling had studied her cousin as closely as she could, and she was pretty sure that Susana would not try to get her. Get her—it was a much more pleasant way to think of it. For one thing, Susana had greater problems than Lisa Starling. If she'd escaped, she would need money, ID, transportation, clothes – the list went on and on. Plus, she'd just had surgery. No, the smart thing for Susana to do would be to get what she needed, lie low, and get back to Argentina. She'd be safe there.
But she couldn't be headed back there now. What Lisa had to figure out was what her cousin was doing now. Every hour that Susana remained free made it less likely that she would be recaptured. How had she done it? Where was she now?
The entrance to the jail ward was a flurry of uniformed police and FBI agents. Lisa slid through the maze of tall men and managed to find Lieutenant Kelly McNeely, dressed in borrowed surgical greens, sitting down in a chair. She held a paper cup of vending-machine coffee in both hands. Lisa could sense her anger and shame almost immediately. It made sense: a dangerous inmate had escaped on her watch. The lieutenant's eyes met Starling's without sympathy.
"Hello, Starling," she said. She sounded tired.
"Hi," Lisa said, and tried to smile conspiratorially. It didn't feel right. "What happened?"
Lt. McNeely sighed. "I've already made a statement," she said briskly. Lisa's expression did not change. The lieutenant sighed.
"Oh, all right," she said. "After dinner, a sick call went out. I went in her cell, she was sick. Brought her down to the infirmary. They said she was sick so I brought her here. Kept an eye on her all the time, right until they brought her in to have her appendix out. After that, I cuffed her to her bed, left her alone for a minute to get some coffee and call for relief. When I came back, she asked me if she could go to the bathroom. Next thing I know, she's out of the cuffs, they're on me…then I woke up. She got my uniform, my gun…everything."
Lisa nodded sympathetically. "What else did she get from you? Weapons-wise, I mean."
Lt. McNeely's face tightened. "My gun. My uniform. Baton and pepper spray." She shook her head. "I should have called for relief before she woke up," she said bitterly.
Lisa shook her head. "Actually, you did right," she said. "She must have liked you."
Lt. McNeely let out a short, bitter chuckle. "Funny way of showing it."
"No," Lisa said. "She'd still have tried and she'd probably have succeeded. If it was someone else she'd have killed them without blinking. She let you live."
A bemused expression came over the lieutenant's face. Lisa glanced around the ward and headed to the room Susana had occupied for all of ten minutes. A forensics team was going over it. One of them had the ink tube from Susana's improvised key in a plastic bag. Lisa asked for it and looked at it critically.
"Where's the rest?" she asked quizzically.
"Probably in the cuffs," the forensics tech answered. He held up another plastic bag containing the handcuffs. When he shook it, there was a very faint, but audible, rattle of plastic against metal. "It's jury-rigged, but it worked."
Lisa nodded. She wandered out into the hallway again, her eyes staring at nothing. She tried to tune out the copnoise around her and began to think. Profiling is half about being able to walk a mile in the shoes of the killer you seek, and Lisa did that now. Pretending to be Susana was more than she could deal with, so she simply spoke to her cousin as if she was right there with her.
OK, Susana, she thought. Here you are. You're free. You're out. She headed down the hall and out of the jail ward. A few officers watched her go curiously. Her face was smooth and slack, all of her attention turned inside.
You're out, but you don't know how much time you have. You've got the walkie-talkie off her belt, but even that will only give you five minutes notice or so. And you're armed. But you're not going to want to fight a last stand, are you? Not if you can avoid it.
Another hallway crossed the one she was in. Lisa noticed that this hall went to elevators up to the surgical floor. Had Susana gone there? Sought out a set of scrubs and a surgeon's mask, perhaps? That made sense – they would be looking for a woman in a police uniform, not a doctor's scrubs. But Lisa had her doubts.
Maybe you did, she thought, but if you did, you just stuffed the scrubs in your shirt or down the back of your pants or something. McNeely wasn't wearing a jacket, so you don't have one. And you wanted to keep the weapons you have, didn't you? You wouldn't be able to tote the gun around with you in scrubs. No, I don't think you went after another set of clothes. You want out of here as soon as you can.
She walked down the hall slowly. A sign directed her to various hospital departments. There was nothing Susana could have wanted in radiology, urology, or pediatrics. The two words below those would have interested her, though. LOBBY and PARKING.
PARKING, Susana. That's where you went, wasn't it? You've got money somewhere, I know you do. More than I make in a year in an easy to tap account, if I know you. But you don't have it now, and you don't have access to it now either. You knew what you needed was a car and some cash, and the easiest way to get it would have been the parking garage. The uniform would've given you cover.
Lisa strolled out to the parking garage. It was lit with an ugly yellowish light from arc-sodium lamps overhead. She could hear them buzz in the late-night stillness. Had you seen her, you might have thought she was either lost or under the influence of drugs: she walked around slowly, with no sense of direction. But the opposite was true. Lisa Starling's eyes crept over the asphalt of the parking garage, moving slowly back and forth.
There. There it was. A splotch of blood right out in the open. If you hadn't been looking for it—and most people would not have – you'd have thought it was just paint or grease. But Lisa knew better. She walked up to it and squatted by it. The faint, coppery aroma told her what it was. And it was still wet. It hadn't been long.
Lisa stood up and cocked her head.
OK, Susana, you coshed somebody and took his car. Obviously you took the body or hid it. Now, the question is, where did you go? You didn't know how much cash your victim would have, although you probably picked a target who would probably have had a lot of cash. You know we're going to investigate any murders or robberies matching you in a two-hundred-mile circumference.
You wouldn't stay here. No way. You got in the car and you drove away. Just like your father…but wait. Wait a minute. You knew that eventually we'd find out whose car you took. Might take us a while, but we can send out cars to the addresses of every ER patient treated in the last couple hours if we have to, and we will because it's you. But if you steal another car, or kill someone for theirs, you'll just be leaving us a track to follow. And you know that.
But this is the area you know best. You've almost always been in the DC area, except for Chicago, and we never could prove it anyway. I bet your accounts are here or somewhere not far from here. Where you could get to them quickly in an emergency. You're hurt and you're weak and you've been in jail for the past two months. I bet you're going to play it conservatively. You'll wait to taunt me until you're in a position to.
First principles, Susana. Just what your father loved saying so much. What do you need? Not money or ID, that's somewhere where you can get it. What do you need right now, Susana? Right this minute?
After a moment, it came to her.
You need a hidey hole. Somewhere where you won't be disturbed and you'll be able to get some sleep. It's been a big night for you, Susana. Somewhere where you can rest. In the morning, you'll go for your ID and money. So where do you go? You've got no money for now. You've got a car, but you know the clock is ticking on that. You're not going to chance it, your freedom is too delicate right now.
A difficult riddle indeed. Perhaps she was giving Susana too much credit. Perhaps pain and desperation would drive her to do something stupid. But it really came down to this: Susana was penniless, weak, and all alone. Where did she go? What did she think of?
An idea slowly trickled into her mind as she stood and pondered in the dank ugliness of the parking garage.
What if she wasn't all alone?
The idea was plausible. Lisa didn't think McNeely had done it – she was currently being heavily grilled by the FBI as Lisa stood out here thinking. But Susana had money, lots of it. The FBI had no real idea how much money she had, but they knew that it had been a few million when Dr. Lecter got his hands on it many years ago. A hundred thousand or two for someone to hide her for a short time would be nothing. Maybe some guard who was having trouble making the mortgage payments, or maybe an inmate who had been released that day and needed a grubstake.
But if that was how it happened, then the deal had to have happened very recently. Appendicitis came on quickly. It would have been today or yesterday, at the earliest. Not even Susana would have known before that.
Lisa walked back into the hospital, towards the jail ward. Her stride was purposeful and quick. As she passed through the lobby, she saw the lieutenant still in her surgical greens, talking with another FBI agent. They were standing by a large black car as they spoke. Lisa buttonhooked towards them. She was fortunate and caught them before they left.
"Lieutenant," she said urgently.
Kelly McNeely sighed. "I'm exhausted, Starling. Can this wait?"
Lisa put up her hands to show no offense. "Just one question, then I'll leave you be. Did Susana have any visitors? Who did she talk to in the past twenty-four hours?"
Kelly sighed. "You."
"Other than me. Any inmates released between then and now that she spoke to?"
Lt. McNeely shook her head. "Not on her block, no."
"Any guards you might suspect she might have offered a bribe to?"
McNeely sighed, exasperated. "No. Susana ignored any of the CO's on the block. Except me. I was the only one worthy of speaking to her, apparently."
"Any other jail personnel who talked to her?"
Kelly McNeely was quite exhausted by then, and all she wanted to do was get home and into her own clothes. She wanted the blonde FBI agent to bug off and leave her alone. Especially since she couldn't shake the idea that none of this would have happened if Lisa had not appeared on the cellblock. It was incorrect and she knew it, but in times of great stress, it is easy to rationalize.
"No," she said. "No other jail personnel."
"After I told her that her mother was dead, no one else spoke to her."
McNeely gritted her teeth. "I sent in some people from the jail ministry," she said. "But she wouldn't talk to them."
The other agent, a man Lisa didn't recognize, held up his hand. "Agent Starling?" he asked. "I've got to take her home now. You can question her later."
Lisa pawed through her pockets and gave the lieutenant a card. "If you think of anything, call me. Anytime. You know how dangerous she is."
Lt. McNeely nodded. "I know," she said softly. Then she was in the car, a great barrier of glass and steel separating her from Lisa, and she was gone. Lisa couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.
…
He awoke early . He always did. Sloth was a sin. Besides, she would need to eat when she woke up. He knew what to feed her when she woke up. She had told him last night. A clear liquid diet: broth, soda pop, juice, gelatin. She was still asleep. He resolved to give her a bit of time more to sleep: it had been a hard day for her.
He set up two places at the table. That seemed strange. It had been many years since two people sat together at this table. The one in the basement, yes, but that hadn't been to eat. He stared at the two plates curiously for several moments.
He was hungry himself. He wanted something hearty. Bacon, sausage, and eggs. But that would be wrong. She'd have to smell it and not be able to eat it. No, no, that was no way for a man to treat his future wife. Even though the Bible stated that the man ruled over the wife, he had to be a good and just ruler. He would be a good husband, he knew. Susana would come to accept his dominion as a good wife should, content in his fairness.
So he made up some chicken broth from a can. He would have made it from scratch if he knew how, but this would have to do. He hummed as he worked, heating the broth in a saucepan and pouring apple juice from a glass bottle into the two tumblers. He had made the Jell-O last night, after she had called but before he met her, and it was ready. He carved it with a knife into wiggly shapes and stacked them neatly as he could on the plates. The knife diving through the red gelatinous mass looked like it was in a pool of blood.
Blood was salty. He wondered if Susana had ever drunk blood. He had. Could she have it now? No, it wasn't clear. And his last victim was a few month ago, the blood could not possibly have kept that long. There would be plenty of time for that.
There was a metallic screech from above, and then a sound he did not place at first. He walked upstairs carefully and quietly. His feet were silent on the risers. He knew this old house well, knew where it squeaked and where it did not. The bathroom door was closed, and he could hear the shower running. That was what the sound had been. He had never heard the shower come on from outside of the bathroom before. No one else had used the shower since he came to live here. She was awake, then. Good.
But she took her time in the bathroom. Awfully long. He thought back to mother, who used to curl up vomiting in the bathroom for hours when the DT's got too bad. He stood silently next to the door, as he had in the past, and listened for the telltale sounds of cursing and vomiting. He heard neither. But there was a smell coming from the bathroom that he did not recognize. He could hear her in there, humming as she did something. Then the snap of rubber. He had used rubber gloves before, down in the basement as he brought someone to Glory, and he knew very well what handling things while wearing rubber gloves sounded like.
He went back downstairs and waited. He could see kids playing outside through his front windows. They happily shrieked and ran, completely unaware that they lived in a world of pain and torment ruled over by a God who loved such things. But by the time they reached the age of majority, they would learn. Everyone would.
He heard her coming down the stairs and glanced up. What he saw made his jaw drop. She was there, all right, a bit pale and looking a bit weaker than before, but she seemed happy. But her hair was no longer the half-black stripe it had been while the dye was growing out. It was red. A far darker shade of red than the County Cork red of her prior jailer, but red nonetheless. Several shades up the scale from her normal color, and a few shades lighter than her mother's had been.
She was wearing the jeans and oxford he had bought her. The sizes had been right, and she looked good. Her feet were bare. He wondered if the sneakers he had bought displeased her.
"Hi, Luke," she said, smiling. "What are you staring at? The hair?"
Luke Taylor nodded. "Yes," he said. "How did you do that?"
She raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. "Miss Clairol," she said. "Remember? The dye I asked you to get?" She chuckled. "I wanted that for a reason, you know."
He struggled for something to say. He had never bought anything for his hair other than Prell concentrate. "I thought it took longer," he said to avoid looking stupid.
She shook her head, still smiling. "Is that food I smell?"
He nodded. "Come in. It's all ready."
He was starving, and Susana ate readily enough. He watched her carefully. She seemed quite comfortable in the house, fitting into it as easily as if she had lived all her life there. There was an odd pleasure in simply watching her at the table, watching her face turn animated, those odd maroon eyes flash at him. It was hard to tune in on what she was saying. He loved her smile. The effect of that flashing, animated mouth had an effect on him he had trouble identifying. It made his head feel swimmy and sent waves of forbidden thoughts down into his groin. He shifted in his seat to avoid making it obvious. Could she see? He didn't think so and hoped not.
"I need to tell you something," she said, and her face became more serious.
"What is it?" Luke asked.
She took a moment to compose herself. "Well," she began. "You've really done a lot for me, and I really appreciate it. But,…" she seemed to gather her courage.
The old resentments and anger came back. Sulfurous flashes lit his eyes. Again. Abandoned again. Was she no better than the rest? Leaving him? Abandoning him?
"But what?" he asked, his voice thickening.
"I need to leave for a bit," she said. "I have some things I need to take care of. And I don't think you should go with me."
His eyes narrowed. His hands twitched. He knew how strong she was, but he knew he was stronger, and if he got his hands on her neck it would only take one quick jerk and she would never leave him.
She could sense his displeasure. "Luke, I don't want to hurt you, and I swear I'll come back," she said. Her voice was placatory. "But…," she looked down at the table. "I have to bury my mother."
There was that. He could have cared less about his own mother, but he knew that she would not feel the same way. Besides, although he had never met Clarice Starling, she had already done him one great boon: she had borne the woman who would become his wife. He sighed.
"How long will you need?" he asked guardedly.
"Two weeks, maybe three," Susana said promptly. That was good. It was when they hesitated that they might be lying. He knew this from questions he had asked his martyrs in the basement. "Legal stuff and all, you know."
"I could come with you," he offered.
Susana shook her head slowly. "Thanks, it's a nice offer," she said calmly, "but we can't be seen together yet. I'm still wanted, you know." He could understand that. This lovely creature seated across from him would be wanted by anyone. But he knew what she meant.
"We have a mission, you and I," Susana continued. She reached across the table and put a hand on his cheek. It sent prickles down his shoulders and into his legs. She smiled sweetly just for him. "Isn't that more important than this? Besides, they'll be looking for me. If they find me with you we'll both end up in jail. Then…well, you know what will happen then."
"I know," he said, afraid to say any more lest his voice begin to jig-jag like a teenage boy's.
"Good," she said. "Have some patience. I'll call you when I can. And we'll be together soon, so soon. It'll be over before you know it."
"All right," he said, although disappointment still clouded his voice.
"That's my boy," she said, and leaned across the table. Her hands settled on the back of his neck and tugged him towards her. She could not know the courage he summoned up to let her do it. Her lips pressed against his and his eyes widened. He could smell faint fragrance and warm girl. He trembled.
She broke the kiss and smiled at him, seemingly amused. "All I need from you right now," she said, "is to drive me to Baltimore."
He nodded, his eyes far away. Already he was trying to bury himself to avoid the disappointment of returning to his lonely vigil. But he had to be strong. He had a mission, she was right. A Plan. He had waited his whole life for this. Surely he could wait another few weeks.
So they went out to the car. Susana noticed that he was quiet on the ride. She almost wished she hadn't abandoned the Audi, but there was little choice. She'd met him in a bad section of Washington DC, and left the Audi on the street with the keys visible on the seat. It was almost assuredly in a chop-shop by now.
In Baltimore, he let her out in front of a small, slightly down-at-the-heels house in a blue-collar neighborhood. The house had not been occupied for years. Its owner of record was the Charles Larrimore Trust. The trust was managed by a local law firm, who made sure to pay the miniscule tax, electric and heat bills. The trust had been set up years ago by Dr. Hannibal Lecter in one of his many identities. If you had asked the law firm, they would have told you that they received a yearly check for their services from Charles Lattimore's daughter Samantha. Any more they could not have told you if they wished, for neither Charles nor Samantha had ever existed anywhere except on paper.
Susana smiled at him calmly and reached across the seat to give him a kiss goodbye.
"I'll call you," she said soothingly. "I know you're upset, but this will all be worth it. I promise."
Luke was still deep into himself, not wanting to let his feelings show, and nodded. "All right. Have fun." He didn't like where his thoughts were going. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his Plan. The Great Martyring.
Susana got out of the car and walked around to the back of the house. It was protected by a burglar alarm system, top of the line. The only way in or out of the house was the back door. The front door was permanently closed. Steel bolts driven into the doorframe ensured that.
The back door itself was steel, and locked. There was no key. Susana opened the screen door and immediately heard a small electronic chirp. In the doorframe was a small keypad, and she tapped out a code on it. The alarm chirped again in a higher-pitched tone. She entered a second code and waited for a moment.
A click and thunk came from the door, and then the door opened. Susana walked through into the house. She closed the door behind her and locked it from the inside. This house had been one of several that her father had owned. Thankfully, by putting them in trusts, it made for zero hassles on her part – unlike human beings, trusts do not die.
The master bedroom was largely empty. There was a twin bed against one wall, and that was all the furniture there was in the room. Susana went for the bedroom closet. To the naked eye, the closet appeared empty, except for a claw hammer lying on the floor against the far wall. She picked up the hammer and considered.
Unlike Luke, she meant no violence with this hammer. Not yet, and certainly not here. Instead, she simply consulted her memory palace for a set of blueprints. The hammer came down, deliberate and precise, into the drywall at the back of the closet. White dust puffed up in the circular gouge. Susana reached into the hole she had made and pulled away, making it bigger.
In the hole was a clear plastic bag tied to the wall stud. Susana eased it out and sat down on the bed to examine it. In the bag was a black leather Coach purse and a small zipper bag. The purse contained identification for three separate identities. The small zipper bag contained fifty thousand dollars in twenty-dollar bills.
Susana rose and headed out to the attached garage. It was a one-car garage, not terribly big. The Honda Accord inside took up most the space. It wasn't anything like the cars she normally preferred, but she needed anonymity now more than luxury. And the Accord would be comfortable enough for the short term.
Once she had taken the car, the house would no longer matter. If Luke was caught, or if he betrayed her, it wouldn't matter. None of the identities in her purse had anything to do with with the house's supposed owners. Luke Taylor might have his Plan, but Susana had her own, and getting caught was not one of them.
The car's registration and insurance were all up to date and in complete accordance with Maryland state law. But it needed some work. She attached the battery charger to it and set about preparing it. Mostly, it was a matter of filling fluids: gas, oil, wiper fluid. Tedious, but not difficult, and she was up to the task. The tires seemed okay.
Susana tossed her purse into the passenger seat and pressed the garage door opener clipped to the visor. The garage door obediently rattled up. The Honda started on the first try. Susana backed out carefully into the driveway. The engine sounded choppy and growly from disuse. But it would clear up.
From above the visor Susana took a pair of sunglasses and slipped them on. The garage door rattled closed. She backed out into the street and drove along the quiet suburban streets until she made it to I-95. And then Susana Alvarez Lecter merged onto the highway and disappeared. She headed north.