I'm hungry and we won't have lunch for at least an hour.

By the way, what Sergeant Tanner had for me was not one bit good. Or maybe it was, and I just don't understand. It was a note.

It said,

Loretta, I know you don't want to tell, but it's the only way out of here. You have to tell them your whole story. This is mine:

The first sign was that he was a man. The next was that he did not stop his car at the check point. The third sign came when Drew called out, and he still did not stop. We watched for things that would be fine at home but, there, took on an edge. In the tank, yards off, I might have been safe, but the folks in the square would not have. We were there for them, so they could live their lives. It was my job to stop him.

He might have been deaf, like the one Bates stopped, or just not have had his mind on things, or not.

I called out the code. I fired. The glass broke and the car hit the wall.

I held my breath. There was no bang or boom. But there could have been, they said when they'd gone through the car, if he'd done it right. And when they told me they'd found his hands taped to the wheel, his foot taped to the gas, I knew what it felt like to be him.

Lance Cooper Tanner

You can't tell from this, but his handwriting is very old-fashioned.