Home Before Dark (45 page)

As soon as he heard Jelly lock the door behind her, Ward
opened a side pocket on his backpack and took out a small
pair of pliers. He gave her thirty seconds, then rose from the
couch, spilling the cat off his lap, and went over to the window
where the phone line came into the apartment. He cut the
wires.
Then, using a pair of Jelly’s discarded pantyhose, he picked
up the telephone receiver and wiped it clean of potential
prints. Just to be sure, he polished the cradle too and the
surface of the glass table.
He sat back down, undid the top flap of the backpack and
brought out an oil-cloth bundle. He unwrapped the mezzaluna
and laid it carefully across his knees; then, holding the knife
by one of its handles, peeled off the plastic shield that guarded
the edge. He shoved the cloth and shield back in his pack)
unzipped a long side-pocket and placed the naked blade inside
it with the handles facing outwards. Instead of the zipper, he
used alternative Velcro fasteners to close the pocket again, so
that when he wore the backpack the weapon would be easy
to get at.
He had practised the 'draw’ – left hand reaching across
the body and under his right armpit – until he was satisfied
he could respond to any given situation in about a second
and a half.
Ward donned a fresh pair of rubber gloves. He blew into
the fingers of each hand before pulling it on, then stretched
and snapped the latex to get rid of any air bubbles. He heard
the thick doggerel rhythms of rap music coming from behind
the locked bathroom door and guessed the girl had switched
on the radio because she wanted privacy. He found her
modesty becoming.

73

Jelly sat on the toilet, hunched forward, holding onto the edge
of the tub with one hand, the other clamped over her mouth
to stop herself from crying out. A minute ago, less, she’d
called Tachel and heard the number ringing and then suddenly the line had gone dead.
. She’d understood at once what that meant.
Something had felt wrong the moment she let Guy in the
apartment. She should have run then, when she got that first
ajbad vibe, when she had the chance. What could have possessed her to open the door to him? She stared at the wall-phone
slowly unwinding at the end of its corkscrew cord.
She grabbed the receiver and tried again, this time dialling
911, just to be sure. Nothing. He must have cut the line. Her
mobile was in the other room. She’d meant to bring it with her
but couldn’t find the damned thing and then Guy had said
hurry, they needed to hurry. He must have took it. Oh Jesus
God.
Why was he doing this? What did he want with her? She
thought about Ed’s e-mail attachment, the one she’d deliberately
neglected to open, and felt a sick rush of fear. She
hadn’t seen anyone following them tonight, had she? Anyone
that looked like Guy? How could she have been such a fool,
almost letting him convince her that Ed was the danger? It
was Guy . . . who killed people. But she couldn’t think on
that now. She had to try to stay calm, focused, find some
way out of this situation.
The bathroom window was not an option: too small to
climb through, too high above the street to call for help. And,
if she started yelling and screaming, he could just bust down
the door. It was ridiculous how badly her hands were shaking.
She joined them, closed her eyes. Then, through the fear, an
idea came to her.
There was one person she could contact – her next-door
neighbour, the weirdo in 4B. He never went out. She hadn’t
thought of him before because he was crazy and they weren’t
speaking on account of the music issue. But if Lazlo wasn’t
asleep – and even if he was – she knew how to get his
attention.
Jelly climbed into the tub and turned on the shower-radio.
She put an ear flat to the tiles under the nozzle and listened.
She could hear someone moving about in there – thank God,
he was still up. Then the muttering started. Two voices, one
high and whiny complaining about the noise, the other getting
angry.
She heard Lazlo lumber into his bathroom, still talking to
himself, and start banging on the party wall.
She cranked the volume for Jay-Zee as loud as it would go-
'I wouldn’t be speaking to you if this wasn’t an emergency.’
'I’m sorry, sir, but without knowing the subscriber’s override
code I have no way of reaching them. I cannot over-ride
Call Intercept.’
'Then do me a favour, operator, try the number yourself.
Maybe they’ll accept your call.’
'Please hold.’
Several moments later the operator came back and said
she’d been unable to get through because there was a fault
on the line. I knew then for certain that Jelly was in immediate
danger. It meant 'Guy Mallory’ was already there.
'He’s going to kill her.’
'Sir, I suggest you call emergency services.’
'There isn’t time,’ I shouted.
'The number is ringing for you now,’ she said wearily and
signed off with a meaningless 'Thank you for using ATT’
I slammed the receiver down, stunned by the enormous
urgency of the situation.
In the ten minutes or so I’d wasted on the phone getting
nowhere, I could have been halfway to Thirty-ninth Street.
I grabbed my jacket and was already out in the lobby, waiting
for an elevator to come, when the phone rang again.
I hesitated, then ran back for it.
'Mr Lister?’ It was Eve-Louise on the front desk. 'There’s two detectives here from the
NYPD
would like to talk to
you.’
'Tell them I’m on my way down.’

Ward knocked on the bathroom door. 'Time to go, sugar.’
She didn’t reply. He could hear the loud music, the banging
-On the wall – he knew now what she was up to in there. 'Let’s
go, Jell.’
; 'Jelena?’ He tried the handle, then stood back, ready to kick in the door, when the noise stopped – she’d turned off
the radio. He heard the toilet flush, then the door opened
and Jelly emerged carrying an old Lord Taylor shopping
bag stuffed with her overnight things. She’d changed into
jeans and a T-shirt and Ward caught a whiff of the perfume
she’d worn for him the other night at dinner.
A green glass paper-weight, smooth and cool against his
cheek.
'I’m ready,'Jelly said. He noticed her hands were trembling.
'I just have to leave some dry food and water out for the
cats.’
'AH right, but we don’t have all day.’
While she was taking care of the menagerie, Ward looked
through the peep-hole into the hallway. The coast was clear.

Nobody else lived on their floor apart from her and Lazlo.
As she turned from locking the door to her apartment, down
the hall on the right Jelly saw 4B’s crack open and her neighbour’s
glittering eye appear above the door chain. Then the
eye withdrew and she heard Lazlo talking to someone at his
back. She recognised his other voice, the high-pitched one
that sounded like a woman nagging.
I can’t take another minute of this. You know what time
it is? You gotta do something, you gotta shut that bitch up.’
'Enough, already,’ Lazlo bellowed.
Then he hollered through the crack at Jelly, 'This time you
went too far. You little cock-sucking whore. Yeah, you heard
me, slut. I’m gonna put a stop to your dirty little game once
and for all.’
He’d pulled this crazy shit before, but never to her face.
Jelly shouted back at him across the hall, 'You don’t like it,
why don’t you call the cops, asshole?’ She felt Ward put an
arm around her shoulder and guide her towards the stairs.
'We don’t need to get involved here.’
'You crazy motherfucker,’ she kept going, 'you should be
in Bellevue. If you don’t call Emergency Services, I will.’
The door slammed shut. Jelly prayed Lazlo had got the
message, but she didn’t hold out much hope. She heard the
rattle of a chain and the next moment a flab mountain in
matching royal blue robe and pyjamas shunted into the hallway.
Lazlo looked huge, but hardly intimidating.
'I’ve had just about as much as I can take,’ he roared, his
distended jowls pink and wobbling with fury.
'Back off, bozo,’ Guy warned him.
'Who the fuck are you?’ He advanced on them. 'Who the
fuck are you to tell me jack-shit? You fuck.’
Then abruptly, as if some switch had been thrown in his
head, the rage seemed to pass. Without a flicker Lazlo changed
modes, reverting to the way she’d seen him act in public polite,
considerate, harmless.
'Are you all right, Miss Sejour?’
Guy answered for her, 'I never say anything twice.’
'Is this man bothering you?’ He took another step.
It was only now that Jelly understood what she had done, the danger she had put him in, involving him in her troubles.
She gestured frantically at Lazlo to leave it alone, go back
inside. But he kept coming.
Guy said quietly, 'You just crossed the line, fats.’
The menace in his tone made Jelly glance down. Some kind of curved blade had materialised in Guy’s hand. A
gleaming metal extension of his arm which he held straight out and close to his side.
She screamed, 'He’s got a knife.’
,:.. Guy let go her shoulder to concentrate on the big lunk bearing down on them. This was her chance to create a diversion, her
fine shot at breaking free. Jelly ducked behind him as he swung the knife in a rising backstroke aimed at Lazlo’s unprotected throat, then launched herself off the top of the stairs.
She levitated, taking three steps at a time, stumbled and
fell at the bottom of the first flight. A retching noise from
above, something between a cough and a gasping, choked
off cry, made her convulse with fresh horror. She kept going,
though, afraid that if she looked back and saw Guy coming
she would freeze. Jelly got to the second-floor landing before
she heard him behind her – the few heavy thumps made it
sound like he was leaping whole flights – easily gaining.
He caught up with her as she reached ground level.
'I’m parked right outside,’ Guy said calmly, taking her arm
as if nothing had happened. 'We’re going to walk out of here
together.’
He wasn’t even breathing hard.
Something splashed on the tiled floor. Jelly looked up. He
covered her mouth, catching the scream before it left her
throat. Blood was dripping … gushing now down the narrow
shaft of the stairwell. She felt a warm whip lick across her
bare toes, unprotected by her Old Navy flip-flops, and grew
faint.
'If you’re smart,’ Guy said, tightening his grip on her upper
arm, 'you’ll just get in the car and not say a word.’

The elevator had passed the tenth floor, halfway to the lobby
where the detectives were waiting, when my cell rang.
'Yes?’ I could hear a car engine, traffic.
A man’s voice said, 'Tell him we’re going for a ride.’
'Who is this?’
'Tell him we’re taking a run out to the house, he knows
the way. Oh I’m sorry, sugar, you can’t talk with my dick in
your mouth.’ There was a sound of tearing tape and then a
cry I recognised. 'That better?’
I heard Jelly sobbing.
'Tell him if he calls the cops, I’ll kill you.’
I knew the voice. Last time I heard it was in the garden
of the Villa Nardini in Florence, standing over the grotto
where Sophie died – a husky, lilting Midwestern drawl that
signed off with, 'Take it easy, Ed.’
She burst out, 'Please don’t hurt me, oh God . . .’
Then they were gone.

74

About halfway across the George Washington Bridge, I leaned
forward and told the cab driver I’d changed my mind, when
we got to the New Jersey side I wanted him to turn right
around and take me back to the city.
He caught my eye in his rearview, but didn’t say anything.
We were on the bridge’s lower level, heading out to the
house at Gilmans Landing, where I could only guess Ward
had taken Jelly. The last couple of miles I’d started to have
doubts. I knew how to get there, of course – he knows the
way – but what if it wasn’t the house? Could he have meant
Skylands? What if this was some kind of trick? I could hear the tyres singing out: bad call, wrong decision.
My mobile rang. The phone lay beside me on the back
seat of the taxi where I’d just thrown it down. I’d been speed
dialling Jelly every few minutes.
I snatched it up and hit the answer button. 'Ed Lister.’
Nothing. I could hear some kind of faint background music, the brassy fanfares of a Mariachi band it sounded like, but
nobody spoke. I glanced at the display screen and saw the
message alert for an incoming video feed.
The little screen lit up, went black, then an image formed
of an unmade bed, tangled sheets, pillows piled against the
headboard. Slowly the camera tracked to a picture on the
wall. I recognised it from Jelly’s description, a Braque still
life of musical instruments. It had to be her room, her studio
apartment on Thirty-ninth Street.
The picture froze. I thought, no, Jesus no, they’re still there.
I’d fallen right into the trap. He was going to kill her right
there in the apartment … if he hadn’t already. The video
was probably a recording of her murder, which he wanted
me to witness.
I waited for it to restart, sick with apprehension, trying to
prepare myself for the horror I believed was about to unfold.
We’d been here before, only this time I’d let it happen. My
mind raced back to my headlong exit from the Carlyle, bailing
out of the elevator on the fifth floor and taking the service
stairs down to the hotel’s side entrance, giving the detectives
the slip – then, for ages, not being able to find a cab. In the
end I’d decided against checking Jelly’s place first. I’d calculated
Ward was fifteen to twenty minutes ahead of me, I didn’t
have a moment to lose.
The screen on my mobile came back to life.
Different picture. In place of the Braque still-life I was
looking at a gaudy painting on black velvet of the Virgin of
Guadeloupe. Different room. It was like an instant reprieve.
I’d only ever glanced in the door but I recognised the maid’s
quarters at La Rochelle. They were already at the house.
Then the camera panned down and I knew the feed was live.
At the foot of the bed, I saw a hunched figure on a chair,
arms and legs roped together, head wrapped like a mummy’s
in silver duct tape (the eyes and nostrils alone were visible).
As far as I could tell, Jelly was still conscious. It wasn’t too
late, I told myself.
A flurry of movement in front of the lens briefly obscured
my view. When the image cleared, the camera had closed in
on her masked face and I caught the look of sleepy terror in
her eyes. Jelly was reacting to something coming towards her
I couldn’t see what it was, only the twin arcs of light reflected
in her dilated pupils. Then the screen went black.
I said into the phone, 'How much do you want?’
'You know this isn’t about money’