by Neal Baer
And then he smelled it. Again. That bitter, rotten odor he’d smelled before, coming from the dead man’s body.
Nick ran to Claire and grabbed his Glock from her hand. She was shaking and crying. He put his arm around her.
“It’s okay. You’re okay,” Nick said.
“We have to call the police!”
“We’ve got to get out of here!” he yelled. “They smell like bitter almonds. Sedgwick sent them. When he finds out they missed, he’ll send others.”
“Where are we going?”
“To get my mother and the girls.” He took her face between his hands. “I need you with me. Every second counts. You understand?”
This snapped Claire out of her fear and into action. “Yes,” she said, looking into his eyes. “I’m with you.”
They ran the short distance down the street and into Nick’s building, up the stairwell to the third floor and down the hall to the apartment. Nick unlocked the door and they went in, moving as fast as they could.
“My girls are asleep in their room. Second door on the left down the hall.”
Claire raced down the dark hall, when the first door opened. She tensed, thinking it was another killer. Until she heard a female voice.
“What’s going on?” asked Nick’s mother, Helen, pulling on her bathrobe. “Sounds like someone was using a jackhammer outside.”
“We’ve got to get the girls and leave,” Nick said to his mother.
“Leave?” Helen asked, her face pale with fear. She switched on a light. “It’s the middle of the night. They’re sleeping.”
And then she saw the blood on her son’s clothes. And the two Uzis in his hands.
“Oh my God! What happened?”
“Never mind that now,” Nick said. “Just hurry!”
They could now hear sirens approaching.
“Shouldn’t we wait for the police?”
“No! Help me grab the girls! Now!”
He handed the Uzis to Claire and headed toward his daughters’ room. Helen eyed her.
“Who are you?” Helen asked.
“A friend,” said Claire.
“You’ll cover us,” Nick said, turning back to her.
The sirens were getting louder. Claire, Uzis in her hands, stuck her head out the front door of Nick’s apartment building. “It seems clear,” she managed to say.
“Then let’s go,” replied Nick, carrying his older daughter, Jill, who clung to his neck, terrified. His mother carried Katie, the younger one.
“In what?” Claire asked.
Nick pointed to the minivan, right where they left it, its lights on and engine running. “It’s all we’ve got,” he said.
Taking one more look, she ran outside toward the minivan, aiming the guns in either direction, Nick and his mother behind her.
Nick boarded the van first through the right side door, buckling his older daughter into a seat before his mother handed him the younger girl.
“You don’t think you’re driving at night, do you?” Helen asked her son.
Nick hopped into the passenger seat and gestured to Claire to get behind the wheel.
Helen looked at Claire, then back at her son. “Are you going to tell me who she is?” she asked.
“A psychiatrist,” Nick shot back.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it’s about time,” his mother replied.
“Claire Waters. Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Claire said, throwing the minivan into gear and stomping on the pedal.
She maneuvered around the garbage truck and sped around the corner onto Third Avenue, avoiding the first police cars that entered the block from the opposite end.
As it turned out, luck was with them; the traffic lights were all green. Claire hit the gas, her eyes locked straight ahead.
“Where are we going?” Claire asked Nick without looking at him.
“North,” he instructed.
They drove for what seemed like hours, Nick directing Claire to stay only on interstate highways that were both well traveled and well patrolled by state police in case they spotted a pair of headlights behind them making the same moves as they did. Nick knew this was a double-edged sword. If trouble came up from behind them, he wanted to be on a road where there was at least a chance a police cruiser would show up. On the other hand, the last thing they needed was to be pulled over by some bored graveyard-shift cop and have to explain their way out of why they were driving what was technically a stolen car. Just in case, Nick also told Claire to drive no more than five miles an hour over the speed limit.
For Claire, the journey seemed not only endless, but also aimless. The adrenaline rush she experienced earlier from the terror was wearing off. The long drive and the effort it took to shut down emotionally were wearing on her, and she felt that if she were to survive whatever would come next, she had to force herself not to think about anything that had happened. Just keep going. Don’t stop.
I killed a human being.
She could hear those words turn around in her brain, over and over again. Though she knew what she’d done was by definition self-defense, the act of killing another person was so shocking that she couldn’t process it.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nick beside her, literally riding shotgun, holding one of the Uzis between his seat and the door. His face was flat, devoid of emotion, and Claire wondered what he was feeling. Or whether he was trying not to feel. Just like she was.
Claire watched him turn his head again for what seemed like the hundredth time, making sure there was no one on their tail, though she could see clearly in her rear- and side-view mirrors that theirs was the only car on the road. And she also knew that in the inky night he wouldn’t be able to see much anyway.
“Relax,” she assured him. “There’s nobody back there.”
Nick turned back toward the front, nodding. “How’re you doing?” he asked.
Claire couldn’t suppress a yawn. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to drive much longer.”
“Hang in there. Just a few more miles.”
“You know where we’re going? Why didn’t you tell me?” Claire was so exhausted that she couldn’t hide the anger in her voice.
“You didn’t need to know,” Nick answered, seeing the sign for the Interstate 84 exit that he’d been waiting for. “Get off here,” he said, almost too late for her to make the off-ramp.
Claire swerved just in time—exactly what Nick wanted her to do. He looked behind them again to check if they were being followed. There was only darkness.
“You want to clue me in?” Claire asked, now too tired to be annoyed. “Where the hell are you taking us?”
“Just make a left at the bottom of the ramp and go straight into town.”
The town was Beacon, nearly sixty miles north of Manhattan and directly across the Hudson River from the larger city of Newburgh. Their destination was the Beacon Inn, a bed-and-breakfast set in a large colonial on the outskirts of town. The place had been owned for years by Tim Donnelly, a former NYPD detective who’d retired just after 9/ 11. Tim’s generosity was well known to any city cop who had to speak to an inmate at one of the two state prisons nearby and needed a place to crash for the night, whether it be because it was too late to go home, the weather wouldn’t allow it, they had too many at the local bar, or home wasn’t the most welcoming place. Donnelly’s B & B was always there for them.
During a gas stop earlier, Nick had called Donnelly and told him what was going on, and in usual fashion, Donnelly assured him there would be three rooms waiting for them at no charge, for as long as they needed.
Tall and trim with a full head of graying hair, Donnelly was waiting outside when Claire pulled up in front of the inn. He was holding a sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun by his side. Nick was out of the car before it even came to a stop and ran to give his friend a bear hug while Claire opened her door, got out, and stretched.
“Timmy, this is Claire Waters. Timmy’s a buddy and he knows the drill.
”
“Welcome,” Donnelly said, shaking her hand.
“Thank you,” she said.
“My home is yours for as long as you need it,” Donnelly said in a comforting tone. “Let’s get the kiddos settled in.” He took one of Nick’s sleeping daughters from the back and gestured to Helen and the other daughter. “And then we’ll get this thing out of sight,” Donnelly said, tapping his hand on the roof of the old Dodge.
“I’ll need to rent a car,” Nick said.
“Like hell,” Donnelly said with a wave of his hand. “My son just started college and left his car here, so it’s all yours.”
“Where are we?” Helen moaned, trying to wake up and stretch in the back of the van.
“Somewhere safe, Mom,” Nick said, introducing her and his now-awake daughters to Donnelly, who took them into the house and to their rooms.
Nick headed for the driver’s seat of the van to move the car. Claire instinctively headed toward him. “I’ll drive,” she said.
“We’re just pulling into the back,” Nick said, not without some defensiveness.
“We don’t need you running into a tree on the way,” Claire chided, almost laughing after this gruesome night.
Reluctantly, he moved over to the passenger’s seat and Claire got behind the wheel.
“How long are we staying here?” she asked.
Nick looked at his watch. It was three-fifteen in the morning. “Until tomorrow night,” he said, “when you and I go on a field trip.”
CHAPTER 29
The narrow hallway was dimly lit by naked lightbulbs hanging from electrical cords. Claire walked through the concrete space, confused. It was too dark to see clearly. Where was she?
The lights became brighter and she realized she was back in the jail at Rikers Island. The same cell block she’d been in with Curtin. But this time Curtin wasn’t with her.
She picked up her pace, rushing past prisoners who leered at her from the shadows of their cells. She could see their eyes, all a familiar green, aglow.
Frightened, she walked faster, faster, looking up at the lightbulbs, one after the next after the next. Why did they look so strange?
Then she realized. The bulbs were hanging from cords shaped like nooses. Just then, the prisoners in the cells stepped forward to the bars and she saw their faces.
Quimby. Each one was Quimby.
The first one was grinning at her; the second one was laughing; the third screaming, though his words were silent. And the last one terrified her. He was dead. Putrefying. Rotting. His skin dripping like wax from his face.
Claire turned away in horror and saw two men, barely lit, at the end of the hallway. As she approached them, she could see they were dressed alike, both wearing a polo shirt and shorts.
“There’s been a terrible accident,” one of them said, though she couldn’t see his face. “Come with us. Don’t be afraid.”
The men both reached out toward Claire. “You’re a very pretty little girl,” said the second man. “I bet you’re very smart too.”
“Too smart for her own good,” the first man said, and the two of them started laughing, which began to echo and build into an earsplitting roar.
She moved toward them and could see their faces now. It was Curtin and Sedgwick. Laughing so loud that the room began to shake and the floor started to give way as the walls crumbled around her and she ran for her life.
Claire woke up, sweating. She sat up in bed, the sheets soaked through and twisted around her body. The room was dark, though she could see sunlight through a sliver between the closed curtains. She had no idea where she was—the overstuffed chair and armoire were unfamiliar—until she remembered she was hiding out with Nick at his friend’s bed-and-breakfast.
She looked at the clock radio. It was 3:08 p.m. Even though she had been asleep since dawn, she still felt a deep exhaustion, the kind no amount of sleep helps. It was that bone tiredness that comes from anxiety and fear, and for the first time Claire didn’t question it. She didn’t think about a chemical explanation for what she was feeling. She knew the cause. She was in mourning. She burst into tears, letting the grief for Amy and Ian wash over her, crying hard and silently for the two people she’d loved and lost.
After a few minutes, the storm inside her seemed to blow away. Her outburst had released some of the pain, unraveling the tangle of emotions she’d held for decades inside of her.
Claire wiped her face and thought, I’m calm now, and pulled on her jeans and blouse. When she turned around, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The beam of sunlight streaming through the crack between the curtains lit her face in a gauzy glow, like a phantom. Other phantom faces appeared in the mirror. First Amy, then Ian and Detective Maggie Stolls, followed by Tammy Sorenson and the other dead women. And then, Todd Quimby. They pleaded with their eyes for Claire to help them find solace, to free their souls from being trapped for eternity.
She knew what to do.
She flipped on the light switch and the faces disappeared. She grabbed her shoes and the rest of her things and ran out of the room.
Claire found Nick sitting on the sunporch drinking a cup of coffee. He’d just taken a long shower, and his hair was wet and combed, his face clean shaven. The light from the afternoon sun enhanced his handsome, sharp features.
He can help them, Claire thought. He can help me end this nightmare.
“How’d you sleep?” Nick asked her, knowing the answer.
“Like a baby,” she replied, without smiling.
“You ready?” Nick asked, pulling out a chair for Claire to sit beside him.
“As I’ll ever be,” she said, sitting down.
They looked at each other for a long moment. He’s got beautiful eyes, she thought. You’d never know he was going blind.
“We’ll leave at nine,” Nick said, “after sunset.”
“To Biopharix. On our ‘field trip,’ ” Claire replied.
“Whatever’s going on, whatever this is all about, the answers are in that building. In Sedgwick’s office.”
Claire looked at him. “And you think they’re going to just let us look around?”
“I don’t intend to ask their permission.” Nick turned to her. “You don’t have to come with me,” he said, meaning it.
“Of course I do,” Claire said. “You can’t see.”
But her tone told him she’d have gone no matter what.
They sat there silently, looking at the fields, dotted with orange and purple and red wildflowers in full bloom.
It was only a seven-mile drive from Beacon south to Cold Spring, and Claire covered the distance in Donnelly’s son’s aging Honda Accord in just over fifteen minutes. Driving down Main Street, its stores closed for the night, she and Nick noticed the town’s police cruiser parked in front of the police station. Claire hoped it would be there throughout their field trip, which she knew carried life-and-death consequences.
They crossed over the railroad tracks, making their way down West Street before they saw the sign: WELCOME TO BIOPHARIX. WHERE YOUR HEALTH ALWAYS MATTERS. She signaled a turn up the tree-lined driveway when Nick grabbed the steering wheel, keeping her on the street.
“What are you doing?” Claire asked.
“We can’t just drive up to the front entrance and tell the guards we’re breaking into their offices.”
“You sure you know how to do this?” Claire asked, second-guessing what now seemed like a crazy plan.
“I’ve had twenty years of on-the-job training from some of the best burglars in the business,” Nick said. Then he unzipped a black leather kit and pulled out a long silver file that tapered to a series of small ovals. “This tool can pick most any lock.”
Nick then pointed down a side street. “Kill the lights and pull into the woods about fifty yards past that house on the left. We’ll hike over from there.”
Claire drove down the road and turned where Nick had instructed her. She parked the car behind an old o
ak and got out, careful not to slam the door. The night was warm, but not too humid, lit only by the stars and blinking fireflies.
“You’re my eyes tonight,” Nick said, taking Claire by the arm. “There’s a side entrance near Sedgwick’s office on the northwest corner of the building. It’s about half a mile to Biopharix, so use the compass on your iPhone and head north by northeast.”
“You were here today,” Claire realized. “While I was sleeping.”
Nick nodded. “Had to come while I could see,” he said.
Claire took out her phone and found the compass app. She smiled to herself, thinking that until she met Nick, she never in a million years would have used it. But everything had changed since she moved to New York and entered Curtin’s fellowship. She found herself wondering what her life would have been like if she’d turned him down and stayed in Washington, DC, doing research. Ian would still be alive, she thought.
They moved slowly, over brush and rocks, Claire guiding Nick around trees that blended into the blackness that Nick saw. They squeezed through a thicket of trees and vines and found themselves down a hill from Biopharix, its glassed-in floors shimmering against the night sky.
“It looks like the Emerald City,” Claire said.
“And we’re off to see the wizard,” Nick replied.
They headed up the hill, and Nick let go of Claire’s arm.
“I’m good now,” he said, grateful that the building was so brightly lit. “Follow my lead.”
Nick pinballed from tree to tree, careful to stay in the shadows, waiting each time for Claire to catch up. They moved this way until they were at the door Nick had targeted. He pulled out his pick, slipped it into the lock, and massaged the tumbler.
Click.
Nick pulled the door open just wide enough for them to slip in. He held the door so it would close quietly. They were in a stairwell.
“Third floor,” Nick whispered.
They climbed the stairs as silently as they could until they reached a door that Nick pushed open. He pointed to a security camera on the ceiling, then to the oak door that Claire remembered was Sedgwick’s office suite.