“Of course.”
We looked out the front window for any sign of Jenkins, then hurried out of the apartment, through the hallway, into the vestibule. I'd forgotten all about Liz's mailbox; I'd noticed it that first time over, seen it all packed with stuff. Toni went directly to the bank of brass boxes mounted in the wall, slipped the key into the lock of Liz's box, and of course it worked. The small brass door opened and mail came flooding out, cascading onto the floor as if we'd hit the jackpot. I was sure we had.
Toni and I gathered everything, a whole pile of envelopes and catalogs and papers, and we wasted no time retreating into the apartment. I locked the door behind us, and we sat on the couch and tore through everything, ripping letters and bills open, dropping them on the floor, dashing through it all, hoping to find some incriminating letter, some bit of telling information. I was sure there was; we both were. I ripped open a manila envelope, tossed aside a Guthrie Theater schedule. Plowed on, into a Minnesota Public Radio pledge form. Them again. And more bills. One from Northern States Power. One from Visa.
Within a few minutes, however, there was a pile of papers at our feet and nothing in hand. Crap, all of it crap. I looked at Toni, shrugged.
I said, “I thought we were going to find something.”
“So did I.”
Motioning toward the bookshelf, I said, “I found the back of the camera open—you don't know if there was any film in it, do you?”
She shook her head, didn't say anything, the discouragement on her face like thick makeup. Toni had never been very good at hiding her emotions.
“What about that other key?” I asked. “What's that for? You don't think it's to Rob Tyler's house, do you?”
“Maybe. Then again, maybe it's to her storage room downstairs.”
“She has more stuff in the basement?”
Toni nodded.
I said, “Come on.”
I stood, grabbed Toni by the hand, pulled her up. Toni didn't seem too eager, but she came along. I led the way past the kitchen, past the hall closet, and then to the back door, which was on the right, just before the bedroom.
“We need to find something to corner Tyler,” I said as we exited the apartment and entered the back staircase.
“Yeah, but what?”
“Well, what if we'd found her journal and there was something in there or what if there'd been film in her camera that showed… showed, I don't know, Tyler dressed as a Dragon. Something like that.”
“If only life were so convenient,” she muttered, unable to hide her sarcasm.
The back hall was dingy, to say the least, an old staircase with grayish green paint and old wooden steps that had darkened and cracked with age. Toni hit a round button, a couple of bulbs came to life, and we descended into cool dankness and the forgotten, unseen part of the apartment building where things were stashed and then abandoned. I looked up. Hanging from the ceiling were pipe after pipe, most of them wrapped in asbestos and all of them leading spiderlike to a huge object in the corner, the original boiler, which had undoubtedly been converted from coal to gas.
Toni pushed aside an old curtain, and we walked around a pile of boxes, past an old washer and dryer sitting out in the middle of the floor—unhooked to water or electricity—and past some barbells and dumbbells on the floor. Off to the right I saw a large water heater, bicycles, some hoses, a rake, then another washer and dryer, those apparently hooked up. Not much more, at least what I could see. Off on one side was a small window, way up high at ground level and clearly nailed shut, but it had been painted over, gave off nothing more than a murky glow.
“I was down here once,” said Toni. “Her storage room's back there, in the far corner.”
I could barely make out a series of old doors, and I knew at once that, yes, this key would unlock the one labeled TWO, which was Liz's. And it did, of course. Toni and I skirted more piles of books and crud, the jetsam of years of tenants who'd moved on, and Toni went up to the storage door, slipped the key into the padlock, which popped open with a faint chink. She swung open the door, but we could barely see inside, it was so dark. A bicycle tire was about all I could make out. I reached for a string, tugged, and a light burst on, exposing a room that had only walls of chicken wire separating it from the other storage lockers. In front of me I saw not a lone bike tire, but a whole bike, plus a lawn chair, the foldout kind, a bag of charcoal, some old cross-country skis, and an assortment of other inconsequential junk.
“Doesn't look like much to me,” said Toni.
“Me, neither.”
Not knowing what to look for, I tried to imagine what could have been here, what might have been. A mask used by a Dragon. Something worn by Liz if she'd attended a Dragon function. Or?
I bit my bottom lip, stared at the sad pile of junk. I couldn't think of anything else. I was shaking my head, coming to the conclusion that this was hopeless, useless, a wild chase of the goose type, when it happened. The lights went out. I was looking at the red bike—an old Schwinn—when the lights snapped off and Toni and I were left in near-total darkness.
“Shit,” I said. What a time for a power failure. “Toni?”
She grabbed me, suddenly and hard, fingers sinking through my shirt, into my skin.
“Hey,” I began, “it's all—”
She whispered, “Someone's down here!”
Toni was pulling on me, leading me aside, out of the way, and my heart began to trot, then gallop. Someone down here? My eyes scanned the darkness, tried to probe this wickedly blackened basement for the sight of another human being. I turned. Was the boiler over there or the washing machines? And those weights? No, they were over there. So that meant the stairs were about—
I saw him. Definitely a man, a big guy, now pushing aside the curtain at the bottom of the stairs, then letting the curtain drop and closing off all but the faintest of light. I couldn't tell much, only a vague shape, but one thing was absolutely clear. The stranger held out his right hand and in that hand was a gunmetal gray shadow. A pistol. This wasn't one of the tenants down here searching for a lost sock. This guy knew we were down here and he was hunting for us. Oh, shit, and we were back by the lockers, cornered in the rear of the basement, no gun, no knife, no nothing.
Toni tugged on me, and I moved after her, fearful of saying anything, fearful of bumping into something. Either would give us away. So what could the two of us do, so weaponless? Nothing but hide.
She led the way, slow step by slow step, and I saw him, our hunter, stalking us equally slowly. No, he didn't know where we were because he was going the other way. He was sliding toward the boiler, while we were going off toward the washer and dryer and then another pile of junk. Perhaps we could slip around him, bolt for the stairs, break for safety, but then he turned into a shadow that slipped into blackness. Where the hell was he? Where were we?
In front of me I felt Toni stumble. Then I lost my balance, too, nearly fell as something wrapped around our feet, something long and coiled and hard. A hose. Dammit. I couldn't even kick it aside for fear of being heard, and Toni and I clung to one another, somehow kept our balance through this obstacle course of household refuse.
Finally I stepped beyond it, still held on to Toni, and I realized this wasn't going to work, our hiding or even trying to slip around him and bolt for the stairs. We'd never be as quick as a bullet. We had to separate. Toni could go one way, I another. We could lure him. Yes. Toni could lure him, then I could jump him from behind, whack him on the head, strangle him, whatever. It was our only chance, the only way.
I pulled on Toni's arm, brought her close to me, pressed my lips right into her thick hair, and said, “You go up that way and try to get him to follow. I'll jump him from behind.”
She didn't risk a verbal response, and we squeezed hands, parted. This had to work. There was no other way, none that I could figure, and I watched Toni slip away from my touch and drown in the darkness. I bit my lip, turned back, reached out, tried to find my way b
ack toward the locker. There was a column back there. Right. A post. I could go back up and wait there, then go around the other side of it, come up behind him and smash him. With what? I needed a baseball bat or something. Had I seen a rake, a shovel, any such thing? I had to do it quick and hard before he had a chance to fire.
I stepped back carefully over the hose, heard a noise behind and to my right, a thud of a person bumping into something metal. That was Toni. She'd either hit something unwittingly or banged on something, probably the side of the washing machine, to attract him. And it was working. Just over on the right I saw an arm, a black mass moving across a black plane. Yes. He was over there, inching now in Toni's direction, so he'd heard her, was tracking her, moving in, ready to kill.
I reached out and my hand hit the post. I was closer to it than I thought, but that was okay. Now I knew where I was. I turned slightly. He was just out there, straight in front of me. Or he should be. I heard a slight shuffling noise. Toni? Him? I wasn't totally sure, couldn't see a blessed thing, but I couldn't risk letting him get too close to Toni. So I moved out, putting one foot forward, shifting my weight, lifting—
Something hard and cold jabbed into the side of my head, and a voice said, “I wouldn't move if I was you, asshole!”
My body froze as if it were a total muscle. That was a gun sticking right in my temple. I could feel it round and hard, wanting to explode into me, splatter the better part of me all over this cellar. Oh, Jesus. Why wasn't I at work discussing the pros and cons of digital garage-door openers?
“What the fuck are you after?” demanded my would-be assassin, standing there in the darkness next to me.
“I… I…”
I thought I knew that voice, but I didn't know what to do, what to say, because he was waiting for just the right moment to squelch my life, and I was sure that moment was going to come very soon. I closed my eyes, bit down on the bitter, acidic bile creeping up the back of my throat. Oh, God. Toni, I cried silently, Toni, where are you?
My assailant grabbed me, his big thick hand seizing my upper arm, squeezing, and he ordered, “Speak up, asshole!”
Suddenly there were other footsteps. Toni? No. Someone bounding down the stairs, shouting, and then hitting the switch. The lights came on suddenly, the curtain thrown back.
“What the hell's going on?” shouted Lieutenant Jenkins, now entering the basement.
I felt the gun jerked from my head, and I spun away, stared at John, the caretaker, shouted, “Jesus Christ!”
John turned away, stood there, arm flaccid, pistol now aimed at the cold floor. He wouldn't look me in the eye, just stared off, shaking his head as if he'd failed badly at something.
“Sorry, I… I…”
“Didn't know it was us?” Toni grabbed me, pulled me farther away from him, and demanded, “Didn't you hear us in Liz's? Or did you and that's why you came down here?”
John's face blossomed a deep red, and he spun toward us, waved his gun, and said, “What the hell are you talkin’ about? I… I came down here ’cause I heard a noise and I thought it might be the person who killed Chris and… and maybe your sister, too!”
“Yeah, right,” countered Toni, eyeing him with distrust.
“Hey,” said Jenkins, suddenly our savior, moving in, easing himself right between John and Toni and me, “just calm down. Everything's fine. Nothing happened.”
I saw Toni's doubts creeping to the surface. John, the caretaker, who'd had complete access to both Chris and Liz's apartments and who seemed aware of our every action in this building. What was his real intention of cornering us down here in the dark? Having just felt John's wild rage and the gun at my temple, nothing seemed too outrageous a possibility.
Jenkins turned to Toni and me, ordered, “You two go upstairs and wait there.”
I didn't like any of this. Being trapped and caught by John, and particularly being down here with Jenkins. What was the police lieutenant doing here anyway? Yes, we had to get away. Not just upstairs. We had to leave here, this basement, this building.
I took Toni by the arm, my grasp weak, still trembling with fear. “Come on.”
“Alex, no, he—”
“Dammit!” I yelled.
She stared at me, realized shouting wasn't going to prove anything, and so the two of us turned, left John and Jenkins standing there in the basement. We were hurrying now, past the weights and the rusty washer and dryer, making for the stairs, escaping to the surface and safety. Ahead of me Toni pulled aside the curtain, but then I stopped and looked back. I had to clear my throat because my memory was so fresh with that imprint of gun upon temple and my vocal cords were still stretched hard and tight with fear.
“There's only one thing,” I began. “Who locked Liz's apartment last night?”
Jenkins didn't get it, asked, “What?”
“We left the door wide open and you in there,” I said to Jenkins. “There's a deadbolt. How'd you lock the apartment?”
“With a key, of course.”
“Did you get one from Liz?”
He looked at me blankly, clearly taken off guard. “What?”
“Where'd you get the key?”
The lieutenant motioned toward John. “From him, what do you think?”
I stared at Jenkins, speechless. Of course. That made sense. Too much sense, actually, and as I rushed up that dark staircase, I thought there had to be more to this. And I wondered, they couldn't be in this together, could they, Jenkins and John? Then again, was there any reason why John, too, couldn't be a Dragon?
Chapter 26
We flew out of there, up those basement stairs, back through Liz's apartment, and out the front door, right out to the street. We didn't stop. Jenkins wanted us to stick around, but no way. All we could think of was getting the hell away from that building, so we rushed to my car, climbed right in, and were off. Jesus Christ, what had that big, lumbering John been trying to do? What did he think he could get away with? It was ridiculous, him shutting off the lights, cornering us down there.
As I pulled out, I felt as if I were shedding a layer of fear, stepping out of it and leaving it behind. Aside from a few near car accidents, I'd never been so close to death before, never had it so purposely pressed right up against my head. That I'd escaped was oddly exhilarating.
Next to me, Toni leaned back in her seat, put her hands over her forehead as if trying to keep the thoughts from exploding out of her, and said, “Oh, my God, my God. That jerk nearly blew your brains out. And what was Jenkins doing there? I mean, why'd he show up just then?”
“Good question.”
I didn't want to return home. Not yet. When Jenkins found that we hadn't stayed at Liz's but left altogether, he'd probably check my place, either call or stop by. So to avoid Jenkins, we drove to Cafe Wyrd, a coffeehouse in Uptown, a kind of hip little place with strong coffee, big windows, lots of tables. A perfect place for us to land. As we each ordered a double au lait, then sat by one of the windows overlooking Lake Street, I tried to pull back from the edge of danger to a more sane center. Toni looked lost. Her hair was hanging over her face; she kept running her hand through it, shaking her head.
“Never mind about John for right now,” I said. “Who knows how he fits into all this, if at all. But if it was Jenkins who killed Chris, you know who he's going to go after next?”
She looked at me as if I were a complete moron. “What do you mean? Us, of course.”
“No, I mean if he can't stop us, you know who he's going to try to stop us from talking to?”
She shook her head.
“Tyler. He's the only one from the Dragons that we can positively identify, and he's the only one who can finger Jenkins. I bet he's going to try to kill him, too, to keep him from squealing.”
Toni nodded, took a sip of her au lait. “You're right.”
It seemed logical, all this and what Jenkins would try to do next, and I went on. “Whatever that was all about back there in the basement, Jenkins has g
ot to know we're on the defensive, that we'll be keeping our distance from him. So I wouldn't be surprised at all if he next went after Tyler—you know, just tried to quiet him real quickly.”
“I wish to hell we'd found something back at Liz's, something to blackmail Tyler with.” Eyes shifting as she schemed, Toni said, “Regardless, we have to talk to Tyler. We have to get him to tell us whatever he knows.”
“Yeah, but he's dangerous.”
“Of course he is. If we're careful, though, it's worth the risk. The only question is, how are we going to get him to meet with us?”
I took a sip of coffee. Film from Liz's camera. That would have been perfect. Or one of Liz's journals. Then again, did it really matter that we didn't have anything?
I gazed out the window, saw a pack of cars race from the suburbs and down the street into the city, and I said, “What if we just told Tyler we found something? What if we told him we found some film in Liz's camera and had it developed? Or we told him she took some pictures, mailed them out to be developed, and we found them in her mailbox? Pictures of him with the Dragons and some other revealing things? So we need to talk to him because if he tells us what he knows about a cop being one of the Dragons, then we'll be able to help him, steer the cops away.”
“How about we just tell him that someone tried to kill us—the same guy who killed Chris and Liz—and now we think he's going after him, Tyler?” She looked anxiously hopeful. “That should do it, wouldn't you think?”
I nodded, took another sip of coffee, then said, “Actually, I do.”
We talked about it some more, finished our coffees in plotting silence, and about half an hour later we were back at my place, only this time we were quite careful. We parked down the street, checked for both Jenkins and Tyler, and then hurried in the back entrance.
What could we have done differently? What other choice had we? I kept trying to think of other ways to handle this, but this way just seemed so logical and, in its own crooked method, so simple, the quickest means to an end. If only I'd thought of some other way. Would Toni still be alive? Would that gun never have been fired?
Death Trance Page 21