No Safe House by Linwood Barclay

  I needed to know how this was going to end. Vince was a man with little left to lose. I was on board with getting Jane back here, but then what? Assuming Vince got her safely released, what was the next step? What was he going to do with Wyatt and Reggie? With this Logan and his brother, Joseph, who I’d yet to set eyes on?

  The clock was ticking toward a bloodbath.

  “Vince,” I said.

  “Hmm?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “So talk.”

  My eyes went to the other two, then back to him. He got the message. He said to Reggie and Wyatt, “Lie down.”

  “What?”

  “Both of you. Get down on the floor, facedown—not too close to each other—and spread your arms and legs out, like you’re starfish.”

  After our two hostages did as they were told, he said to me, “What?”

  I drew him back toward the door of the bedroom where Jane had been held, far enough away that if I whispered, they wouldn’t hear me.

  “How does this end?” I asked.

  “We get Jane back.”

  “Yeah, of course. But after that. What happens then?”

  His eyes bored into mine. “I guess we’ll see.”

  “I can’t be part of that,” I said.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t have to. It won’t be enough to get Jane back. You’re going to want revenge.”

  “Justice,” he corrected me.

  “You can’t kill four people.”

  “They were planning to kill me and Jane. And rip me off for everything I had. You think I should just send them to bed without a story?”

  I gave my head a short, adamant shake. Even considering this pair had murdered the teachers, I wasn’t about to take on the job of being their judge, jury, and executioner. Maybe, once this was over, there’d be a way to point the cops in their direction. An anonymous call, something.

  “I can’t be part of anything like that,” I said. “If you want to hunt these people down later and put bullets in their heads, that’s your business, but it’s not happening while I’m here.”

  “I could just shoot you, too.”

  Maybe I was naive. Maybe I was a total fool. But I didn’t believe he would do that to me.

  “Right now, you need me. Unless you think you can handle these two, and the other two who are on their way, and can get out of here alive with Jane. But if you’re just going to lay waste to the lot of them, I’m out. I’m walking. And I wish you the best.”

  He ground his teeth together. “I can’t predict how things will go down.”

  “But you can tell me what your intentions are.”

  He shot me a look. “You really do talk like a fucking English teacher.”

  “I have to know, Vince.”

  “Jesus, what the hell am I supposed to do? Let them walk? What kind of message does that send?”

  “What have you got left? Your guys, they’re either dead or on the run. Your business is fucked. On top of that, you’re sick. I can see it. Any fool can see it. What’s the point in upping the body count at this point?”

  I could tell from his expression he didn’t like being spoken to this way, but I wasn’t done. “What about Jane? You kill everyone involved in this, you’ll never see her again. You’ll get caught. Connecticut may not have the death penalty anymore, but you’ll die in jail. You’ll spend the rest of your life there.”

  “Not all that much of it left.”

  “Still, how’s that help Jane? And what’ll it do to her, to know she’s the reason you executed four people? How do you expect her to live with that? What if these assholes have got family, people loyal to them, and they go after Jane to settle the score when they can’t get to you in prison?”

  He shook his head slowly. “You’re saying I should let them go.”

  “For now. You hang on to all the money and drugs and shit you got out of those attics, and you save Jane. Let them make a run for it.”

  Vince said nothing.

  “I need to know,” I said. “I need you to tell me this isn’t going to turn into Falluja, or I’m heading up those stairs.” I took a breath. “Five seconds.”

  “What?”

  “Four.”

  “Since when do you have a big enough dick to tell me what—?”

  “Three.”

  “Fine!” he whispered. “I’ll do it your way. At least I’ll try. I can’t make promises, but I’ll try. A lot of it depends on them.” He lowered his voice even further. “And the only reason I’m not shooting you is because of Jane. For some stupid reason she likes you.”

  I nodded. I hoped he wasn’t lying, that he would do as I’d asked. But damned if he didn’t look like a kid who’d just found out he wasn’t getting a pony after all.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  TERRY

  VINCE told me to keep an eye on Wyatt and Reggie, still spread out on the floor, while he went into the room where Jane had been held. I watched him gather together several lengths of rope. He came back into the rec room and told Reggie to cross her wrists behind her.

  “No,” she said.

  “Look at me,” Vince said. She twisted her head around, saw a gun pointed to her head.

  Wyatt said to Vince, “Come on, man. We’re cooperating. We’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

  “Yeah,” Vince said, not sounding particularly grateful. “But things’ll get more complicated when your friends show up. I need to make sure you don’t get rambunctious.”

  “Just do it,” Wyatt said to Reggie.

  Vince tucked his gun into his belt and knelt down so he could tie her wrists, which she had now placed behind her back. He used only a short piece of rope, but he made it count. I wondered how many times he’d done this. With another short length, he secured her ankles together.

  “Now you,” he said to Wyatt.

  I could see the fear in his eyes as he craned his neck around, looked up at us from the floor. He believed this was a step on the way to execution. I felt I had to say something.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I told him. “Like you said, you’ve done everything we’ve asked.”

  Vince gave me a disapproving look as he bound Wyatt’s wrists behind him, then his ankles. He stood, with some effort, took a second to catch his breath, and said to me, “That takes the pressure off.”

  “Tell them you’re not going to kill them.” Not whispering.

  Vince said to the couple, “If I told you I’m not going to shoot you, would you believe me?”

  Reggie said, “We’d want to.”

  He nodded. “But you wouldn’t be convinced, would you?” She shook her head, as best she could with her face pressed to the carpet. “Well, then there’s not much point telling you.”

  For the next few minutes the four of us just waited, saying nothing. It had been about fifteen minutes since Wyatt had called Logan and Joseph. If they were ten miles away, I figured we’d see them pretty soon. I didn’t know how Vince wanted to pull this off, choreograph it.

  As if reading my mind, he said to our prisoners, “When they come into the house, they’ll probably call out. You tell them to come downstairs. Nothing else. You understand?”

  “Yeah,” Reggie said.

  “Yeah,” Wyatt said.

  “They got a remote for the garage?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “They in a Lexus SUV?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  Vince said to me, “Upstairs.”

  Up in the kitchen, he said, “I thought they might come through the front door, but now I’m thinking, since they’ve got a remote, it’ll be the garage.” It was large enough for two vehicles, so that made sense. “If they’re bringing in Jane, they’re not going to run the risk of anyone seeing her being brought into the house.”

  I felt as though I’d had thirty cups of coffee. I was shaking.

  “You okay?” Vince asked.

  “No,” I a
dmitted.

  “This is almost over. They bring Jane, we take her back. Simple as that.”

  “No one has to die,” I said.

  “No one has to die,” Vince said.

  I wondered whether he would feel that way when he saw her, found out how they had treated her. If I were in his position, how much restraint would I be able to show? Wouldn’t I want to kill these sons of bitches if they’d done something to Grace? Even if she hadn’t been harmed physically, wouldn’t they deserve to die for what they’d put her through?

  I needed to keep a level head. Not just for myself, but to make sure Vince kept his.

  Vince investigated the area by the door that led from the garage into the house. “I’ll stand there,” he said, pointing to where the wall was recessed back of where the door opened in. “They’ll be all the way in the house before they realize I’m behind them. I tell them to drop their weapons, and then you come through that door there, gun pointing at their heads. We’ve got them covered from both sides. We get Jane. But we take them downstairs, tie them up, give us time to slip away. We’ll take the woman’s car, go back to the cemetery, get my truck.”

  Sure. What could go wrong?

  “I guess,” I said.

  Vince frowned. “No guessing. You need your head in the game. You can do this?”

  “I can do this,” I said.

  “Get in position. Tell me if you can see the driveway from there.”

  I went around the other side of the wall, just beyond the door to the basement stairs. I was in the dining room, a few feet away from a window covered in white sheers—sheer enough that I could see outside. I had a view of the street and the bottom two-thirds of the driveway.

  “I’ve got a good view,” I said.

  “Soon as you see them turn in, tell me.”

  “Like I’d keep it to myself,” I said.

  And we waited.

  “Anything?” he asked me after about five minutes. Like, maybe I’d seen the SUV pull into the driveway but it had slipped my mind to mention it.

  I just said, “No.”

  Seconds later I said, “Hang on.”

  An SUV was turning into the driveway. One man behind the wheel, another in the passenger seat. It was hard to tell from here, but the front of his face appeared half covered in white.

  “They’re pulling in now. They’re—”

  We heard the garage door rattle as it began to roll up. A car coming into the building. Car doors opening and closing.

  Murmurs. People talking.

  I peeked around the corner, saw Vince in his hiding spot. He waved his hand, motioning for me to get back behind the wall.

  “Gonna be fine,” he mouthed.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  NATHANIEL Braithwaite stood holding the vase in both hands. It struck Cynthia that he was spellbound by it, which struck her as odd. It was, after all, just a vase.

  He looked at Cynthia and Grace, his expression a blend of confusion and guilt, and said, “I don’t know where this came from.”

  Mother and daughter exchanged a quick glance. “Okay,” said Cynthia. “Neither do we.”

  “It wasn’t here when I moved in. I’ve used all the drawers in this dresser.”

  He gave his head one last shake, then decided it wasn’t worth worrying about one second longer. He set it on top of the dresser and turned his attention back to the suitcases. He’d stuffed as much as he could into all of them, threw down the lids that were still open, and zipped them up.

  There was no way he could manage getting all the cases to his car in a single trip. But to start, he grabbed the smaller one Grace had been touching—making him very nervous in the process—plus one of the other bags that was full of clothes, and scurried down the stairs with them.

  Cynthia and Grace followed him down to the first floor and out the front door, where Barney was still having a smoke, Orland still staring blankly.

  “What’s up with him?” he asked as Braithwaite walked briskly down to the street and around the corner.

  “I think you’re losing a tenant,” Cynthia said.

  Grace asked her mother, “What do you think was in that bag he didn’t want me touching?”

  Barney said, “You telling me he’s moving out? The son of a bitch didn’t give me any notice. He’s gone, just like that?”

  “I think he’ll be back,” Cynthia said. “He’s got more bags.”

  As if on cue, Braithwaite came around the corner in the Caddy. He pulled into the drive, killed the engine, locked the car, and came back up the porch steps.

  Barney blocked the door and poked a finger into Nathaniel’s chest.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “Something’s come up. I’m moving out.”

  “Well, just hang on a second, mister. People give notice when they’re moving out. I expect two months’ warning, my friend.”

  “I’m not your friend, and get out of my way.”

  Nathaniel shoved him aside and stormed back into the house. Barney nearly lost his footing and the cigarette slipped from his fingers.

  “You okay?” Cynthia asked.

  Barney ground out the cigarette with his work boot. “Yeah, I’m fine. If he thinks he’s leaving without paying next month’s rent, he’s got another think coming.” He took a breath, puffed out his chest, and went into the house, stomping his way up the stairs.

  Cynthia and Grace were right behind him.

  When Barney got to the open door of Nathaniel’s apartment, he positioned himself there and said, “You pay me next month’s rent, now, in cash, and we’re square.”

  Nathaniel called out from the bedroom, “You’ll get it—don’t worry.”

  Cynthia squeezed past Barney, stood just outside the bedroom, and said, “Nate, he’ll find you. Vince’ll find you. And if it’s not him, it’ll be the police.”

  “I don’t give a shit about the police,” he said. “The police don’t grab you off the street and shove a goddamn power drill in your face.”

  Barney came in from the hall, stood in the center of the room. “I need to check the apartment, because if you’ve done any kind of damage, you won’t be getting back your security deposit.”

  Nathaniel, carrying his last two bags, charged out of the bedroom. “I don’t give a fuck. I just don’t.”

  Barney said, “You just hang on a minute while I have a look around.” He stood there casting his eye across the kitchen area, walked over to the fridge, and opened the door. “You gonna clean this out?”

  “Jesus Christ,” Nathaniel said, dropping the two bags so he could get to his wallet. He opened it up and started taking out some bills. “Here’s two hundred. I’ll mail you the rest.”

  As Barney walked over to take the money, he took a quick peek into the bedroom.

  Stopped.

  Then he took three tentative steps to the bedroom door, stared, his eyes focused for several seconds on the vase. Then he turned on Nathaniel.

  “Are you the detective?” he asked. “Is Braithwaite even your real name? Is your name Duggan? Have you been living here spying on me?”

  Nathaniel said, “What?”

  “You heard me,” Barney said. “Are you the detective? Quayle told me a detective had it. That it was being checked for fingerprints. My fingerprints.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at his former tenant.

  “Didn’t my niece go and see you? Reggie told me she was going to see you. Answer me!”

  Nathaniel slowly shook his head. “Mr. Croft, I swear, I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “I’m with ya on that one,” Cynthia said.

  SIXTY-NINE

  TERRY

  I slipped behind the wall as the door began to open. Listened. Hoped they wouldn’t hear my heart pounding in my chest.

  Someone shouted: “Hey! Where are you?”

  Reggie: “Basement!”

  A different voice, somewhat muddy, as if the man had a cold: “What the fuck! What the hell i
s going on?”

  Then a voice I knew. Low and controlled.

  “Don’t move.”

  “What the—?”

  “I don’t want to have to tell you again. Terry?”

  I came around the corner, arms straight out, both hands wrapped around the Glock I’d found in my attic.

  Just like in the movies.

  Vince was where I’d last seen him, tucked into the corner, arms outstretched like mine, his gun an inch away from the ear of the second man who’d come into the house. Between him and the second man, whose face was plastered with bandages and speckled with blood, was Jane. Hands behind her back, a piece of tape over her mouth.

  There was a gun tucked into the belt of the bandaged man, and I saw his hand moving slowly toward it.

  My turn to be tough. “Don’t,” I said.

  He looked at me with empty eyes, inched his hand away.

  “Terry, get their guns.”

  I walked six paces, stood gingerly in front of the man, and reached ahead with my left hand, pried the weapon from his waist.

  “Step over there,” I said, knowing Vince was watching him.

  The bandaged man looked at Vince, grinned, and said, “Pissed your pants lately?” Not the smartest thing to say, I thought, to a man who’s pointing a gun at you.

  I edged past Jane, gave her a smile. “Hey,” I said. “One second.”

  Her eyes were dancing.

  “Where’s yours?” I asked the other man, not seeing a gun on him.

  “Left it in the car,” he said.

  “Pat him down,” Vince told me, and I did, patting him pretty much all over, including places where I didn’t usually touch people. I was going to apologize, then thought better of it. I found no gun. I gave the one I’d taken off the other man to Vince.

  “Help Jane,” Vince said.

  She turned around to show me her wrists, and I picked away at the knot for several seconds before realizing it would be faster to use a knife. I led her, gently, into the kitchen and opened a couple of drawers until I found one with a short, sharp blade. Carefully, I sawed through the rope until it slipped off her wrists, then dropped the knife onto the counter. Her hands went immediately to her mouth, where she delicately peeled off the tape. Once she had it free, she balled it up, worked to get it off her fingers, and threw it in the sink.