"But Clarens...." Chief Scott let the silence build while he lit a cigarette. "But Clarens wants to be caught," Mosby said. "He does?" Chief Scott pointed to the map. "General Mosby, you and I both know that all he has to do is sit down on the curb underneath any street light. "Let me change that. We would have him ten minutes faster if he sat down on the curb of any dark street. "No, he doesn't want caught, except maybe those first couple of minutes when he's almost human, those first couple of minutes after he's killed somebody. And if you have to kill someone to have human feelings yourself--that's not for most of us and that's why I hope he fights back and I have to take him--dead." Chief Scott turned back to the map of Harrisburg. His forefinger ran down the river, pausing at each of the many bridges. Then he turned to the generals. "Maybe we've got him pinned. We've had the bridges sealed tight and if Dr. Thornberry is right, he won't chase west because Pennsylvania land, especially around here, is selling real high and that's still very open country. "And that's not for Clarens, he wants back into our little city, back where things feel close and he feels _inside_." Bennington found himself looking at Mosby, with the glance returned. Mosby spoke, reluctantly. "He could be through us, Chief Scott." "_How?_" "The same way my men come back to camp and it's a natural way that's rarely stopped." "Clarens had no military experience!" Scott said. "No, but he's read a lot--that came out at the trial--and he's under pressure, so he'll remember what he read," Bennington said. "Tell me this way you can walk invisible across a lighted bridge," and Scott was still unconvinced. "You don't walk over, you ride over," Mosby said. "I would work it this way. "I would stop in a bar and buy a drink that made me smell five feet away. I would order and get rid of a couple more of them, very quickly, then I would tip the bartender to call me a cab. "And by the way, of course I wouldn't be drinking any after the first one. "But when the cabbie came, I'd offer him a drink, wave a big bill or two that meant a good tip, and give him a good address--for instance, the hotel that takes up the biggest space in the yellow pages of the telephone book. "I would get into the back seat of the cab still holding on to the biggest bill or two out of those we took from the cleaning truck and I would pretend to fall asleep. "With that cab driver convinced that he's hauling a drunk just aching to give away a big tip--and any normal human being perfectly sure that a wanted killer would never walk into a bar, get loaded and order a cab to take him to the biggest hotel in town--what are my chances, Chief Scott?" * * * * * The chief did not answer directly. Instead, "And I'll bet he wins that appeal he's got going, too." "What did you say, Chief Scott?" Bennington asked.