by Matthew Dunn
I held up my hands and said in my fake American accent, “I got no money. That’s why I’m on the streets. Got no place to stay.”
They were circling.
The black guy said, “What’s in the pack?”
“Just old clothes. You definitely won’t want them.”
“How come you don’t look scared?”
“This ain’t the first time this has happened. Comes with the territory.”
The gang leader said, “Give us the pack.”
No way was that going to happen. I definitely needed my gun and the encyclopedia.
Casually, I said, “You’ve got the wrong guy. Unless you’re looking for a pair of muddy pants and a sweater that smells like crap. I can show you.”
All three took a step closer.
“Just throw it here.”
“Come on, guys. I need my bag.”
The leader came right up to me and put the tip of his knife against my gut. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.
“You’d seriously stick a knife in me, just for what I got?”
The leader nodded.
I wished he’d said something different. This was the last thing I needed right now.
“Okay, okay,” I said with resignation, unslinging my pack.
I dropped it and swooped my leg against the man’s heel, causing him to completely lose balance and topple away from me. His head smacked the pavement. He was out of it. I ran at one of the other men. He lunged with his knife. I dodged, elbowed him in one eye, grabbed his head, and hurled him at his pal. His colleague moved his knife, but not quickly enough. It sliced into his friend’s arm as they connected. The wounded man fell to his knees, his face screwed up as he clutched his arm. The one still standing rushed me. His knife was aimed at my stomach. I twisted, locked my hands on his wrist, kicked him in the balls, and kneed him in the face. Still gripping his wrist, I slammed my other knee into his elbow. I wrenched back on his arm, hearing bones snap. He screamed and dropped the knife. I kicked it away. The man with the slashed arm was trying to get to his feet. I walked up to him and punched his face so hard that his body lifted off the ground as he flipped sideways.
I checked his colleagues. They were moaning, starting to regain consciousness. “Don’t get up,” I said to the mugger with the broken arm. I pulled off his hood and patted his head. “It’s in all of our interests that no one hears a thing about what just happened. Agreed?”
The mugger nodded while gasping.
“Good.” I smiled. “I did warn you that you’d got the wrong guy.”
I walked on, needing to cover twenty miles before I reached Robert and Celia Grange’s house.
Chapter 15
Thyme Painter was giving a briefing to a room of forty-six uniformed and plainclothes Charlottesville cops, midway in the 277 miles between Baltimore and Roanoke. Her cell phone rang, and it was a call she had to take—Detective Inspector Toby Rice from the London Metropolitan Police. “Excuse me for one moment.” She listened to the call, glanced with a look of excitement at Kopański, and said to Rice, “Excellent work, Detective.”
When she ended the call, all eyes in the room were on her.
She said, “Ladies and gentlemen, by chance, we’ve had a breakthrough. A man in Scotland called the British police because he was concerned about the whereabouts of his English wife. In tandem, NYPD forensics reached out to the UK with details of the Waldorf victim’s DNA. London’s Met Police compared the DNA of our victim with the DNA of the missing wife.” She smiled. “We have a match.” Her smile vanished. “But this takes the situation to a whole new level. The victim is Sarah Goldsmith. In the next hour, I will be revealing her details to the media and asking members of the public to come forward if they have any information about her that might relate to her death. It appears she was lured to New York on the false pretext that she was being interviewed for a job. That fraud may or not be related to her death. We will be investigating it. More important, her identity, the fact that she was murdered in Cochrane’s room, and the fact that he fled mean we’re damn sure Cochrane is guilty of her murder.”
Everyone else in the room was silent.
“Sarah Goldsmith is Will Cochrane’s sister.”
The diner in Roanoke was one of the twins’ favorite places to eat out because it served burgers as big as their heads and offered second helpings of fries and soft drinks for free. This evening, Billy was alone with his aunt Faye, too nervous to eat because he knew they were about to have a grown-up discussion. He thought it would make his tummy churn again. And he knew that the conversation would be about Uncle Will.
Faye watched him stab at his fries but not lift them to his mouth. “Billy, Uncle Will’s done something very bad.”
“Killed someone,” muttered Billy.
“Yes. Well, maybe not. We don’t know, but we do know the police are trying to catch him so they can ask him what happened.”
“Why doesn’t he just go to the police and tell them he didn’t do it?”
Faye’s eyes moistened. “Maybe because if he does that, they’ll arrest him and put him in prison for a very long time.”
“Not if he’s innocent.”
“And if he’s guilty?” Faye hated saying the words, though she knew that right now Robert and Celia would be having the exact same conversation with Tom. They’d agreed that in order to give the twins certainty about their immediate future, they had to use unambiguous language and not supply false hope. But talking this way still made Faye feel terrible. “When people run away from a dead body and don’t contact the police, it usually means they’re guilty of killing the person.”
Billy dropped his fork, tears running down his face. “He could be scared. That’s why he ran.”
“A man like Uncle Will doesn’t get scared easily.”
The ten-year-old blurted, “I wasn’t scared on the valley swing we made. Then one day I was and couldn’t go on it. I don’t know why. Uncle Will just got . . . just got suddenly scared.”
Faye placed her hand on his. “It’s possible, but the police think he murdered a woman. They want to arrest him. He can’t be your father if he’s a wanted man.”
“Wanted?”
“If the police want to catch him and put him in prison.”
“But . . . but . . . he bought us a new home, close to our school. He got a job in the school so he could always be close to us. Tom and me were going to teach him how to open a Microsoft account so he could . . . could . . .” His face turned red as his sobbing intensified. “Who’s going to look after us?”
Faye rubbed his hand. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about this evening. Uncle Robert and Aunt Celia and I have spoken about this. We will continue to look after you, though I will be your parent. Even if it’s just temporary because it turns out Uncle Will is innocent.”
“But you couldn’t look after us before. You kept crying.”
“I’m better now. At least . . .” She paused to be sure of what she was about to say. “The most important thing is that you and Tom know that life will continue as normal. You’ll keep going to school, have your own rooms, play in the garden, life as normal. And I’ll stay in the house until . . . until we know what’s happening with Uncle Will.”
Viktor Zhukov, six other men, and one woman were standing by three vehicles on the side of a dark, deserted Virginia country road.
The males in the team comprised ex-military and technical experts, the female a doctor who’d had her license revoked. Zhukov didn’t know any of them, but that didn’t matter because Edward Carley did. All that mattered to the Russian was that the others did what they’d been told to do this evening, with clockwork precision. If any of them deviated from that task, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill them.
Zhukov and his team had covertly watched the house for two days. However, the plan of action was not his. After Zhukov had relayed surveillance updates to him, Edward Carley had told him exactly what to do.
“Two of
the family are away this evening. That doesn’t matter. But if they return while I’m there, I will deal with them. First I need to take care of the car.” Zhukov looked at each person in turn. “Give me five minutes. Once that’s done, I will call. Move very fast then. And make no mistakes.”
He left his vehicle and walked alongside the road, away from the group.
Tom had been sent to bed, emotionally and mentally exhausted, pulling the drawstring on the back of his teddy so that the hidden device inside could activate its ten-minute sound recording operation. But he had no words to record, and just let the thing listen to empty air.
At the downstairs kitchen table, Robert and Celia were grasping undrunk mugs of coffee. Robert wanted to be angry about the situation. He wanted to be able to channel that anger into energy and leadership, but all that remained in him was a feeling that they had somehow let the twins down, giving them false hope by agreeing that Will could adopt them. He wished he could turn the clock back and say to Will, “No. You can’t father the boys. You’re not suitable because one day you’re going to murder a woman.”
Celia could sense her husband’s mood, though her thoughts were different. She recalled the way Will had spoken to them about his plans for the twins’ future. She’d sensed no malice in him. Nothing but a genuine desire to give the boys a stable, healthy, and loving future. He’d seemed like a good man; one who was carrying demons, for sure, but not someone who could do something as catastrophic as this. Perhaps her judgment was becoming more flawed with age; perhaps Will Cochrane had hidden his dark side from her.
“Can Faye find the strength?” she asked her husband in a voice that sounded as unreal as the thoughts in her head.
“With us by her side, I think she can.” Robert wasn’t looking at her or anything in particular. The normally in-control man now felt like a fish out of water.
Celia went to him and put her arms around him. “None of this is our fault. We have and will continue to look after the boys. And when we were real parents, we raised two fine daughters.”
“We were younger then and knew what we were doing. Things change.”
“You’re being too hard on us.”
Robert looked at his wife. “Faye has to be strong enough. I can’t have the boys going into foster care.”
“It will never come to that. Our daughters would step in if—”
“They’re up to their necks in their own kids, and mortgages, and every other responsibility under the sun. Their hearts would be in the right place, but no way do they have the resources to take on more responsibilities.”
Robert was right. Short of Will being miraculously found innocent, Faye and the Granges were the twins’ only hope.
Robert glanced at his watch. “Faye and Billy will be home any time now.”
The detective who was taking the night shift entered the room. “My colleague’s going to bed, though he’ll be up in a second if there’s need. I don’t want to disturb you folks, so is there a room I can use tonight?”
Celia answered, “You can use the living room. In fact, most downstairs rooms. Robert and I will just be using this room until bedtime.”
“Okay, ma’am. I’ll leave you alone in here. I might also be taking some walks around the property, checking perimeters. And I’ll have constant lines of communication with the squad car at the bottom of your lane. If Will Cochrane is out there, we will find him.”
Chapter 16
I’d been in some of the most arduous situations and harshest environments in the world. The physical side of things can become excruciating. There comes a point when you feel like you’re wearing lead boots. Your back wants to give out. Not one part of you feels good. Adrenaline comes and goes. But it’s not enough without sufficient food and water. Keeping moving can be a relentless nightmare. Throw into the mix people who want to kill you, and it becomes a whole new ball game. I’ve seen men in these situations reach a breaking point. Some of them just sit down and wait for death. Doesn’t mean they’re weak. Everyone has a point where they can’t go on. None of us knows when that will happen.
I desperately wanted to rest.
But I couldn’t.
I walked through the rural countryside beyond Roanoke.
The main road leading to the Granges’ lane was one hundred yards to my left. I’d only driven up it once before. Back then, everything was different. New life ahead of me. Parenting. A challenge, for sure, but for once not one that required me to put my neck on the line. Two months earlier, the idea of adopting Billy and Tom hit me. It just made perfect sense.
The difference between my last visit to their home and now was vast.
I had a further ten miles to cover on foot. I quickened my pace.
Zhukov approached the police squad car parked at the bottom of a long lane that headed up to the rise above the valley. He was calm and didn’t give a damn about personal danger. All that mattered was that things went according to plan. He knocked on the driver’s window and stepped back, raising his hands to show he meant no harm.
Two uniformed cops were inside. The one on the driver’s side partially lowered his window. “Yeah?”
Zhukov pointed back up the road and said in his lisping tone, “I’ve just hit a deer. It’s smashed up the front of my pickup. I’m about a mile back.”
The cop’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know we were here?”
Zhukov shrugged. “I didn’t. I waited for a while for some cars to pass by and help, but I didn’t see one vehicle in twenty minutes. So I decided to walk until I could find a house where I could call for help.”
“Why didn’t you call from your cell phone?”
“I don’t have one. I don’t permit them in my family, ever since my daughter got stalked on Instagram.”
“You got someone back there with you?”
“My wife and daughter. They’re in the vehicle, but scared. The engine won’t turn over, so they’ve got no heat.”
The cop on the passenger side got out of the vehicle but stayed close to it. “Your accent—you a foreigner?”
Zhukov shook his head. “Not anymore. I’m from Romania, but have all the necessary paperwork to be here. It’s in my pickup.”
“You got vehicle insurance?”
“Of course.”
The cop in the driver’s seat said, “We can’t drive far from here, but if you’re only a mile away that should be fine.” He got onto his radio and spoke to someone. “We’re leaving post for a few minutes because we’ve got a family in distress to deal with. Nothing suspicious. Road traffic accident. But we’ll be mobile and minutes away if needed.” He turned to Zhukov. “We’re just going to need to check you’re not carrying anything dangerous before we allow you in the car. You got a problem with that?”
Zhukov shook his head. “Not at all.”
The driver got out of the car. He glanced at his colleague standing on the other side of the vehicle. “I got this.” He looked at Zhukov. “Okay. Don’t be concerned. Just put your arms out straight and to the side. I’m going to search you just like the guys do at airports.”
Zhukov put on a fake look of fear. “I’ve just remembered I’ve got a steel wrench in my pocket. I was using it to try to lever open the pickup hood.”
To Zhukov’s joy, the officer replied, “That’s okay. Toss it on the ground, then put your arms out. Slowly though.” Both officers had a hand on their holsters.
The Russian reached into his pocket, grabbed the metal object, said, “I’m so glad I found you here,” and with lightning speed and accuracy pulled out his sound-suppressed pistol and shot both officers in the head.
I had five miles left to the Granges’ home.
I guessed the twins would be in bed by now, possibly asleep. What mattered was that Robert and Celia were awake. But I had to approach with great care. I assumed the police knew about my missed appointment with the attorney in New York and the purposes of that meeting. Plus, I’d been sighted heading south from Philadelphia. P
air those two facts, and they’d know I was heading to the Granges’ place.
Cops would be monitoring their home. Though how was unclear.
Covertly observing the property from close proximity would be intensive and a diversion of valuable resources away from capturing me in open ground. More likely, they’d position a fast-response squad car close by and plant at least two detectives in the house.
I’d need to get past whichever one of them was on night duty.
Faye had hated nighttime driving ever since she’d started to wear glasses. Intensified and distorted by her lenses, it was the glare from the headlights of oncoming vehicles that scared her, forcing her to urgently reduce speed. Three miles outside of Roanoke and with seventeen to go, thankfully, traffic was almost nonexistent. Still, she was driving at a snail’s pace.
“We’ll be home soon, Billy. It’s way past your bedtime, young man.”
In the back, Billy yawned. “Will Tom be in bed now?”
“Yes, he will. You’re lucky to be the one allowed up this late.” Faye bet Billy felt anything but lucky right now. But she was making light of their circumstances, and bizarrely, it was having a positive effect on her mood. Maybe this was the return to the get-on-with-it attitude that she had once shared with Celia. And if that was the case, she needed to keep being like this, even if it started as a charade. “I bet Tom didn’t get a burger the size of the one you had tonight.”
“Probably not.”
“Hey, I’ve got a special recipe for burgers. It uses fresh ground steak, eggs, crushed biscuit crackers, and herbs. Actually, in my recipe I add paprika, but we might hold back on that until you’re older. Want me to cook you and Tom my secret-recipe burgers sometime?”
“Sure.”
“And I cook really fabulous homemade fries.” She knew she was babbling but didn’t want there to be silence in the car. “I cut them chunky and double-fry them. Ten minutes on a low simmer, then drain them off and let them cool down. Then five minutes before eating, I refry them on a high heat to get them crispy. Sound yummy?”