You're Next

by Gregg Hurwitz

  ‘We found your brother in a house. With a severely injured woman. Annabel Wingate. Any idea of his relationship to her?’

  ‘He was always something of a ladies’ man,’ William said.

  The black detective made a noise deep in her throat that implied a lack of surprise.

  ‘Did she die?’ William asked. ‘The injured lady?’

  ‘She’s critical.’

  William scratched at the stubble of his neck, the rasp pronounced off the concrete walls. ‘Huh,’ he said.

  Markovic nodded at the coroner, who cleared her throat nervously. She was an attractive woman, blond. ‘I’m going to push this button, and the curtain will rise. The body is lying inside on a table. I’d like to forewarn you that there was some trauma to the head, so—’

  ‘Do it,’ William said.

  She clicked the lever, and the curtain rose. There lay Hanley on his back, presented like some ceremonial dish, his gray skin catching reflections off the stainless-steel table. A medical-green sheet was draped over him, folded back to his chest. Though his head was in the correct position, it was all wrong, as if it had been popped off and screwed back imprecisely. The left side of his face was dented, flesh draped like parchment over the space that bones should have lent form to.

  William reached over, touched his fingertips to the cold glass. Though Boss Man had confirmed Hanley’s death already, William realized he’d held out a fantasy of a mix-up. It took him a moment to find his voice. ‘Yeah. That’s Hanley.’

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Markovic said.

  ‘I want to touch him.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Elzey said. ‘There’s an active investigation—’

  William wobbled over to the door. ‘I want to touch him.’ His voice wavered. He waited, stooped, pathetic, eyes on the floor.

  The silence was thunderous.

  Finally the coroner said, ‘He could use latex gloves . . .?’ A box was fetched. William pulled on the gloves, stepped inside. The room, a good twenty degrees cooler, smelled of bleach, metal, and musk. The odors seemed to lodge in William’s lungs. The detectives and coroner kept their respectful distance, if respectful was watching him pay his last respects through a picture window. He put his back to them, blocking their view, and slid off one glove. Reaching out a steady hand, he laid it on his baby brother’s cheek. It never ceased to amaze him how devoid of life dead flesh felt.

  ‘Hanley,’ he murmured.

  He pushed his brother’s eyelids down, then wormed his hand back into the glove.

  He stepped out, passed the others without a word, and labored down the hall. Getting up the stairs, he broke a sweat. His grip on the railing felt arthritic, and he tugged at the fabric of his pants to hurry his legs up a step at a time.

  Walking out, he let the nighttime breeze blow through his face into his lungs to drive out all those scents. Dodge was waiting in the van, hands on the wheel, staring ahead as if driving.

  William struggled into the passenger seat, cranking down his window. He reached for the sunflower seeds on the dash, then thought better of it. Dodge stuck two cigarettes into his mouth, lifted a cheap plastic lighter from the breast pocket of his unbuttoned shirt, and lit them up. He passed one across to William, who took it with trembling hands. They sucked, breathed smoke. William flicked his yellowed nails against one another. He rubbed his eyes, then finally looked over and nodded at Dodge.

  ‘When we get him,’ William said, ‘we’ll take our time with him.’

  Dodge dropped the steering-column gearshift into reverse. He said, ‘Course.’

  Ten minutes later, even with the freeway air blasting in his face, William couldn’t get his lungs clear.

  Chapter 32

  Mike opened the interior door, towel-drying his hair from the shower. Kat was awake in the darkness, hugging her pillow, her own hair a white swirl of mayo and plastic wrap. ‘I didn’t know where you went.’

  Mike pointed to the monitor at his hip, which gave off a soothing rush of white air. ‘I got you, sweetheart.’ He gestured next door. ‘And Shep’s here.’

  At this her face lightened a touch.

  Shep waited for Mike’s nod, then leaned through the doorway. ‘What’s with your head?’

  ‘Lice.’ She made a face. ‘I know.’

  Shep vanished for a moment and returned with his Dopp kit, the same one he’d had as a kid. He rooted around, produced a pair of clippers, and tossed them to Mike.

  ‘No.’ Mike shoved the razor back at Shep, as if it could cut Kat’s hair itself.

  Shep held up his hands in surrender, came in, and took up on a chair in the corner.

  Mike’s mouth moved a few times as he tried to put his gratitude into words, but Shep cut him short. ‘Handle your business.’

  Mike closed the door quietly after him.

  Kat jerked awake in the darkness with a cry.

  Shep didn’t move from his chair. ‘You’re okay,’ he said.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’

  ‘Meeting a guy next door. You’ve only been asleep a few minutes.’

  ‘Someone who’ll help us?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Did you see her?’ Kat asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’d she look like?’

  ‘Chalky. Peaceful.’

  ‘Is she gonna die?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Her bottom lip started to go, but she got it under control. ‘Can I . . . can I have a hug?’

  ‘I don’t do that,’ Shep said.

  She flopped back down and curled up in a little ball. Within seconds she was asleep again. She fussed, eyelids flickering. Shep rose from the chair and moved silently across the room. He stood over her. She fussed some more. He reached out and rested a large hand on her back.

  She stilled.

  A moth landed on the window by Mike’s face and spread its leathery wings. Rain started up, a patter on the motel roof that grew to a constant thrum. Just as he started to doze off, the rumble of Hank’s Oldsmobile outside jarred him awake.

  When Mike opened the door, Hank ducked into the room, pulling off driving gloves, rainwater dripping from him. ‘It’s like a cow pissing on a flat rock out there.’

  Slanting rain smudged the streetlights. Steam rose from the hoods of idling cars. A seam of straw-colored light fringed the eastern horizon, interrupted by the blocky rise of Universal City. Mike took a long look outside before closing the door.

  Hank brushed off his coat, his trousers, the drops big enough to tap the carpet. ‘I’m sorry about Annabel. You know there’s nothing you could’ve done differently.’

  ‘Does anyone ever say that when it’s true?’

  Hank tugged at his jowls – point taken. He scratched his shin.

  ‘They ID her attacker yet?’ Mike asked.

  ‘Hanley Burrell.’

  Mike pictured the angled view he’d had of the guy from across the kitchen. That unshaven cheek, the hunch over Annabel, those fingers fussing obscenely at the strap of her bra. Mike couldn’t manage to attach the name to him. It conferred a humanity, a real-worldness to a figure who seemed to have crawled out of a nightmare. Mike turned the name over, came up blank. ‘Where’s he from?’

  ‘No address. I guess he was a transient.’

  ‘He have a brother, William?’

  ‘Indeed he does.’

  ‘Lemme guess – no address for him either.’

  ‘No. His last-knowns put him in Redding, but that was two years back.’

  Mike exhaled, fighting to concentrate. ‘North-of-Sacramento, middle-of-nowhere Redding?’

  Nodding, Hank hacked into a fist, a rattling cough that went too long and left him winded. His head drooped, and he pasted a few stray hairs back over his scalp with a palm. Then he drew himself upright, finding again that proud posture. Still, he looked as fragile as a newborn’s neck.

  ‘Listen,’ Mike said, ‘I know this is about the last thing you need right now—’

 
But Hank showed little interest in taking that detour. ‘There’s more,’ he said, cutting Mike off. ‘William’s got a robust record, as you can imagine, a good list of known associates. One is Roger Drake, a six-foot-six piece of work, like a Mack truck with no one behind the windshield.’

  ‘Dodge.’

  ‘That’s right. Now, when the cops searched the blocks surrounding your house, they didn’t find a vehicle registered to Hanley. So someone dropped him off.’

  ‘Or he rode with Rick Graham. The cop I—’

  ‘Shep mentioned that.’ Hank drew in a breath, mouth corkscrewing to the side. ‘When the ambulance and first responders arrived, they said there was no one at the house but Annabel. And there’s no Rick Graham working for any law-enforcement agency in this county.’

  ‘Can you check other ones?’

  ‘There are a lot of counties from sea to shining sea. Could the badge have been a fake?’

  ‘He had an exempt government vehicle. Plus, I got a read on him. The guy was a cop. A lifer, too – he had the swagger, the demeanor, the whole thing.’

  Hank pulled his gaze to the ceiling, as close to an eye roll as he’d allow. He wobbled on his feet a bit, and Mike realized that he needed to sit but was too proud to ask, and Mike had been too dense to offer.

  Mike sat on the bed and gestured, and Hank, grimacing, eased himself down into a chair. The effort left him short of breath again, his eyelids sluggish when he blinked. What kind of meds was he battling just to be here, just to be upright? A wave of gratitude washed over Mike. He wanted to express it somehow, but, as if reading his thoughts, Hank spun his hand for Mike to proceed, a curt, irritated gesture.

  Mike continued. ‘I’m thinking Graham was the backstop in case things got sticky and the authorities got involved. That’s why once he caught wind of the 911 call, he went in instead of Dodge and William.’

  ‘If he’s really a cop, then why did he take off?’ Hank said. ‘Why wouldn’t he have just shot you and filed a false report?’

  ‘Maybe he was planning to after he finished sweeping the house. I think he figured he’d see if he could handle it quick and easy. If he gets spotted, he explains his way out of it. If he can sneak away, even better.’

  Hank frowned skeptically. ‘A cop executioner? In bed with a lowlife like Hanley Burrell?’

  ‘I figure Graham for the guy who put out that alert on me.’

  ‘So the original plan was to send in Hanley alone to do the dirty work?’

  ‘I think so. Hanley kicks in the door, overpowers Annabel, has time to set up and wait for me. When I get home with’ – Mike’s fingers nervously tapped the monitor clipped to his belt – ‘Kat, he’s got privacy and my wife and daughter there to make me cooperate with whatever the hell they want. Then he cleans up afterward. Kills me.’ He pictured the drop cloth, wadded on the living-room floor. ‘At that point Annabel and Kat would be witnesses—’ He severed the thought. ‘But Hanley couldn’t keep it under control until I got there.’

  A cry wavered through the thin wall. Kat. Mike tensed.

  ‘Go,’ Hank said.

  Mike hurried next door, patted Kat back to sleep, and returned, now with Shep at his heels. Shep crossed his arms, leaned against the bureau.

  Hank said, ‘Shep, I presume?’

  Shep nodded.

  Hank turned to Mike. ‘Look, I’m a second-rate investigator with a foot in the grave. But I know a little.’ With thumb and forefinger, he pinched off an inch of air to show how thin his expertise was. ‘And what little I do know, I know about crap like this. The longer you leave things the way they are, the harder it’s gonna be to get back.’

  ‘Get back where?’ Mike said.

  ‘You left a corpse and your wife’s body behind, went on the lam with your daughter, and pulled half a mil out of the bank.’

  ‘Three hundred thousand.’

  ‘Oh. Well then.’

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ Mike said.

  ‘I haven’t told you what I think.’

  Mike said nothing.

  ‘Every hour that passes, you look more suspicious,’ Hank said.

  ‘You’re acting like a seasoned criminal.’ He shot a glance at Shep. ‘No offense.’

  Shep shrugged. ‘None taken.’

  ‘If you stay in hiding, you will be vilified,’ Hank continued. ‘You will lose control of what story gets told and which leads get investigated.’

  ‘Spoken like a cop,’ Shep said.

  ‘I can’t walk from my bed to the toilet without wheezing anymore, son. I’m too tired to play sides.’ Hank’s focus shifted back to Mike. ‘I want to help you. Maybe I need a distraction. Maybe it’s more than a distraction. Hell, if I can do one right thing before . . .’ He made a noise, amusement at his folly, and Mike couldn’t help but wonder if Hank’s steadfastness was tied, somehow, to the worn school picture of the young boy thumbtacked to his office wall. Hank continued, ‘I spend my days staring down the barrel. I see things with a certain clarity now. Perspective, I think they call it.’

  Mike started to interrupt, but Hank held up a hand, cutting him off. ‘At the moment, you’re merely a person of interest in this case. You have not been formally charged. You’ve got a very limited window to step back from the edge. Now, the situation is drastic, and you’ve never struck me as someone who wanted only convenient facts, so I’m gonna lay out the picture, and let’s skip the part where you’re outraged and emotional, because, Mike, you don’t have the time. There are whispers of infidelity, you walked in on your wife . . .’ His hand churned the air. ‘You can guess how that script’ll play. Ninety percent of the game right now is how you look, and you look guilty. Even your name: Michael Wingate. You created a fake identity—’

  ‘No,’ Mike said sharply. ‘I was never Mike Doe. I left behind a fake identity.’

  ‘If they charge you with assaulting your wife—’

  ‘Charge me for that?’

  ‘They can take away your health-care-proxy rights. Then who makes the choices for Annabel? And what are you gonna do with Katherine? Raise her on the run? Bonnie and Clyde, eating beans and franks under the open western sky? There’s no play like that, not in this day and age. Especially not for a parent. We’ve gotta find someone we trust and get you with the authorities.’

  Shep said, ‘Bad idea.’

  Hank swung his head over to take in Shep. ‘Don’t get stuck on stupid, son. This ain’t you against the world.’

  ‘It might be,’ Shep said. ‘He killed the man’s brother. These guys weren’t exactly agreeable before that.’

  ‘You’re right. They’re bad news, it’s hunting season, and they don’t have a little girl slowing them down.’

  ‘Hunting season,’ Shep said. ‘I like that.’

  Hank kept his stare on Mike, as if Mike had made the last remark instead of Shep. ‘So that’s it? You gonna track them yourself? With an eight-year-old girl?’

  Mike looked away, fidgeting.

  ‘She’s precocious,’ Shep answered.

  ‘So are William Burrell and Roger Drake. And you know what else? They’ve got more practice at this.’ Hank heaved a sigh. ‘The authorities will be able to protect you and your daughter better than you can out here on your own.’

  ‘Unless the authorities I land with are in with Graham,’ Mike said. ‘In which case I’d be walking myself – and Kat – into the lion’s den. I can’t protect her in custody.’

  ‘All cops are not corrupt,’ Hank said wearily. The dappled skin over his temple twitched. He looked suddenly brittle, as though he might shatter if you threw the wrong words at him. ‘I gotta see my doctor at eight. If you give me a few hours after that, I will find you a department with honest cops who can protect you, alert or no alert.’

  ‘I watched a cop come back from searching Kat’s bedroom wearing latex gloves and holding a throw-down gun,’ Mike said. ‘She’s a witness. She saw two of these men.’

  ‘As did everyone at that country club th
e night of the awards,’ Hank said. ‘Look, this thing hasn’t gone according to their plan. Kat hasn’t seen anything incriminating yet. You still have a shot to excise her from all this.’

  ‘Not with these guys. They’ve used her for bait once already.’

  ‘Can you get her to your in-laws?’ Hank asked. ‘Grandparents?’

  Mike choked on the thought, swallowed to moisten his throat.

  ‘They wouldn’t know how to protect her.’

  ‘So how about Annabel?’ Hank stood and tugged his gloves from his pocket. ‘You think they’ll go after her to get to you also?’

  Shep said, ‘Yes.’ He checked his watch. ‘Shift change in an hour. I need to go back to the hospital.’ He crossed and opened the front door, letting in a spill of pale gray light, the bleakest edge of morning.

  Hank crowded him at the door, neither man giving way, a momentary logjam. Hank shouldered through first onto the walk and turned back. His gaze stayed on Shep, though he was addressing Mike. ‘I’ll call you in six hours with a name and a station.’

  Shep pretended not to hear him. ‘Don’t trust the cops,’ he told Mike. He gestured politely, and Hank stepped aside to let him pass.

  Their respective cars waited on opposite ends of the lot. Breaking apart, they headed out into the storm. Mike stood in the doorway long after they’d driven off.

  Chapter 33

  ‘Look at this. Come here.’ Her black hair arcing across her face, Dr Cha beckoned Shep closer, leaned over Annabel, and rubbed two knuckles in to her chest, hard. Still unconscious, Annabel shifted on the bed and grimaced.

  ‘Sternal rub,’ Dr Cha said. ‘The bone’s beneath only a millimeter of skin there, so people recoil from pressure. When they’re responsive, that is.’