Let Me Go

by Chelsea Cain

  Susan was somewhere in the subbasement with them.

  Archie’s eyes traveled over the outline of the blade case in Gretchen’s front pocket. His pulse throbbed in his ears. If Susan was in the basement, then Archie didn’t need Gretchen. He could find her himself. He wondered if he could put his hands around Gretchen’s neck and break it before she stabbed him somewhere that mattered. He didn’t have a lot of practice breaking necks. It would probably be close.

  “You think you can find her without me?” Gretchen asked. “Maybe she’s down here. But there are dozens of rooms, old tunnels, secret passageways. Maybe she’s in another basement. They do make such excellent cells.” Gretchen leaned into him and nuzzled against his neck again, and Archie winced as her hip connected with his wound. “You need me,” Gretchen said.

  Archie kept his eyes fixed on the screen, on Susan, trying to make sense of all this. Three hours was enough time for Gretchen to have taken Susan, driven to the lake, and made it through the tunnels with Susan in tow, and then back to Archie’s place. And adjusting the security camera behind the boathouse, installing the webcams—she’d had all day to do that.

  Susan rocked back and forth on the screen, her arms squeezed tightly around her knees. It was hard to tell how big the room was, but Susan seemed especially small. It looked like she didn’t want to take up much space, like she didn’t want to touch anything around her. Her face, in the lantern light, was a blur of white and black static.

  Why sit in the middle of the floor like that? Why not sit against a wall?

  Archie had a sickening revelation. “You put her in his kill room, didn’t you?” Archie said.

  Gretchen lifted her head from his chest and gave him a wicked smile.

  Archie looked back at the screen. Susan was still in a tight little ball, rocking back and forth. He needed to get her out of there. But Gretchen would never be convinced to move her, especially if Archie showed concern. He had to make it about something else. Archie injected a note of irritation into his voice. “Is there physical evidence in there?” he asked.

  Gretchen’s eyes flicked to the screen.

  “I want to see it,” Archie said firmly. “The longer she’s in there, the more evidence she can corrupt. Blood samples, hair, fibers, prints—it’s all useless to me if she steps on it.”

  Gretchen was looking at the screen, watching Susan.

  “You won’t let me recover the knife,” Archie said. “If he comes back for it, the security footage isn’t admissible. I assume you’re not willing to testify. That leaves me with exactly nothing.” He gave her an aggrieved look. “So that’s my birthday present? A killer I can’t catch?”

  On the screen Susan looked up, as if she’d heard them, as if she knew they were watching, and for a moment the black-and-white static of her face came into focus, a shadow darkening her eyes. She extended her arm, and held up her middle finger.

  That-a-girl.

  Gretchen’s gaze moved from the screen to Archie, and she regarded him with that cold, impenetrable expression he knew so well. Then something behind the mask fluctuated, and her lip quavered. “Do you really think I ruined your life?” she asked.

  The scalpel wound barely hurt now. The handkerchief was soaked with blood. Archie peeled it from his flesh and tossed it on the table. “No,” he said. “I did that all by myself.”

  CHAPTER

  40

  A dirty two-by-four barred the door to Susan’s impromptu cell. Nails were driven through the wood, securing it in place.

  “Were you planning on ever letting her out?” Archie asked Gretchen.

  “I didn’t have a key to the lock,” Gretchen said with a shrug. She picked up a hammer that was on the floor in front of the door and handed it to him.

  The head of the hammer was rusty. The wooden handle was blackened with dirt. It looked like something she had found in the tunnels. Archie jammed the hammer’s claw between the piece of wood and the door and jimmied it. The effort strained his muscles, making his wound pulse with pain. But he stayed at it, until the two-by-four finally came loose and clattered to the concrete floor with a crack, sending up a cloud of concrete and wood dust.

  Archie coughed and wiped the dust from his eyes.

  Gretchen held her hand out for the hammer. “I’ll take that,” she said.

  Archie looked down at the hammer. “I wasn’t going to bash your head in until I confirmed that she was inside,” he said, handing it over.

  He turned the knob and pushed the door open. Susan was on her feet now, near the lantern in the center of the room. Archie had never been so happy to see her in his life. But she appeared disoriented, backing away, terrified. She didn’t know it was him—the light spilling from the hallway behind him must have blackened his features. Then Archie felt Gretchen reach around the door and slide her hand along the wall and an overhead incandescent bulb came on.

  The room was filled with bright light.

  Susan blinked and gazed up at the bulb over her head. “Shut the fuck up,” Susan said.

  Her hair was wild and her hands were balled into fists. She whipped her head toward the doorway, her body coiled like a feral cat’s. Then he saw her take in his presence. Her defensive posturing crumpled with relief, and she cried out—a heartbreaking yelp of relief and elation. Then Gretchen stepped beside him, and Susan stiffened.

  The room smelled like concrete and urine. The floor was fissured with cracks.

  Susan looked cautiously from Archie to Gretchen. “Are you two back together?” she asked.

  Archie moved toward her. He could feel Gretchen’s eyes on his back. He didn’t want to get too close. Any affection he showed for Susan would just give Gretchen another reason to kill her. “Are you all right?” Archie asked her.

  Susan gave him an indignant look. “No, Archie. I’m not all right.”

  He tried to keep his body language composed. “You’re going to be fine,” he said. “She’s not going to kill you.” He raised his voice pointedly. “Are you, Gretchen?”

  “Probably not,” Gretchen said, after a pause.

  Susan was shaking, whether from fright or fury Archie couldn’t tell. She had been down here for hours, with no water or bathroom, knowing that Gretchen could return at any moment. She looked exhausted. Archie wanted to take his blazer off and drape it around her shoulders, to take her in his arms, but he knew that Gretchen wouldn’t like it. He just had to keep Susan calm, and make sure she didn’t do or say anything that would get her killed before he could get her out of here. “She’s not going to hurt you,” Archie said evenly. “She wanted my attention and now she has it. She just used you to get to me.”

  Susan wiped some snot from her nose and flailed her arm at the wall. “She’s killed people here,” she said, hiccupping.

  Archie moved his eyes around the room, taking in the blood spatter on the walls, the bloodstains on the mattress.

  “Not her,” Archie said. “Someone else has.”

  “I’m helping Archie out with a case,” Gretchen said breezily from behind him.

  “What’s she talking about?” Susan demanded from Archie.

  How was he going to explain this one?

  “The man who killed Lisa Watson the night of the party,” Gretchen said before Archie could answer. “We think he works for Jack Reynolds, and that he’s killed before.”

  Archie wished Gretchen would stop talking. He glanced back at her. She was still standing just inside the door. She blew him a kiss.

  “We?” Susan said to Archie.

  “Gretchen was here that night,” Archie told Susan.

  “No shit,” Susan said.

  Archie wondered if she would ever be able to look at him without seeing the images from the flash drive footage. “The woman found dead this morning,” Archie continued. “Gretchen didn’t kill her.”

  Susan looked skeptical.

  “Gretchen saw it,” Archie said. “She witnessed the killer lure Lisa Watson into the tunnels and th
en later bring up her body and dump it in the lake.”

  The lantern on the floor went out. Susan glared accusingly at Gretchen. “That wasn’t even a hundred hours!” she sputtered.

  “I didn’t say the batteries were new,” Gretchen said.

  Archie tried to ignore them both, and began to scan the room clockwise as if it were any other crime scene, taking in the walls, ceiling, and floor. The mattress, Archie noticed, wasn’t just soaked with blood. It was soaked with generations of blood. Stains overlapped one another, in various stages of oxygenation.

  “You can’t believe her story,” Susan said. “She’s a pathological liar.” Susan hiccupped again. “What are you doing?”

  Archie had inched closer to the mattress. “I’m looking for clues,” he said.

  “I thought you said Gretchen saw him,” Susan said.

  “He was wearing a mask,” Gretchen said from the door.

  “It must have been a big mask,” Susan muttered.

  “I only saw him from a distance, pigeon,” Gretchen said.

  Archie could hear the irritation in Gretchen’s voice. If Susan kept goading her, it wouldn’t matter what Archie said or did—Gretchen would kill her. “You were right,” Archie announced to Gretchen. “There are varying ages of bloodstains here.” Archie glanced over at Susan. “He’s killed more than one person in this room.”

  “A serial killer, huh?” Susan said. “I know someone else like that.” She pointed at Gretchen. “Her.”

  Archie willed Susan to understand what he was trying to do, that he had to go along with this, that he was doing it for her. “If I can stop this guy, I can save lives,” he said.

  Susan crossed her arms. “Your judgment hasn’t been exactly stellar lately,” she said. She pursed her lips and lifted her chin. “The stripper?” she said. “For instance?”

  Archie cringed.

  “What stripper?” Gretchen asked.

  “I did not have sex with the stripper,” Archie said to Susan. “Not that I have to explain that.” He looked back at Gretchen. “To either of you.” He turned back to Susan, remembering suddenly how infuriating she could be. “I had to talk to Leo. In private. And I wasn’t drunk, by the way. It was nonalcoholic beer.”

  Susan scratched her ear. “Oh,” she said.

  Archie concentrated on what was in front of him. The hole in his belly stung now every time he took a step. He kept his back to Gretchen and moved along the walls, studying the blood spatter. An open cardboard box in the corner was full of chains. They looked roughly the same size as the ligature marks on Lisa Watson’s torso. Propped against the box were three unopened packages of five-pound scuba-diving weights and a neat stack of black mesh bags. The weights went in the bag, the chain threaded through the bag’s handle, and you’d have a nice anchor for a corpse. The killer had stocked up. He had enough supplies to dispose of several more people before he’d have to go back to the dive store. A black nylon reusable grocery bag sat on the other side of the box. Archie nudged it open with his foot.

  “What is it?” Susan asked.

  “Lightbulbs,” Archie said. He glanced up at the single bulb that illuminated the room overhead. It would be inconvenient if it burned out in the middle of a murder. The killer had thought of everything.

  Archie surveyed the rest of the room.

  When his eyes returned to Susan he saw that she was staring at the bloodstain on his shirt. “I’m fine,” he said quickly.

  “It’s real?” Susan said. “I thought it was fake.” She glanced at Gretchen. “From touching her.”

  Gretchen laughed. “Don’t fret, pigeon,” she said. “Archie doesn’t feel like himself if he’s not bleeding just a little bit.”

  The room went dark. It was sudden and complete, a blind, enveloping nothingness. Susan cried out.

  “Gretchen?” Archie called, frozen.

  She didn’t respond. Susan hiccupped.

  “Get on the floor,” Archie said to Susan. He didn’t know what was happening, but whatever it was, he wanted Susan out of the line of fire. The hinges on the door creaked. “Gretchen?” Archie called again into the black. “I’m coming toward the door,” he said. He stumbled forward in the dark, hands groping the air in front of him. As he made his way to the door, he half expected to feel the plunge of a blade into his flesh.

  But then his hand touched concrete. He’d made it across the room. He fumbled along the wall until his fingers found the light switch.

  He turned it on and light filled the room again. Archie glanced back at Susan, who was looking up at him from where she’d dropped to the floor. They didn’t speak. The room was deathly quiet, but Archie could just make out something on the edge of the silence. He listened carefully, craning his head toward the door. The noise was growing louder, more distinct. It was the sound of footsteps approaching. Gretchen was coming back.

  “Get behind me,” he whispered to Susan. Susan had just started to get up as the doorknob turned. Archie backed up toward her to get between her and whatever was on the other side of the door. The door creaked opened. Karim and Cooper and two of the buzz cuts stood on the other side. Cooper had a gun leveled at them. Karim held a flashlight. They looked as surprised to see Archie as he was to see them.

  “Well,” Karim said in his clipped British accent. “What do we have here?”

  “Oh, thank God!” Susan said, brushing whatever had been on the floor off her pants. “You don’t even know what we’ve been through. We need to get out of here, now, before she comes back.”

  But Cooper didn’t lower his gun.

  Karim swept into the room, and the buzz cuts trotted in after him like trained Rottweilers.

  Archie took a step backward, toward Susan. “I don’t think they’re here to rescue us,” Archie said.

  CHAPTER

  41

  Archie knew it would sound insane, but it was only now that he was realizing how truly insane it sounded.

  “Gretchen Lowell is in my basement?” Jack repeated, delighted. He was leaning against the front edge of his office desk, his face flushed with amusement. He had been asleep. His usually neat hair was flattened on one side. The sweatpants, cashmere sweater, and leather slippers he was wearing looked like something that had been chosen hastily. The windows behind him looked out into darkness.

  “Yes,” Archie said. He looked at his watch. It was just past four A.M. Gretchen had probably made it off the island by now, and instead of going after her, he was sitting here trying to explain himself to a crime boss. He had cobwebs in his hair, dust and dirt and blood on his clothes, and a three-inch-deep penetrating wound in his abdomen. “We’re wasting time,” Archie said.

  But no one moved.

  Susan fidgeted in the chair next to him, chewing on her cuticles. Cooper was standing near the wall to Archie’s left, his weapon held loosely at his side, his face impassive. Razor Burn was just behind Susan, arms crossed, his eyes on his boss. Archie twisted around to look at Karim, wincing as his wound stung. Karim was perched on the gold-striped settee in the center of the room, reading a copy of Town & Country magazine, seemingly unaware that Archie had spoken at all.

  Archie gingerly turned back to Jack. The landline on Jack’s desk was almost within reach. Archie could lunge for it, start dialing, maybe, but there was no way he would be able to get a call made before Cooper stopped him. He had to get Jack to understand. Jack was a businessman. He knew how to make informed decisions. Archie just had to make the argument sound reasonable. “We need to call in the task force,” Archie said. “While she’s still in the area. Get Leo, Jack. Please. He’ll believe me. He’ll tell you I’m not crazy. If we call for backup now, we might still be able to catch her.” Jack’s eyes were still bright, the grin still frozen on his face. Archie knew he had to go further. “She killed Isabel, Jack. And you’re letting her get away.”

  Jack looked at him for a full minute. Archie could hear a clock ticking and the sound of Karim turning magazine pages. “Are you hi
gh?” Jack asked, finally.

  Razor Burn laughed. It was a forced short bark, like a dog’s.

  Archie sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. Fine. They wanted him to go through it again, he would go through it again. He would go through it a thousand times. However many times it took to get them to understand. “Gretchen kidnapped Susan,” he said. “She used her to get me to follow her down into the tunnels. She was in that room until moments before your men arrived.” He indicated the bloody hole in his shirt. “She stabbed me with a scalpel. You need to let me call for backup before it’s too late.”

  “With a scalpel,” Jack said, his face a picture of merriment.

  Archie shook his head. It did sound incredible. “It gets better,” he said. “She’s wearing a blood-spattered nurse costume.”

  Jack blinked at Archie.

  “It’s Halloween,” Archie said.

  A grin spread across Jack’s lips and he punched a finger in Archie’s direction. “You’ve finally cracked up, haven’t you?”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Susan groaned. “She brought us both here. You need to let Archie call for help. Or he’ll arrest you for hindering the investigation. He needs a doctor.”

  “Obstructing the investigation,” Archie said, correcting her. “But, yeah.”

  Razor Burn gave Susan a push on the back of her head. “You don’t get to tell Jack what to do,” he said.

  Susan lifted a hand to her scalp and twisted around, her face crimson. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed. Razor Burn’s iron-man façade wavered. Archie reached across and set a cautioning hand on Susan’s elbow, but she jerked it away. Archie could see the color building on Razor Burn’s cheeks, as his blood vessels filled with rage. His eyes were on Jack, clearly looking for a green light to teach Susan a lesson.

  Archie’s entire body tensed, his muscles coiled, ready to throw himself at Razor Burn. In that instant, his wound didn’t hurt at all. Out of the corner of Archie’s eye, he saw Cooper step forward from the wall.