The Tower

by Gregg Hurwitz

  The phone rang, a high, shrill jangle, startling everyone. It rang three times before Travers picked it up. Still the agents didn’t move.

  McGuire had stumbled into the house a few seconds after her, and he stood behind her panting as she raised the receiver to her ear.

  “What?” she asked tightly.

  “Ms. Travers, I presume. I’ve read so much about you. Could you be so kind as to place Agent McGuire on the line before you can get a tracer in place?” Allander asked. He knew they wouldn’t have brought a tracer with them; they were expecting more than a phone. He just wanted to play with her a little.

  “Yeah, but tell me—”

  “Your time is up, Agent Travers. I need to speak to the important people now. Like I said, put your boss on.” “Boss” would get to her, Allander thought. He was sure of it. “Get him. Now.”

  Travers realized she didn’t have any options without losing the line. She bit her cheek and held the phone out silently to McGuire. His eyes lit up. “Giving his demands?” he asked, whispering anxiously.

  Travers said nothing. He’s playing with all the cards right now, she thought. I doubt this is about demands. He doesn’t need to ask us for anything.

  “McGuire here.” He spoke in a gruff, efficient voice. Travers could tell he was intimidated as hell and trying to cover it with the briskness of his tone.

  “Well, Agent McGuire. Let’s play a little guessing game to find out where I am, shall we? I’m thinking of a lovely crocheted wall piece with dark brown beads hanging from its fringes. Looks like it belongs on the floor of a doghouse, but someone made the unfortunate decision to display it as a wall ornament. It’s a virtual shrine to the seventies, as seems to be most of the house. And look, here’s a beautiful blue marlin plastered above the fireplace, evincing the Hemingwayesque masculinity of the man of the house. How noble in reason. In action, how like a god.”

  “HNE.” Three letters splashed in crimson, their boundaries marred by the drip of the dark blood. They looked ready to slide right off the window; they were drifting, living letters.

  Allander’s bloody fingers were wrapped around a cordless phone. He moved into the kitchen and plucked a photograph off the refrigerator, leaving a red smudge across the front.

  “How cute,” he said into the phone. “A photograph of Grandma on her eightieth birthday. However did you fit all those candles onto the cake … Agent McGuire?”

  Allander smiled in awareness of the stunned silence on the other end of the phone. He walked into the living room and faced the two boys who were bound to chairs with tape.

  They were about fifteen and sixteen years old, just starting to build muscles in their chests and shoulders. Tears ran over the tape that bound their heads firmly to the high backs of the chairs. Only a small strip of their faces was visible, their eyes and a thin band of their cheeks.

  Behind them on the floor lay the body of their mother. Both of her ears had been cut off and her throat was slashed. Allander had used the spout of blood that welled from the wound as his paint bucket. The blood was still warm when he dipped his fingers into it.

  Firecrackers were pushed into the boys’ ears. Allander had wedged them tightly into the ear canals so they would be sure not to slip.

  He walked over to the counter and calmly picked up a book of matches. The boys’ panic found expression only in their eyes. They were taped to the heavy chairs so tightly that even their most frenzied wrenchings barely moved their heads or bodies.

  Allander watched how their eyes flicked around the room with urgency and disbelief. They were terrified. He loved having their complete attention, loved them watching his every move, knowing that their lives depended on it.

  As he bent to light the fuses of the firecrackers, he looked like a mother tucking in her children. His lips brushed against the sides of their cheeks as he leaned over them.

  “Hear no evil,” he whispered.

  Travers watched McGuire’s eyes widen as he held the phone to his ear. Everyone in the room jumped when they heard the loud bangs from the phone. They echoed off the stark walls of the apartment.

  McGuire kept the phone to his ear for a few moments longer and then held it out to Travers with trembling fingers. Travers could hear the dial tone.

  “Oh my God,” McGuire said. “He’s in my house.Oh God.”

  He had barely finished speaking before the agents in the living room sprang to life, clearing the house and jumping into vehicles.

  McGuire remained frozen in precisely the same place, alone in the small apartment. He was still holding the telephone out with one shaking hand, and his right cheek began to quiver beneath his eye.

  49

  THE house finally quieted down. The agents had driven to McGuire’s home in the city as quickly as possible after radioing in help from the SFPD. McGuire lived in the Sunset District, on Ninth and Irving.

  Travers was not surprised to find Jade already there, sitting calmly in a kitchen chair. He shook his head when she and the others walked in. Too late. At least he’d gotten there before the blood could clot.

  When he’d first arrived at the house, he’d been furious that he had missed Allander. He had called 911 to get ambulances on the way, then had left the boys taped to the chairs to look for him. After checking the house and yard for any trace of him, being careful not to disturb the crime scene, he had walked out onto the street.

  Even though Allander had left no visible evidence, the location of McGuire’s house tipped his hand. It sat on a network of wide-open streets with very few alleys. Visibility was extremely high. Since he would have had to stick to the streets, it would have been nearly impossible for Allander to escape on foot and get very far. He had come in a car. And for the first time, he had brought something with him: firecrackers. That could mean he had a base from which he was working. Somewhere he could keep the car and make his plans. Somewhere they could catch him.

  Jade could feel the net tightening. Just had to pick up a few more corners to trap his prey.

  He went inside to free the boys.

  The ambulances picked them up and took them to the ER at St. Mary’s. The body of McGuire’s wife was left for further examination. Most of the agents had departed after searching the area, and only the forensics team remained.

  Allander had slipped away in broad daylight, leaving no traces. It was almost as though he wasn’t real; they could only sense him, like an image seen through murky waters. The other agents noticed a hint of a smile on Jade’s face, though they couldn’t tell why it was there.

  Travers dealt with the neighbors, interviewing them in case they had seen anything, or could offer any leads. It proved futile, of course. When she returned to the house, Jade was still in the kitchen, sitting in one of the high-backed chairs, his right leg pumping up and down excitedly. A cup of ice sat on the table in front of him.

  “What?” Travers asked. She was exhausted and her hair was down, fanned loosely across her shoulders.

  Jade looked up, noticing her for the first time. He stood, swinging the cup of ice with his thumb and forefinger. “We know he’s somewhere. He’s at a fixed location now, operating from a base. We can check for clues. Get forensics in here.” He turned to the door and yelled, “FORENSICS!”

  Two men scurried into the room. “I want a full materials check,” Jade ordered. “Fibers, particles, anything. Comb the place—the rug in the living room especially; it could’ve picked up a lot of shit.”

  The men stood there and stared at Jade.

  “Well, go. What are you waiting for? Go.”

  One of the agents cleared his throat. “Uh. We already did. Picked up some particles. Already got the read from lab. Lead. Lead traces in the carpet, definitely a foreign material tracked in here. Also got some hairs, but no surprises there.”

  “Lead? What the hell does that indicate?” He looked back and forth at the two men, who shrugged. He shook his head in disgust. “All right. Good. Out.”

  They
left.

  He turned to Travers. His mind was so tightly wound he felt as if it might snap. “He’s working from somewhere. Got room, got time, got privacy. Resources.”

  Jade ran his thumb across his bottom lip over and over, feeling it push softly to the side. “A house. Deserted, empty, or hostages. No, no hostages. Wouldn’t want to leave them.”

  “He could’ve broken in, killed a family,” Travers said.

  Jade was struck with a sudden, horrible thought. What if Allander had used his pistol? The Glock that he’d stolen from the back counter. Jade had not yet told anyone about it. He was hoping to keep it his and Allander’s little secret, at least until it became relevant.

  At least he hasn’t used it yet, he thought. At least not yet.

  He nodded. “Could be. The average response time for SFPD to this site is sixteen and a half minutes. He would’ve known that we’d radio in after he called us. He probably even timed his call by it. And this is a bad neighborhood to make an escape by foot. Too open, way too open. He came here in a car, left in a car. And he would’ve wanted to be back to his base by the time police arrived here, even before to beat the roadblocks. I’d say he’d want to be back to his base in fifteen minutes.”

  Jade ran to the kitchen desk and yanked the drawers out, emptying them on the floor. He sank to his knees and dug through the papers, finally pulling out a map of San Francisco. He returned to the kitchen table and cleared it with a sweep of his arm. His glass shattered on the floor, and the salt and pepper shakers rolled in arcs on the linoleum.

  Travers closed her eyes and bit her lip. Wotan had come down on her hard for bailing out of the movie theater operation. He had made it clear that she was to provide support for all of Jade’s plans, no matter how much she disagreed with them. She breathed deeply as she surveyed the mess in the kitchen, and forced herself not to comment.

  Jade unfolded the map on the table, spreading it out before him. He walked back over and grabbed a thick black marker from the pile he’d left on the floor.

  “Okay. We’re here.” He circled the location of McGuire’s house. “Fifteen minutes by car could put him anywhere from …” His voice trailed off as he sketched an approximate circle on the map with the black marker.

  The circle stretched down to San Francisco State and out to Van Ness in the east. He didn’t want to push the perimeter too far downtown because the traffic would have slowed Allander. The top of the circle ran up to Presidio Heights, and to the west it covered the ocean coast.

  “I want a full listing of all incidents in this area in the last week. Break-ins, homicides, stolen cars, anything,” he said.

  “That’s a big circle, Jade,” Travers said skeptically.

  “It’s a start. Put a couple of your desk jockeys on it pronto. Call it in now.”

  As he headed out, he heard Travers pick up the phone.

  Spring was giving way to summer, and the late-morning heat was fierce and steady. Jade pulled into his garage. He wiped the sweat from his cheek as he got out of his car, immediately stumbling over something in the garage.

  He looked down and saw a growing pool of black paint spreading at his feet. As the familiar smell rose to his nostrils, he swore loudly. After touching up his bookshelves the other night, he’d forgotten to put the paint away.

  He bent over to pick up the bucket and felt a burn in his throat. He backed up, coughing. The shit they put in this stuff, he thought. Not exactly meant for breathing.

  He snapped his fingers twice, ran into the house, and grabbed the phone. “Forensics. Yeah, yeah. This is Marlow. I need someone on the McGuire house from this afternoon.”

  He waited, his knee jackhammering up and down. Finally one of the agents got on the line.

  “Yeah. Marlow here. I have a question for you about the lead particles you picked up at McGuire’s. Were they pigmented?”

  The forensics agent sounded surprised. “Why yes. They were dark green. How’d you know?”

  “They’re paint scrapings, probably from a house being remodeled. Dark green—must be exterior paint. If someone sanded it off, the lead would probably settle separately since it’s heavier.”

  “But they haven’t used lead in paint for over twenty years.”

  “Twenty, huh?” Jade said, scribbling down the number on a piece of paper. “I figured it was somewhere around there. Thanks.”

  He hung up and called Tony.

  “Whaddya want, kid? Always calling me for something.”

  “Tony. I need you.”

  “Well, I never would have thought—”

  “Not now. I need you to use your force for some legwork.” Jade paused. “It’s kind of shit work.”

  “Well, I appreciate your thinking of me.”

  “I got Atlasia nailed down to an area of San Francisco. I think he’s in a house that’s undergoing a major remodel. The house is at least twenty years old, and it used to be painted dark green.” He told Tony the rough bearings of the circle he’d drawn around the map he’d taken from McGuire’s house.

  “Well, kid, you know I got the men and the time, but there’s no fucking way we can search an area of SF that big just based on a remodel and a house color. What the fuck?”

  “Okay, okay. Hang on.” Jade was quiet for a moment while he thought. “He’s in a secluded house with a lot of privacy, no common walls with other houses. He needs privacy to plan and he doesn’t want to be seen. That means it’s gotta be in a rich neighborhood. It’s probably elevated. That should cut out a lot of neighborhoods in that circle. Call around Pacific Heights and rich communities like that, find out which companies do major remodels. It’ll be a pain in the ass, but it should be do-able.”

  “All right. I can put a couple men on it, but obviously only when things are slow. I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

  “Great. Just move it along as quick as you can.”

  He had barely placed the phone back on the cradle when it rang again. He picked it up. “Yup.”

  “Marlow. Travers. Ever heard of call waiting?”

  “Call who?”

  “Forget it. I got a list of incidents in that area, wanted to run them by you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Only three stolen cars reported in the last week; amazingly, all have been recovered. There’s a long list of muggings. I’ll start with A.”

  “Skip ’em. He’s not a mugger. What do you have on homicides?”

  “We have three. One’s a drive-by shooting off Haight. Then we have another restaurant hit, but we’re pretty sure it’s mob. And a random shooting at the edge of Sutro Heights.”

  “Sutro Heights, huh?”

  “Yeah. Let’s see. Steven Lloyd Francis. Nineteen. Left in a parking lot. No motive. Two bullets to the head. Early this morning.”

  “Gun?”

  “Let’s see.” There was a pause and Jade heard Travers flip a sheet of paper. “Looks like a forty. Both bullets made a clean exit, so that’s all we got from ballistics right now.”

  Jade swallowed hard. His Glock was a .40. His head felt numb, as if he were walking through a dream. He cleared his throat harshly and tried to focus. “Are you at headquarters?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Call the family. I want to interview them. I’ll be by to pick you up in a half hour.”

  Jade hung up and went to wash his face. He let hot water fill the sink, then he leaned over it, inhaling the steam. He splashed the water over his face, drawing his hands firmly down his forehead, over his eyes, and around his cheeks. When he shook his head and raised his eyes to the mirror, he realized the phone was ringing again.

  “What am I, the fucking operator?” he said angrily, heading back to the living room. He picked up the phone. “What.”

  “Well, Mr. Marlow, I was very disappointed in your performance at the bar last night. I must confess, I had expected a little more from you.”

  Even though Jade had heard it hundreds of times, Allander’s voice still took h
is breath away. So close, so fucking close. And directed right at him. He struggled to keep his voice even. “No shit, huh?” he said. “Guess we’ll have to do the dance again sometime soon.”

  “Oh, we most assuredly will. There will be time for that later. And more. You know—the real test. I can’t wait to get my little hands on them.” Allander said “little hands” with a German accent—like it was “little hanz.”

  The real test, Jade thought. A nonchalant way to refer to killing his parents. After the movie theater fiasco, it was in the open between him and Allander. He knew where Allander was going, and Allander knew he knew it. That just made it all the more enticing.

  Allander sighed. “So many loose ends to tie up.”

  “Look, this whole prank-call thing is getting a little old. So unless you wanna chat for, say, sixty-one seconds, I don’t really have the time.”

  “Oh. What a disappointment. And I thought you were going to undo me at last with your sharp questioning.”

  “I don’t have to. With how you are, you’ll reveal yourself.”

  “I see. And how’s that, Marlow? Oh yes—I’ll stumble into Dr. Yung’s office with a severe onset of psychosomatic blindness.”

  Always moving, always mocking.

  “Hey, Atlasia,” Jade said softly.

  “Yes?”

  “I had lunch with Darby yesterday. She’s a … charming woman.”

  Jade heard an immediate click and then the dial tone. Allander was too smart to get upset on the phone, but Jade had managed to get in a solid shot. And more important, he had known just where to punch.

  50

  TRAVERS turned in the passenger seat to face Jade. “Well, we got an interesting complaint from a bartender today. Filtered to us through the local police. Said some maniac yanked him through a shattered window and dribbled his head on the pavement.”

  “I find ‘dribbled’ excessive,” Jade said.

  “What gives?”

  Jade looked at his hand, on top of the steering wheel. “I had an off night,” he said.