by Sarah Cain
“You’re so dumb, you never knew I was sitting in there. You didn’t even know about it until tonight. For a reporter, you aren’t too smart.”
“So how did you figure it out?”
The kid puffed out his chest. “’Cause I am smart. I’m a genius. My mom told me.”
“Clearly, you’re not my son,” Danny said. He looked around the room for something to throw. A book. The lamp. He’d have to move fast. This kid held the gun steady enough, but the fingers of his left hand twitched.
“I started watching the old man when I found out you were buying the place.”
“But how could you know I was buying this house?”
“I been watching you for a while. Mom said it was time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time.” The kid gestured with his gun. “Come out now, or I’ll shoot you and leave you in here to bleed out.”
“Someone will find me.”
The kid laughed. “You think so? Someone like your hot little reporter friend? Guess again.”
Danny swallowed. “Where is she? Where’s Alex?”
“Let’s just say her welfare depends on your cooperation. Now, are you coming?”
Danny walked out into the pantry. This kid had Alex someplace. But why? What the hell was going on? His phone began to ring.
“Do you mind if I answer?” he asked.
“No tricks.”
He checked the caller ID. It was Kelly. Something was wrong.
“Ryan,” he said after he picked up.
Her words came out in a rush. “Oh, my God! Uncle Dan, Dad had a heart attack they’re taking him to the hospital right now can you come?” Danny gripped the phone against his cheek. Ice was filling his veins, and his heart was drumming, trying to force some warmth into his body. He caught his breath and angled away from the kid.
“Hey, Kelly. I can’t talk right now. How about I call you back?”
“Didn’t you hear me? Dad had a heart attack. They’re taking him to HUP. It’s really bad. We need you.”
“Okay. I understand. Tell your mom Uncle Daniel will be there when he can.” It was a stupid thing to say, but he couldn’t tell her he was standing with some lunatic who was calling him “Dad.” Maybe she’d figure something was wrong. Or not. Who besides Kevin knew their code?
If you ever need me, you call and say Daniel needs his brother. You understand? Except Kevin wasn’t there to hear him.
“Are you listening?” Her voice rose an octave.
“Are you?” Danny said.
The kid grabbed the phone from his hand and slammed it down. “Talk time’s over. What’s the matter, Dad? Family problems?”
“Go to hell.” Danny had to get away from this kid.
“You can close up that little room there. It was real convenient, I gotta say.” The kid waved his gun at Danny. It was a Glock. Nine-millimeter semiautomatic. “Go ahead. Close it up.”
Danny pushed the cupboard back in place. He tried to steady his hands. Would Kelly figure out something was wrong, or would she think he was being an asshole? Did it matter? And Kevin. Oh, Jesus, Kevin. Danny couldn’t catch his breath. His lungs were ripping apart.
“I was almost living in there, and you never noticed. You really should lock your doors,” the kid sneered.
“Who the hell are you?”
The kid smirked at him. “I already told you, Dad. We got things to do. Where shall we start?”
“What kind of things? Where’s Alex?”
The kid smiled at him. His lips curved up, but his eyes remained cold and dead. “In a nice safe place. For now.”
“Why do you keep calling me ‘Dad’?”
“Because you are.”
“I only had one child, and he’s dead.”
“Jenna Jeffords is my mom.”
“What? Jenna is dead.”
“No.”
Danny swallowed. It all began to take shape now. The party. The yells and whoops. The loud music and chanting. The song. It kept playing over and over. And he could hear it now—“Shut ’Em Down,” Public Enemy’s hip-hop howl about racial inequality. He was holding Michelle on the porch as she sat on his lap. A hot land breeze that night made it feel unseasonably warm, and her skin tasted salty and sweet. They were making out, and something was happening just beyond the wall. Something.
“I never slept with Jenna,” Danny said.
“You were her boyfriend.”
Danny shook his head. “No.”
The kid grabbed a stainless steel bowl and slammed it into the side of Danny’s head. “Liar.” The bowl clattered to the floor as Danny dropped to his knees, blood running down the side of his face, and he thought of Frank Greer. Everything comes back to bite you. Everything comes back.
Fuck this little bastard.
Danny grabbed the kid’s leg, and he crashed sideways, the gun sliding across the floor of the pantry. Danny scrambled for the gun. The kid was faster, but Danny snatched the bowl and smashed it down on the kid’s hand before he could grab the gun. He launched himself onto the kid’s back, and they rolled across the floor, grunting and kicking and punching.
Danny grabbed the kid by his hair, jerking his head back, ready to pound it into the ceramic tile. The kid was sinewy and fast, though, and he twisted, landing a solid knee to Danny’s stomach. Gasping, Danny doubled over, his grip loosening. The kid pulled free, and Danny hurled himself toward him when he heard the pop. Like a firecracker.
It took him a second to realize the bullet had torn through his left side. Blood began to stain his shirt, and he stared at it, almost uncomprehending. Then he lay back on the cool floor, his heart pounding against his throat.
“Fuck,” the kid said. He stood and reached into a drawer and pulled out a towel that he dropped onto Danny’s chest. “No more games, Dad. We have places to go. Get up or get dead.”
47
Ted Eliot sat back on his sofa and stared at the unopened bottle of Chivas sitting on the black lacquer coffee table. He didn’t know when everything had careened out of control, but his life had broken free of the rails and was plunging down a steep cliff. Again. He didn’t know how to get it back.
He was lucky he’d been the one to get the call when Dan Ryan found Greg’s body.
Of course, they could trace Greg’s phone through his service provider. They’d get a list of numbers called. His, for instance. Greg had his number, but he’d been up front with the captain about it. He’d bought his house through Greg Moss. He’d even offered to step aside on the case if the captain thought there was a conflict. So far that hadn’t happened.
He needed to produce a suspect. He needed someone who tied Greg’s death to this weird rash of killings.
His meeting with Kevin Ryan convinced him that he didn’t have much time. Ryan seemed like a decent enough guy, but he wasn’t going to cut any slack. You could sense it. Worse, he seemed like a fairly meticulous investigator. Ted had exhausted his options.
He gazed around the living room. He’d started to build a life here with Andrew. A small island of peace. They’d filled the house with good furniture. White sofas with striking asymmetrical white chairs. A deep-purple rug covered the blond wood floor. They had travelled up to New York to buy a couple of decent paintings for the walls, and he’d been happy for a while.
The awful demons had started to recede. If his father disapproved, he didn’t much care anymore. His mother seemed charmed by his new life. It was a start. Now he needed to eliminate all traces of the past.
He put his head in his hands. He hadn’t meant for things to get out of control, but Greg kept pushing him about the information he needed. “You owe me” hung over every request even if Greg never said the words. The chain grew longer and heavier every day. And there was no escape.
His phone rang, and he stared at the DC number. He considered letting it go to voice mail, but grabbed it. “Eliot,” he said.
“You know who this is?”
“Why are you c
alling, Dad?”
“We need to meet. I have some things to discuss with you.”
“Jesus Christ.” Ted ran a shaking hand against his forehead. Oh, Christ. “Dad, this isn’t the best time . . .”
“I’m sending a car.”
Ted sighed. He wished he hadn’t answered the phone, but it was too late. It was too late the day he met Greg Moss. This probably wouldn’t end well, but he’d already made a series of bad choices. He was glad now for the trip to LA that had taken Andrew out of town for the last few days.
“I’ll be here,” he said.
48
She was kissing him. They were sitting on those cold back steps kissing, and his hand was sliding up her thigh to cup her bare ass. Then she realized she had nothing on, and when she opened her eyes it wasn’t Danny at all, it was that horrible boy. Jenna’s boy.
Alex tried to scream, but he pressed his hand over her mouth and began to push her down, down into the dirt until she was suffocating. Bugs were crawling over her body. Inside her. In her hair.
“Wicked Jezebel. Wicked Jezebel,” he said.
Alex woke with a start. Just a dream.
The room was dark gray, and she could see a small hole in a corner of the ceiling in the far wall where a thin finger of pale light pointed through. Not trusting herself to stand, she dragged herself over to the wall. Here the uneven floor sloped up, and the ceiling was barely six feet high. The cement was crumbling, and she was able to poke a larger hole in the foundation.
“Let there be light,” she said when a medium chunk of cement fell on the floor, barely missing her skull.
She looked at the duct tape wrapped around her wrists. The cement had an edge. She might be able to cut through it if she could hold onto that piece of cement just right. If it didn’t crumble. If she had time.
She was thirsty, but she didn’t dare touch the water Jenna had left her. The sandwiches were covered with ants. Dead ones. Alex stopped sawing. Jenna had tried to kill her. It wasn’t a huge surprise. It probably meant she’d be back to make sure she’d succeeded. How much time did that leave her?
Alex began to saw with renewed vigor. “Got to get out. Got to get out,” she said as she struggled to pull her wrists apart. The tape was just beginning to fray, and she was already pouring sweat. The cement crumbled into several pieces too small to be useful.
“Damn it! Damn it!”
Her mouth tasted like it was filled with glue. She was strong enough to stand, though, and she went to the wall. The foundation was jagged in spots and she angled herself so she could rub the duct tape against the broken edge of wall. Her skin was rubbing off as well, but she didn’t care. A little more tape frayed, and she tried to pull her wrists apart, cursing.
Halfway there, she heard what sounded like a door squeaking open, and she yanked herself from the wall, pulling off a medium chunk of cement as she landed on the floor. Slow, heavy footsteps creaked overhead. Alex stared for a hot second at the hole in the wall. It wasn’t huge, but she was pretty sure she could squeeze herself through it. Maybe. She didn’t know what she’d find on the other side, but it had to be better than sitting here waiting for crazy Jenna or her evil son.
She clambered onto the broken foundation. Using her bound hands like a scoop, she tunneled up through the dirt like a mole, ducking her face away as the earth tumbled down on her. It smelled damp and loamy, but air and freedom were just beyond her frantic hands. Keys rattled in the lock as she pushed up toward the light.
49
Danny slumped back in the passenger seat, his head pressed against the window. Dawn was breaking over Philadelphia, the violet sky just paling to lavender as they skirted the Delaware River. He tried to collect his thoughts as they flitted before him, but he was swimming in an ocean inside his mind. He could capture nothing. Kevin was at HUP, and Alex . . . Christ knew where she was. Danny fought to keep his eyes open.
He glanced over at the boy driving him. A kid in his early twenties, skinny as a snake and twice as mean. Last night, he’d poured a bottle of rubbing alcohol on Danny’s gunshot wound and sewed it shut with black thread. When the rubbing alcohol ran out, he’d used a bottle of Stoli. He’d slapped some gauze pads on Danny’s left side and taped them. He’d also force fed Danny enough vodka to keep him off balance.
“You’ll live for the moment,” the kid had said. “I didn’t hit anything important.”
“Where did you get your training, Nurse Ratched?” Danny had asked, but the kid had just scowled at him.
“Move, or I’ll give you a permanent disability, old man.” He’d grabbed Danny’s cell phone from the kitchen table.
The kid’s rough medicine had worked, more or less. Danny’s wound was only seeping a little, though his left side throbbed like a bad toothache. Danny wasn’t sure how much blood he’d lost. There’d been a fair amount on the pantry floor. His jeans were stiff with it, and his discarded white shirt had been soaked. The kid was right: the bullet hadn’t hit anything vital. Still, it was better to pretend he was in worse shape than he was. Hell, he didn’t want to know whether he was in bad shape or not. He shivered in his black T-shirt as the air conditioner blasted him, but he didn’t ask the kid to turn it down. It kept him awake.
They passed the airport, heading north on 95, and Danny watched a jet rise into the air. Not so long ago—time had become a fuzzy concept—he’d held Alex right on this roadway. If only he’d been smart and not smoked that dope. If only he hadn’t touched Alex on the back steps, Jenna and her crazy son wouldn’t have made her a target.
“Hey,” he said to the kid, more to shut out his thoughts than to make conversation. “Do you have a name?”
“Why?”
“Do you want me to call you ‘shithead’?”
The kid slanted him a look, then shrugged. “Johnny.”
Christ. He could have predicted it. Who was Jenna’s favorite actor of all time?
“Why do you think I’m your father?”
“Mom told me.”
“We should get paternity tests done. Why don’t we stop at HUP?”
“Like that’s gonna happen. Dad.”
“Why not? I’m B positive. Are you? Have you ever had blood drawn? Did you ever ask your mother?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Why did you have to hurt Alex? She’s not part of anything. She didn’t go to high school with your mother.”
“You were messing around with her. She’s a goddamn whore.”
“She’s not a whore.”
“‘Happy is the man whom God correcteth.’”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s from the Bible. Don’t you ever read the Bible?”
Danny stared at him in disbelief. Johnny was throwing this bullshit at him like some kind of Holy goddamn Roller.
“Sure, when I’m looking for a quote. It makes me sound self-righteous.”
“You’re a blasphemer.”
“And you kill people. What does that make you?”
“I’m doing holy work. Cleansing the earth of sinners.”
“You’re murdering women.”
“No. I didn’t mean . . . I got upset. With the one in the bathroom, I was going to bring her home with me.” Johnny gave him another glance, his eyes looking a touch unfocused. “But the others. Those bastards raped my mother. She could have miscarried. You should have stopped them.”
“Kid, I didn’t know what was happening to your mother.”
“Stop lying!”
“I’m not lying. I didn’t know. I was with another girl.”
“Shut up! Shut up!”
Danny tried to put himself inside this kid, tried to picture growing up with Jenna, her mind unhinged by whatever had happened, maybe taking it out on her child. He knew all about that.
“Michelle Perry never did anything to your mother,” Danny said. “You should have stayed away from her. You didn’t need to ‘cleanse’ Barbara Capozzi.”
Johnny shook his head. “You�
��re kidding, right? If it wasn’t for Babs, my mom wouldn’t have been raped. She invited her to Greg’s. I cleansed her the way she deserved. Besides, she was mean to my mom. She laughed at her. Called her names. And the other one was your whore, asshole.”
“Michelle wasn’t a whore, for Christ’s sake.”
“What do you know?” Johnny turned up the radio. KYW blasted the five-day forecast and then turned to a sports update.
“So why did you kill Greg Moss? He didn’t touch your mom.”
“I didn’t kill Greg. I wanted to save him. He didn’t hurt my mom, but he provided a den of sin. But mom said he was nice, so I sent him Bible verses so he’d repent. The others I pronounced sentence on. If you read the texts, you’d understand. They were totally different.”
“What?” Danny turned to look at him in surprise. “But he was shot just like the others. I got a text.”
“I didn’t kill him, and I didn’t text you. You weren’t supposed to get any messages until it was time. Until the wedding.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re going to marry Mom, and then she’ll be happy, and we’ll be a family.”
“In what alternative universe?”
Johnny glared at him. “I told you! Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!”
“Will you tell me where we’re going?”
“You’ll find out.”
Danny slouched down farther in his seat. Nothing made sense. He was on a road trip to hell with a delusional kid who believed he was his father. Waiting at the other end was Jenna Jeffords, who was waiting to play his blushing bride. Worse, he was losing strength with every passing minute.
If Johnny didn’t kill Greg Moss, who did? Danny tried to get his mind to function, but he couldn’t force the pieces together. There was no reason for Johnny Jeffords to lie about murdering Greg when he’d easily admitted to killing Michelle and trying to kill Barb.
What was he missing? He had forgotten something important. Kevin had warned him to stay away from Ted Eliot, but they never had a chance to talk about it. There was a connection, though. The realtor on the make and the cop with too much money. Did they have a falling out? Was Eliot providing Greg with some kind of privileged information?