After they loaded everything into Hank’s car, Shamus ordered him into the driver’s seat and sat behind him.
Shamus gave directions and said nothing further. Hank was wobbly at first but seemed to regain his composure. By all indications he was clinging to the hope that he would survive if he followed instructions. People could be so funny!
Near the apartment complex they waited at a light and a state police cruiser pulled up next to them. Shamus held the pistol out of sight and with his other hand gave a little wave. The bored-looking cop nodded and returned his gaze to the road.
Shamus saw Hank’s hands tighten on the wheel. His breathing sped up, and sweat stains bloomed on the painter’s cap. Hank inched the car forward and stopped, then did it again.
“I know you aren’t that stupid. You’re dead before the cop can say ‘license and registration’.”
Shamus promised himself he’d put Hank through agony before the cop got him. How fucking long was this light, anyway? He felt smothered in the painter outfit.
The light turned green. Hank let out a little squeak, but the car accelerated at a normal pace. The trooper pulled ahead, and both of them let out a breath when he turned down another road.
At quarter to six they pulled into the development of town houses and apartments. There was a large parking lot for the apartments. Town houses had spots in front. Shamus saw the street for Nelson’s house and told Hank to park in the big lot, where the car would blend in.
He left the bag and the gas cans in the trunk and took the backpack. Shamus could see commuters arriving. He loved the painter outfits. He could just stomp all over the place and people wouldn’t give it a second thought. He and Hank found the house and walked around to the back. A couple neighbors several lots away waved. Sheep!
They walked up the stairs to the back door, and Shamus handed Hank a small crowbar to pry it open.
Hank gripped the bar, and his knuckles turned white.
“Bad idea. The pistol’s cocked. It’s a hair trigger.”
Hank gasped when a dog howled and thumped against the door. Shamus thought quickly.
“The dog’s harmless, just barks. Open the door; I’m right behind you.” Shamus hoped he’d get a chance to see the dog attack Hank. Too funny.
Hank opened the door but hesitated. The barks increased. Shamus still couldn’t see how big it was. He snatched the crowbar and shoved Hank in.
Hank squawked and fell to the floor. Shamus came in behind him. He closed the door but stayed ready in case he needed to escape from an attack dog. He looked over and saw that the “attack dog” had stopped barking and was sniffing the prone Hank. A basset hound. Wary, but not vicious. Shamus hid his disappointment.
“See? I told you. Trust me, Hank. Stick to the plan and you’ll be okay.”
Shamus didn’t need any wild cards when the dog’s master came home, and he didn’t want to scare Hank. Not yet.
“Hank, put the dog in the closet by the front door. I’ll be watching, so don’t keep going out the front.”
Shamus applauded when Hank finished. The dog scratched at the door, but otherwise caused no trouble. Shamus checked his watch. Quarter past six. Not much time.
“Okay, Hank, after my friend tells me what I need to know, I’ll leave. Until then, sit in this chair and I’ll tie you up…”
Hank must have read the details on some of the cases.
“You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?” Hank panted like Nelson’s dog. His eyes opened wide, and his head swiveled around. Searching for a weapon? Escape? Shamus began to feel lightheaded and realized he was breathing just as fast. He’ll screw it up!
“Calm down, Hank.”
“I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die.”
Hank didn’t even hear him. His feet were shoulder-width apart. Hank would run soon…
Shamus pointed his foot and kicked Hank in the groin. Hank curled up on the floor with a new focus.
“I know just how you feel. Got a soccer ball there once. Get up. Sit in the chair.”
Hank struggled into the seat. Fifty-fifty that he’d puke.
“You made me nervous. I’ll stay back here. Don’t get up.”
Hank nodded.
“Stay put and let me pace the floor in peace.” Shamus pulled out a blackjack and wrapped a small towel around it to prevent a scalp wound. No sense making a bloody mess. He walked back and forth a couple of times, and when Hank began to relax, he swung the lead-filled weapon into the back of his head.
Hank gave a grunt and fell to the floor. Out cold. Cool! Shamus hog-tied him with plenty of tape and gagged him in case he woke up anytime soon. Much better. No animals on the loose.
CHAPTER 53
Uninvited
Dover, Friday
By ten after six, Chang knew Shamus wouldn’t show up.
Chang stood. “I bet he’s on the run. Do you think we might find him at home?”
“Probably not.”
“It’s worth a try. Ready?” Chang moved toward the stairs.
They jumped into the car, and Chang sped up Route 1.
Chang grabbed his cell to check on the status of the search warrant for Shamus’s place. Nothing yet.
“Try his house again. If you reach him, keep him on the line as long as possible.” Chang didn’t hold much hope. Nelson dialed and got the machine again.
When traffic permitted, Chang kept the car over ninety. Dotted lines on the road flicked past. Screw the warrant.
When they were close to Bear, Chang hit the brakes and took the exit to Nelson’s.
“What are you doing?”
“We need answers. I can get in and out of his place without anyone knowing I was there. I could be prosecuted if anyone sees me, including you.”
“I’d never tell on you!”
“You stink at lying.” No time to worry about Nelson’s feelings.
“Go walk Daisy. You never know what I might do.”
“Huh?”
“Say I’m out for a drive and I find myself at a certain apartment, to ask directions. If the door swung open and I observed incriminating evidence, we could wait for a warrant. If he’s home, it’s not my fault I if I have to protect myself.”
“What if he protects himself first?”
“Get out of the car. I don’t think I’m going to find him, anyway.”
Nelson sounded resigned. “I guess I’m not much help if he’s home.” He got out of the car.
“Keep that phone with you.” Chang hit the gas.
Shamus heard footsteps and the jingle of keys in the lock. His heart sped up, and the dog barked. Shamus crept toward the door, pistol in hand. He saw Nelson walk in, but his head turned toward the noisy closet.
“Daisy? How did you…”
Shamus walked forward, and Nelson pivoted and froze in place.
“Sorry I missed our meeting. Over here, no noise. Hands up, against the wall.” Nelson complied. Even more docile than Midori. Shamus grabbed one arm and shoved him. Nelson faced it. Shamus patted him down, but he only found a cell phone, no gun. Good. He put the cell on the dining room table.
“I didn’t think you carried. You’re not exactly Dirty Harry, are you?”
“I’m an intern, remember?”
Shamus laughed and grabbed his wrists. “That’s pretty good.” This goober was skinny! Shamus felt braver. He used some tape to bind Scarecrow’s hands behind his back.
“How’d you find me?”
“Sit.” Shamus guided him to a metal folding chair.
Shamus wrapped a little more tape around Rogers’s waist to secure him to the seat. He didn’t expect resistance, and it was that much less to remove later.
“We need to talk, and then I need to go. But since you asked, I found you in the phone book, idiot!” What a loser!
Chang used his lights to part traffic and sped up 95 North. He took the exit for Shamus’s complex and pulled around the corner from the entrance. He ignored the kids outside and entered the
building.
The hallway was quiet. Chang found the apartment and knocked on the door but wasn’t surprised when nobody answered. Chang looked over his shoulder and pulled out a thin pick. The lock was pure vanilla, and a minute later he stood inside. A whiff of gasoline hid under a stale, sour odor.
He drew his pistol and listened. Nothing at first, but the hair on the back of his neck rose. A mental image of scales sprouting down his back made him shiver. Something’s here. He let the Dragon’s ears search the empty space. He heard a drip, drip, drip, from a kitchen faucet and the faint buzz of a light tube.
The stench of gasoline grew more distinct and drew his gaze to the floor near the entrance. He picked out a ring-shaped stain. Gas can.
Chang tried to move silently toward the bedroom. His own feet made loud scraping noises on the cheap rug and worn boards, but it might’ve been his amplified hearing.
He cleared the bedroom and re-holstered his weapon. Nobody home. Half the hangers in the bedroom were empty. Packed light? Left in a hurry? All the dress shirts were wrapped in Sandy’s Dry Cleaning bags. The white logo glowed in the dim room.
Chang walked toward the kitchen. The air felt thicker, and the fluorescent light reflected off the yellow walls gave the room a sickly cast. Left the light on for a reason?
Ribbons of odor snaked up his nostrils. Burnt cheese, old milk, lemons…
On the counter, Chang saw a vase that looked like something from a funeral home. It held dead roses, and a band of water clung to the bottom. Gray streaks wept down the sides.
He wrapped his handkerchief around his hand and opened the fridge. Mustard, a soda can, milk carton. Now the freezer.
His head snapped back from the face that glared at him. For an instant, he thought another head stared back, one with blazing eyes. Just a photo. Not even life-size, why did it…The cold fog brought a whiff of old death, and he turned his focus to the muddy sludge in the ice-cube trays. He sniffed more carefully. Bone, ash…and was that liniment oil? Same color as the streaks on the urn.
The scales rose on his neck again. Concentrate. He’s gone. Where? Chang looked in the sink. Wet-paper smell. He reached in and scooped out a small wad. Nothing legible, but it might be from a magazine.
Where would Shamus go besides out of town? Not the dealership. His house? He thought of the night someone went through his trash. Was it Shamus? Guy couldn’t be stupid enough to pick out another victim with them on his tail. Nelson was unlisted…wasn’t he?
Chang looked at the phone book on the kitchen table. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and felt the Dragon stare with him. He could see the bent corners of the pages past the middle. His heart began to pound. He thumbed through the Ps, the Qs, and reached the Rs. He flipped the pages faster, and his pulse jackhammered. A greasy thumbprint smudge right underneath Nelson’s name…
Chang grabbed his cell.
“Are you going to ask what I want from you?”
“No.”
Shamus was surprised. “Why not?”
“You’re in control here. Have been since this whole thing started. If you want me to know, you’ll tell me.” Nelson sounded calm.
“True. I still am.”
Nelson’s phone chirped.
“I’ll skip jokes about being tied up, but if you want me to answer that, it should be quick. It goes to voice mail soon,” Nelson said, looking at Shamus.
Gotta be a trick, maybe to send a secret signal. “No. Let it go.”
Nelson shrugged. The dog whined.
“How close were you to figuring it all out? How much does your partner and everyone else know?”
“Did you let the dog out?” Nelson gazed toward the front hall.
“What? Don’t play with me. Tell me right now, or it’s pain time.” Shamus didn’t like how this prey acted. He felt slippery.
“We’re talking to car dealers. We still have to—”
Shamus grabbed a lighter and held the flame to Nelson’s forearm. The guy screamed. “See? Don’t jerk me around. I know you’re close. Exactly how close? Do you want more?” Shamus waved the flame in front of the screamer’s face.
Now the guy began to rock back and forth. What the hell was he doing? Was he chanting? “Stars on my arm, stars on my arm.” Freak. Give him a shooting star to make a wish on…
Shamus touched the flame to the other arm. He could hear the guy suck air through his teeth. Now he was sweating like a horse. Shamus could see it pouring down his face. His fucking eyes wormed into Shamus’s head.
“You’re breaking down. All over your face. Ozone, fear, can’t hold it in your body…” The weirdo sang out in a high-pitched, rhythmic cadence.
“Shut up!” Shamus backhanded Nelson, and the black eyes only got bigger. Like tar pits. Ouch! He let the lighter burn his own fingers. It flew out of his hand.
“Went too far…always screw up in the end…”
He smacked the other side of his face. Dark pools pulled his gaze back. Get control. Close the deal! He retrieved the lighter.
“Pick a number between one and ten; get it wrong and more fire, Scarecrow.” Shamus searched for fear in the eyes. Nothing.
“One-two-three-four…four.” Same high-pitched voice.
The eyes came from another world. Wouldn’t let him go…picked through his mind.
“How…?” Nelson asked.
“Cats or rats before people? Cats.” Not a question.
What the fuck? Shamus swung for his eye and landed on the cheek. His hand tingled.
“Wet the bed? Yesss.”
“Shut up!” Swung and missed. He’s in a chair!
“Scars all over. All over.”
“Bullshit!” He can’t see my legs.
“Deserved the punishment. Big disappointment…”
Who told him?
Nelson recoiled. Shamus knew it wasn’t the beating. It felt like bugs were crawling in his brain. Lightheaded again.
“You were an accident…”
“How do you know?” Hurt his throat.
“They never wanted you…” Damn high voice cut right through Shamus’s hands and into his ears.
“I’ll kill you.”
“Would anyway…Scared of girls…”
“Stop!”
“How they laughed…”
Shamus felt the floor rise up and hit him. Blood dripped on the floor. Not blood, tears. Snot ran down his nose, and he wiped it away with a sleeve.
Better now he couldn’t see those eyes. Could still feel them.
“Let my dog go. All I want.” More normal voice.
“Fine. First tell me. How close, stick man?” Hated the pleading tone.
“Too close, tick tock. Too close, tick tock.” Again with the trance-voice.
Anger refreshed Shamus. Get a straight answer and get the fuck out of here.
“Okay.” Shamus stumbled to the kitchen and found a knife. He returned to the hall and reached for the closet door. The dog whined and scratched at the wood.
“Wait!”
Now the guy sounded in the here and now.
Shamus held the knife and stood in front of Nelson. He avoided the penetrating gaze. “How’d you get on my trail?”
“Heather Cleary’s body. Knew it was a car guy.”
Shamus looked toward heaven. “See, Gran?”
Nelson’s shirt was soaked through with sweat. The black lumps glittered. Should he cut his eyes out? No. Listen.
“How did you know so quickly?” Shamus didn’t try to hide his curiosity.
“Puja.”
“What the hell is puja?”
CHAPTER 54
On the Road Again
When Nelson didn’t pick up the phone, it hit Chang how stupid he’d been. He imagined the sound of laughter from inside the freezer.
The wood staircase to the entrance shuddered when he pounded down two steps at a time. He hit the siren and lights. He was fifteen minutes away, easy.
He shot over to 95 South, but when he made
it to the exit for Bear he saw an SUV crawl on the exit ramp. Chang almost lost control of the cruiser when he jammed on the brakes. He wondered if the driver was drunk, and then he saw the blond hair and silver cell phone against her ear. The huge vehicle weaved and blocked the entire ramp. Chang leaned on the horn and hit the siren, but she was oblivious.
He screamed a curse in Mandarin and stabbed the gas pedal. The impact with the back of the heavy vehicle knocked out the siren and left bits of grille on the road, but the driver did take the phone away from her ear.
She drifted left and stared with huge eyes at Chang when the cruiser drew past.
“Talk on your phone about this!?” Chang sideswiped the SUV just to feel the impact. She braked and dropped the cell. He floored the accelerator, and the tires screeched.
Chang made it to Nelson’s within minutes. He avoided the front of the house and pulled the car around back just out of sight of Nelson’s windows.
He held up his shield to curious people in their back yards and put his finger to his lips. He took out a spare set of keys to Nelson’s place and checked the set for one to the back doors. There was one for the upper door, but not for the sliding door on the ground floor.
He needed to come up from the basement to have a chance. No problem, the sliding glass door was simple enough. He had tools…
“Always wondered about those lemons. You got lucky.” Shamus picked up the crowbar and rapped Nelson’s scrawny shins. Careful. Don’t break them.
The dog exploded with barks.
“We had a deal.” Nelson squirmed in the chair.
“Who cares? You’re about to be killed by that awful Hank Grant. He’s in the other room.” That got his attention.
“Hank’s clumsy,” Shamus continued. “Gonna bump his head just after he sets a fire to cover his tracks. Hank’s going to burn your dog, not me.”
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