by Sean Black
Still holding the brush, he put down the lid of the toilet seat and sat on it. If only he’d minded his own business, they would still be here. The kids would be asleep in their rooms, and he would be lying next to his wife.
All he wanted now was to be with them in death as he had been in life. But even that would be denied him. A man who was presumed to have murdered his family sure as hell wasn’t going to be laid to rest next to them. Kim’s sister would see to that. She and Malik had never gotten on at the best of times. Kim’s father had been an attorney, and her mother a doctor. They had died in a car accident three years ago. Kim had graduated magna cum laude from Stanford. Marrying a ball player, even one who had made it to the NBA, had not been what her parents had had in mind for their elder daughter. They had made that clear to both Malik and Kim. Things had thawed a little between him and Kim’s family once Landon was born, but only a little.
As a child going to church, he had learned about Purgatory, a state short of hell but filled with torment. And now he was trapped alive in it. Death offered no release, and living, going on, was hellish. His grief was still too raw, too overwhelming, to offer the comfort of revenge. Revenge required some kind of life force, and Malik didn’t have that within him.
He stood up and carefully placed the hairbrush back beside the basin. He walked out into the bedroom. He heard a car prowling in the street outside. He froze as headlights swept the room, then ducked down, and crawled on his hands and knees to the window. Looking out, he saw a campus-police patrol car roll past. It stopped at the end of the road. One of the cops got out. Even from this distance, Malik knew from the waddle that it was Tromso. The cop hefted a shotgun as he made his way back toward the house. In his other hand he was carrying a plastic container. It was too dark for Malik to make out what it was.
Seeing him shifted something inside Malik. He crawled to the bedroom door, out into the hallway and got to his feet. He headed down the stairs.
Malik froze in the downstairs hallway as a shadow fell over him. Tromso was at the front door. He jiggled it. Malik backed into the kitchen as Tromso threw himself against the front door.
It held, and he heard Tromso groan as he bounced off it. He could hear the cop moaning about his shoulder. It was the first thing that had cheered Malik in a long time. He crossed to the knife block, and pulled a hefty Sabatier blade from the wood. Tromso might have a gun, but if he could get close enough to him, he was sure that he had more than enough body strength to overpower an out-of-shape donut-gorger.
Malik turned back to the door. From nowhere a hand clamped over his mouth. Another hand reached down and bent back his wrist. The pain shot up his arm and the knife dropped from his grasp.
‘You’re in enough trouble already without stabbing up some cop,’ said Ty.
Tromso must have given up on the door. There was the sound of a window being broken.
Malik felt Ty drop his hand. He turned to see his friend. They looked at each other for a second.
‘Ty, I didn’t …’
Ty put up a hand to silence him. ‘I know. Let’s get out of here.’
Malik stood where he was. He could hear more glass dropping to the floor.
‘What’s he doing here?’ he whispered.
Ty’s hand clamped on his shoulder and he started to drag Malik backwards. A cone of light splashed across the hallway, presumably from Tromso’s torch. ‘Anyone there?’ shouted the cop.
Malik was torn between fear and his desire to confront Tromso. Ty didn’t seem to be suffering from any such confusion. He grabbed Malik by the collar and hustled him hard toward the open door.
They made it out before the light from Tromso’s torch flitted across the kitchen. Ty pulled the door to. Malik watched as Tromso walked into the kitchen, put down the container and unscrewed the top.
Even with the door closed, Malik could smell gasoline. He started back toward the door but Ty pulled him away. There was the scuff of shoes on concrete from the side of the house.
Ty hissed, ‘We have to go, brother.’
Malik could see Ty’s hand on the butt of a handgun. He didn’t doubt that his friend was more than capable of killing both cops if it came to it. And that was what they would have to do if they waited around for a few more seconds. If it had been Malik’s decision to make, he would have taken them out. But Ty was only there because of him. Malik’s life was already in tatters. He couldn’t ask Ty to kill two cops to satisfy his curiosity or to stop whatever was about to happen.
Together, Malik and Ty stepped back into the darkness of the yard as the younger cop appeared around the corner. Malik watched as he walked to the back door. He opened it and shouted to Tromso, ‘Hey, boss, it was open the whole time.’
He didn’t hear Tromso’s reply, but he did catch the sloshing sound of gasoline hitting the kitchen floor that Kim always kept spotless. He turned to Ty. ‘Go. Leave me here.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘But they’re destroying the evidence,’ Malik protested.
Tromso had retreated deeper into the house. Malik imagined him spraying the living room with gas. In a few minutes he would drop a match, or turn the stove on, and everything Malik had to remind him of his family, all the family photographs, Katy’s stuffed toys, the first basketball he'd bought Landon, Kim’s wedding dress would be gone. His throat tightened and he started to choke.
‘You don’t want to be here to see this,’ said Ty.
Slowly, Malik turned away, and together they disappeared into the woods at the back of the house. They were almost at Ty’s car when Malik heard the roar, and looked back to see the orange glow in the distance as his home was engulfed by flames.
Ty pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. ‘I got him,’ he said.
Forty-two
Ty popped the trunk, took out a gym bag and threw it to Malik. ‘Here. New clothes. Put them on.’ He had a lot to say to him, and a lot to tell, but now wasn’t the time. A couple of blocks over, they could see the flash of lights from a fire truck as it wailed its way toward the blazing house.
Malik caught the bag and held it to his chest, the flames from the distant fire flickering in his eyes.
Ty watched as he opened the bag and dug through the clothes. ‘I had to guess your size.’
‘Ty?’
‘What is it?’
‘Thanks, man.’
Ty shrugged it off. ‘Ain’t nothing.’
‘You get caught helping me it will be.’
Ty gripped Malik’s shoulder with his right hand. ‘Look at me. We’re not going to get caught.’
Malik nodded. He scooted round in the passenger seat, and began to strip off his clothes, dank and fetid from his days on the run. Ty held them at arm’s length before jamming them into the bag. Malik pulled on a pair of black denim jeans and a grey sweatshirt. He switched his shoes for a brand new pair of sneakers.
Ty jammed the muddy pair into the bag, zipped it up and threw it onto the back seat. He walked round to the driver’s seat, got in, threw the car into drive and took off.
A little later, Ty pulled over to the side of the road. He killed the lights and switched off the engine. He and Malik sat in silence. The rain had slowed to a steady drumbeat.
Malik’s chin sank onto his chest. He closed his eyes and started to sob. His whole body shook with the force. Ty didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. The man had lost his family and his home. Even if they could prove his innocence, and bring whoever had killed Kim and the kids to justice, his friend’s old life was over.
A car swept past them, its headlights flashing across their faces for the briefest of seconds. ‘I’m sorry this happened to you,’ Ty said eventually. The words were inadequate, but they were better said than left unspoken.
Malik didn’t reply. His head was buried in his hands. He was still weeping.
‘Malik?’
He rubbed at his face. Ty dug into his glove compartment, found a pack of tissues and handed them
to him. There was a knock on the driver’s window. Malik started at the sound. Ty opened the door to reveal Lock standing there.
‘This is the guy I work with,’ he said to Malik. ‘He’s going to take you to the safe-house.’
Lock leaned into the car. ‘Two black guys in a car around here is asking for trouble. And I’m going to need you to sit in back.’
Malik nodded. He opened the passenger door and shifted to the back seat of the Audi.
‘How is he?’ Lock asked Ty.
‘Too early to say.’
‘That good, huh?’ said Lock.
‘That good,’ Ty repeated.
Forty-three
Eleanor Henshall stood at the end of the street in her slippers and robe, the Shaws’ dog next to her on a leash as a truck from the Harrisburg Fire Department doused the last burning embers of the house. The fire must have taken hold quickly: by the time she had been woken by the dog’s barking, it was already fully ablaze, the roof gone, the windows blown out from the pressure of the heat.
She had rushed outside with the dog. The fire department had arrived seconds later, but by then it was already too late to do much except secure the properties on either side. She had stood and watched as the flames tightened their grip, and thick, acrid smoke billowed from the upstairs windows.
A police officer from the college had come over and asked if she had seen anyone. She told him she hadn’t. She was suffering from a bad cold, had taken some Nyquil and gone to bed early.
The dog barked at the flames, straining at his leash. She wondered if the poor animal thought the family were still inside, if he understood the terrible tragedy that had befallen his owners. She reached down and scratched his head. He looked back at her with soft brown eyes, and she found herself tearing up.
‘Ma’am?’
One of the firefighters was walking toward her. He tilted back his helmet and she could see the soot and grime covering his face. ‘Ma’am, are you okay? It’s pretty cold out here.’
‘My house is that one there,’ she said, pointing it out. ‘Are you sure it’ll be safe?’
‘It’s fine.’
‘Do you know how it started?’ she asked him.
‘Kind of early to say, but we did smell gasoline.”
Forty-four
The cab pulled up two blocks short of the hotel entrance. Ty got out. He scanned the empty street as the cab took off. A patrol car was parked directly opposite the hotel, its headlights turned off, two cops sitting in front. Malik was safe with Lock and he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from him. There was still a long way to go, but he had achieved a major part of his mission.
Ty crossed the street so that he was on the same side as the hotel entrance. He kept walking. He could feel the cops’ eyes on him as he took every step. As he reached the hotel entrance, he heard the patrol-car doors open, the two cops get out and the doors close again. The glass door into the hotel was locked. Ty tapped at the glass. He shielded his eyes and peered through as the night porter hauled himself up and started toward the door.
Behind him, Ty could hear the cops coming. He didn’t turn. He wasn’t going to resist, but he wasn’t about to make this easy for them either. The night porter peered at him. Ty held up his room key and waved it at him.
The door was buzzed open, and Ty stepped into the warm reception area. The night porter was about to lock the door again when he saw the cops. He held the door open for them. Now Ty turned round.
The first thing he noticed was that neither cop was in uniform. Even so, he recognized Tromso from the description Malik had given him – overweight, out of shape, full of his own importance. He recognized the second cop too.
Officer Kelly Svenson stepped forward, opened her wallet and flashed her creds.
‘Thought you were a reporter, Kelly?’ Ty said to her.
She unhooked a pair of cuffs from a utility belt. ‘No, you assumed I was, and I chose not to correct you. Now turn around, please, Mr Johnson. Hands behind your back. I’m arresting you for aiding an offender, pursuant to Minnesota statute six zero nine point four nine five subdivision one, as well as subdivision three of the same statute, obstructing an investigation.’
Ty did as she asked, moving slowly. ‘You been rehearsing that in front of a mirror, Officer?’ He could see from the look on Tromso’s face that he was itching to use his night stick. Ty wasn’t about to give him any excuses.
He felt cold metal against his wrists and heard the click of the cuffs as they closed on him. Female hands moved round to his holster, plucking out his SIG.
Meanwhile, the night porter was doing a bad impersonation of someone showing no interest in the proceedings. He had retreated behind the reception desk but kept looking up every few seconds.
Tromso moved in front of Ty and Ty got a better look at him. Three chins and a ratty excuse for a mustache that would have shamed a seventies porn flick. As soon as Ty looked at him, he backed off. It didn’t make Ty feel good: it made him nervous.
Ty twisted his head round to look at Kelly. ‘Y’know, you, me, a pair of handcuffs. Hey. Do you want to continue this up in my room?’
Kelly did not look amused.
‘I got cable,’ he said to her. ‘Did I mention that?’
‘Did I mention that you’re under arrest?’
‘You’re kind of killing the mood here, girl.’ Ty glanced at Tromso. ‘You ain’t helping either.’
‘Where’s Malik Shaw?’ said Tromso.
Ty made a show of looking around. ‘Don’t see him. Do you?’
Tromso poked a finger into Ty’s shoulder. He had to stretch up to do it. Ty’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t going to show his hand that he’d seen Tromso pour gasoline all over a crime scene, but he wasn’t going to take the cop’s shit either.
‘Do that again and see what happens,’ Ty told him.
‘Tough guy, huh?’ Tromso sneered.
Ty didn’t reply. Tromso would face his moment of reckoning, along with anyone else who’d been involved. Ty would see to that.
Kelly pulled at the cuffs. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
He let her turn him around. She and Tromso perp-walked him out to the patrol car. He settled himself as the door closed. Ty was wondering if the fate they feared for Malik awaited him at the end of his ride.
Forty-five
Ryan Lock tapped at the earpiece nestled inside his left ear. A thin black cord ran from it to a multi-channel scanner mounted on the dashboard. Lock slowed down and flicked on the turn signal, zipping down the highway exit and doubling back on a surface road.
Malik’s head popped up in back. ‘What’s going on? Why are we leaving the highway?’
Lock glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘State patrol have a roadblock set up on I-Eleven.’
Malik grabbed the back of the front seats and sat up. ‘I appreciate you doing this for me.
‘You’re welcome,’ said Lock, taking a sharp left turn. ‘How you holding up?’
There was a pause. ‘I’m still here.’
Lock wondered how any man would be able to come through what Malik had experienced. Then he remembered that he had – or, at least, close. A little over two years ago, Lock’s fiancée, Carrie, had been killed while fleeing two men who had abducted her. She had run into the road on a rainy evening in Topanga Canyon, just outside Los Angeles, and been hit by a car. She was killed instantly. Ty had been driving, with Lock in the passenger seat next to him. They had been out in the storm trying to find her when it happened.
‘That’s good,’ said Lock. He knew that right now all Malik could do was exist from moment to moment. That in itself was an achievement. Lock’s nightmare had been enough, but to lose two children at the same time as the woman you loved? It was horror beyond imagination.
Lock snuck another glance at Malik in the rear-view mirror. ‘When’d you last sleep?’
‘Don’t know. Last night. I mean, not tonight, the one before that.’
Lock didn’t
say anything.
Malik went on, ‘Every time I close my eyes …’ His voice fell away. He cleared his throat. ‘It’s not good — y’know what I’m saying?’
Lock did know. ‘I have some Ambien on me. I figured you might need it. It’ll knock you out for a few hours.’
‘Thanks, but I’m okay for now. Maybe later.’
A moment of silence passed between them. Lock considered telling Malik about Carrie, and what had happened to him, but decided against it. It was way too early for it to do any good. After she had died, Lock had endured an endless procession of people who had shared their own experiences of losing a loved one. He had listened patiently out of respect. But someone else’s loss was just that – theirs.
After a few more minutes, Lock said, ‘You want to tell me what’s been going on?’
‘I can try. Where do you want me to start?’
‘At the beginning. When did you first suspect that there was something going on with Becker?’
‘I didn’t even know it was him at first,’ said Malik.
There was a crackle of static in Lock’s ear, and more chatter. The chatter picked up pace: he caught a mention of an Audi. In his rear-view mirror, he saw the headlights of a car behind them. Its speed was matched to the even sixty Lock was doing. The speed limit on this road, which ran broadly parallel to the interstate, was fifty-five. Doing fifty-five made cops suspicious, like you had something to hide, so he usually drove a little over. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out its shape, see if it had a roll bar, but the vehicle’s headlights were too bright.
Lock put up his hand. 'Hold that thought. We have company. Stay down until I tell you otherwise.’
The road ahead was wide open. Lock slowed and pulled over, giving the car behind a chance to pass. It edged up behind him a little, but made no move to go around them. The radio chatter moved up a notch. A second later he saw flashing lights behind him. He eased off the gas pedal, and hit his turn signal to indicate he was pulling over to the side of the road.
