The Beginning (67 page)

“Gentlemen,” Hannah said, looking from one to the other. “Can I have a glass of water?”

“Then you'll probably have to go pee, like Marty here,” Marlin said.

“Marty? Her name is Sherlock.”

Marlin kicked Hannah, the way his father had. “Shut your mouth. I hate women who haven't got the brains to keep their lips sewn together. I might do that someday. Get myself a little sewing kit. I could use different colored thread for each woman. No water. Let's get out of here. Who knows who's going to show up?”

Five minutes, but it didn't matter now. Sherlock was bound and gagged, lying on her side in the backseat of her own car, a blanket thrown over her. Hannah was behind her in the storage space.

One of them was driving a stolen car she'd seen briefly, a gray Honda Civic. Then she heard her Explorer revved up but didn't know which one of them was driving. She guessed they'd leave her car at the warehouse.

Sherlock closed her eyes and prayed harder than she'd ever prayed in her life. If Marlin left her hands tied behind her, then there would be no way she could get to the Lady Colt strapped around her ankle.

 

SAVICH
stretched his back, then his hamstrings. He heard a woman's voice from the front of the gym and started to call out.

But it wasn't Sherlock.

It had been an hour and twenty minutes. In that instant he knew something was very wrong. He called her cell. No answer. He and Quinlan both had this gut thing. Neither of them ever ignored it. He immediately called Jimmy Maitland.

“It's dinnertime, Savich. This better be good.”

“There's no word about Marlin Jones, is there?”

“No, none yet. Why?”

“I haven't seen Sherlock in over an hour. She was supposed to meet me at the gym. She hasn't shown. I called her cell. No answer. I know that Marlin and his father are here. I know it. I know they've got Sherlock.”

“How do you know that? What's going on, Savich?”

“My gut. You've never before mistrusted my gut, sir. Don't mistrust it now. I'm out of here and on my way to her house. She was going there to get more stuff. We made a firm time date. She isn't here. Sherlock's always on time. Something's happened and I know it's Marlin and Erasmus. Put out an APB on her car, Ford Explorer, license SHER 123. Can you get a call out to everyone to look for her?”

“You got it.”

Savich was at her house within ten minutes. It was dark. Her car wasn't in the driveway. Jesus, he prayed he'd been wrong. Maybe she was at his place, maybe she wanted to unpack her stuff before she came to the gym. No, she wouldn't do that. He went to the front door and tried the doorknob.

It opened.

He had his SIG out as he pushed the door fully open.

He turned on the light switch. He saw the trashed living room. Furniture overturned, lamps hurled against the wall, her lovely prints slashed, beer cans and empty Chinese cartons and pizza boxes on the floor. One piece of molding cheese pizza lay halfway out of the box onto a lovely Tabriz carpet.

The kitchen was a disaster area. It was weird, but he could smell Sherlock's scent over the stench of rotted food. She'd been here. Recently. Then he saw her fanny pack on the floor under the table. He opened it but saw it wasn't Sherlock's. It was Hannah Paisley's. They had both women. How did they get Hannah? How did they
know
to get Hannah?

And why had they taken her?

Of course he knew the answer to that. Marlin knew he'd have to have some leverage, something to make Sherlock do what he told her to do. And that would be? To walk the maze, to get to the center, where he'd kill her, to pay her back for scamming him, for shooting him, for beating him.

So he and his father would have taken the women to some warehouse nearby. But where? There were lots of likely places in Washington, D.C. Sherlock would know that he'd realize what had happened. She'd have left him something, if she'd had the chance. He looked around the kitchen but didn't see anything.

He was on the cell phone to the cops when he walked into the small bathroom off the downstairs hallway. He nearly gagged at the stench. He pulled open the drawers below the sink. Nothing. He pulled aside the shower curtain. There was Sherlock's purse on the floor of the shower stall, open.

“Give me Lieutenant Jacobs, please. I imagine he's gone home. What's his phone number? Listen, this is Dillon Savich, FBI. We've got a real problem here and I need help fast.”

Savich was on the phone to Jacobs even as he was bending down to pick up Sherlock's purse. It was a big black leather shoulder bag. He'd kidded her about carrying a full week's change of clothes and running shoes in there.

“Is Lieutenant Jacobs there, please?”

He carefully pulled out each item. It was when he got to her small cosmetic bag that he went really slowly. He unzipped it a little bit at a time, holding it upright.

“Is this you, Lewis? Savich here. I've got a huge problem. You know all about Marlin and Erasmus Jones? Well, they're here in Washington and they've got two of my agents—Agent Sherlock and Agent Paisley. Hold a second.” Slowly Savich turned the cosmetic bag inside out. There written in eyebrow pencil was:
Calvert & Williams, wareh—
.

She was good. “Lewis, she managed to leave me a message. There's a warehouse at Calvert and Williams. He's going to make Sherlock go through a maze, Lewis, and Marlin will be at the center. He'll kill her. Do a silent approach, all right? I'll see you there in ten minutes.”

He couldn't believe it. His Porsche wouldn't start. He tried again, then raised the hood. Nothing obvious, not that he was a genius with cars. He kicked the right front tire and ran into the street. A motorist nearly ran him down, slammed down on his brakes, and weaved around him. Savich stood in the middle, waving his arms.

A taxi pulled up. A grinning black face peered out at him. “Well, if it isn't the lucky man who's going to marry that pretty little gal.”

There was no time. No time at all.

She didn't want to die, didn't want to lose her life to this crazy yahoo who was grinning at her like the madman he was. No, he wasn't mad, he knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew it was wrong. He enjoyed it. Remorse was alien to him. Being really human, in all its complexity and simplicity, was alien to him.

She looked at Hannah, who was standing with her back against one of Marlin's props, her head down. At first Sherlock thought she was numb with fear, but then she realized she wasn't terrified senseless, which Marlin and Erasmus probably thought. No, it was an act. Hannah was getting her bearings, thinking, figuring odds.

Good. Let them think she was broken. Sherlock called out, her voice filled with false concern she was sure Hannah would see right through, “Hannah, are you all right?”

“Yes, but for how long?” Hannah didn't look at her, kept breathing deeply, staring at the filthy wooden floor. “I don't suppose there's a chance that Savich will get here?”

“I don't know.”

“Shut up, both of you bitches!”

“Really nice language from your daddy, Marlin.”

“He can say whatever he wants, Marty. You know that. He's a man.”

“Him? A man?” It was Hannah, her voice hoarse because Erasmus had choked her when she'd tried to get away from him. “He's a worm, a cowardly worm who raised you to be a rabid murderer.”

Hannah didn't even have time to ready herself before Erasmus hit her hard on the head with the butt of Sherlock's SIG.

“I'll enjoy cutting her throat,” Erasmus said, standing over an unconscious Hannah. She was drawn up in the fetal position. There was a trickle of blood from her nose.

“So you will kill her,” Sherlock said, and smiled at Marlin. “I'm not going into your maze. There's no reason to. She isn't leverage. You're going to kill her too. You heard your sweet daddy.”

Erasmus raised his hand to strike her, but Marlin grabbed his wrist. “Marty's mine. I'll handle her. Lookee here, Pa, a little druggie. You want to take care of her?”

A young black girl, dressed in ragged filthy jeans and an old Washington Redskins jersey with holes in the elbows, was crouched by the door of the warehouse, her eyes huge, knowing she was in the wrong place and knowing too there was nothing she could do about it. Erasmus walked to the girl, took her by the neck, and shook her like a chicken. Sherlock heard the girl's neck snap. It was unbearable. She closed her eyes but not before she saw Erasmus toss the girl aside like so much garbage.

“I'll see if there are any more scum inside,” Erasmus said and slid through the narrow opening into the huge derelict building. The area was godforsaken, bleak, an air of complete hopelessness about it. All the buildings had been abandoned by people who had given up. All were in various stages of dilapidation. There were old tires lying about, cardboard boxes stacked carefully together to cover a homeless person. It was the nation's capital and it looked like the remains of Bosnian cities Sherlock had seen on TV a while back.

Marlin took her chin in his palm and forced her face up. “Guess what, Marty?”

“My name's Lacey.”

“No, you're Marty to me. That was how you came on to me in Boston. That's how you'll go out. Guess what I found?”

She stared at him.

He pulled her Lady Colt out of his pocket. “I remembered this little number. This is the gun you shot me with in Boston. You were hoping I'd forget, weren't you? You wanted to blast me again, didn't you? Well you aren't going to do anything now. I win, Marty. I win everything.”

“You won't win a thing, you slug. I'm not going to walk into your maze.”

“What if I promise you I'll let her go?”

She laughed. “Your daddy's the one who's going to kill her, Marlin, not you.”

“All right, then. I have another idea.” Marlin twisted her chin, slapped her. “Come on, Marty, Show Time.”

Erasmus came out of the warehouse, dragging a ragged old man by his filthy jacket collar. “Only one, Marlin—this poor old heap of bones. He's gone to his reward. I bet he'd thank me for releasing him if he had any breath left.”

Erasmus lowered the old man to the rotted wooden planks outside the warehouse, kicked him next to a stack of tires. “Take your girlie, Marlin, and have her walk the walk. I want to get out of this damned city. It's unfriendly, you know? And look around you. People ain't got no pride here. Ain't nothing but devastation. Don't our government have any pride in their capital?”

Marlin smiled down at Sherlock, raised the .44 Magnum, and brought it down on the side of her head. She was unconscious before she hit the ground.

“Now, I've got to do this just so,” Marlin said to his father as he leaned down over Hannah. “Yes, just so. I can't wait to see her face when she finally comes to the center of the maze, when she finally comes to me.”

 

FOUR
local police cars cruised in silently, all of them parked a good block from the warehouse. Men and women quietly emerged from the cars, Lewis Jacobs bringing them to where Savich had just arrived in a taxi, a tall middle-aged black man next to him.

“Jimmy Maitland will be here soon, along with about fifteen Special Agents,” Savich said quietly. “Now, here's what we're going to do.”

 

SHERLOCK
awoke slowly, nausea thick in the back of her throat, her head pounding. She tried to raise her head, just a bit, but the dizziness brought her down. She closed her eyes. Marlin had struck her with a gun over her left ear, harder this time than in Boston. He'd probably laughed when she was unconscious at his feet. She lay silently, waiting, swallowing convulsively, praying that Dillon had found her message, but knowing in her gut that she had to depend on herself, not on some rescue. Where was Hannah?

It was dead silent in the huge gloomy warehouse, except for the sound of an occasional scurrying rat. The air was thick and smelled faintly rotten, as if things had died here and been left where they'd fallen. Her nausea increased. She swallowed, willing herself not to vomit. There was a small pool of light in front of her, thanks to Marlin.

There was also a ball of string.

Think.
He had both her guns. She looked around slowly, wondering if he or Erasmus could see her. There was nothing she could see to use as a weapon, nothing at all.

Except the string. She came up slowly onto her knees. She still felt light-headed, but the dizziness was better. A few more moments. At least he'd removed the ropes from her hands and feet. At least she was free.

She heard Marlin's eerie voice coming from out of the darkness. “Hey, you're awake. Good. It took you long enough, but my daddy said I was too excited to be patient. Marty, listen to this.”

Hannah's scream ripped through the silence.

“I've got her here, Marty, at the center of the maze. This was just a little demonstration. Don't panic on me. I only hurt her a little bit. She must have a real low threshold of pain to scream when I just jerked her arm up. Now, if you don't get here, she won't be quite whole real soon. You start moving now or I'll start cutting off her fingers, then her nose, then her toes. Hey, that rhymes. I'm good. Now, I'll work up from there, Marty, and you'll get to hear her scream every time I take my knife to her. I won't cut her tongue out until last. You'll hear everything I do to her.”

She stood up, the string in her hand. “I'm coming, Marlin. Don't hurt her. You promise?”

There was silence. She knew he was talking to Erasmus. Good, they were together. She didn't have to worry about Erasmus watching her from a different vantage point.

“She'll be fine as long as I know you're on your way. Move, Marty. That's right. I can see you now.”

But he couldn't, at least not all of the time, just at those intervals where he'd managed to place mirrors. She began wrapping the string around her hand. No, this wouldn't do it. She had to double the string and knot it every couple of inches. She redid it as she walked, clumsy at first, gaining in proficiency and speed as she tied it again and again. She was nearly to the beginning of the maze and the string would run out. She prayed she'd have enough.

“I'm coming, Marlin. Don't touch Hannah.”

“I'm not hurting her now, Marty, you keep walking toward my voice. That's right. You using the string, Marty? That's part of the game—you've got to use the string.”

“I'm using the string.”

“Good. You're a smart little bitch, aren't you?”

She drew a deep breath, called out, “Oh yes, Marlin, you stupid prick, I'm so smart I'm going to kill you. Count on it. And no one will miss you. Everyone will be glad you're in hell where you belong.” She stepped into the maze.

“Don't you talk to my boy like that, gal, or I'll take a whack at you myself after he's through.”

She heard them talking but couldn't make out any words.

Marlin said, “I told my daddy I was right. Yes, I was right all along. You have a dirty mouth. He heard that bad word you said. You deserve my kind of punishment.” He laughed, a full, deep laugh, but there was something in it, something that sounded vaguely like fear. Was that really fear she heard? She'd hurt him once, surely he hadn't forgotten that, but she couldn't imagine why he'd be even faintly afraid now. She was alone. She didn't have a weapon. Still, she had no other options. She decided to push. “Remember how it felt to have a bullet in your gut, Marlin? Remember all those tubes and needles they stuck into you at the hospital? You even had one in your cock. You remember that? Remember how you lay there whimpering, all gray in the face? You looked so pathetic. You looked like a beat-up little boy. I looked at you and I was really glad I'd shot you. I hoped you'd die, but you didn't. You'll die this time, Marlin. You're crazy and stupid, you know that?”

“I'm not! I'll pay you back for that, Marty.”

“You couldn't pay back anything. You're a coward, Marlin, and you're afraid of me. Aren't you? I can hear it in your voice. It's shaking. You're worthless, Marlin. You're nothing but a loser. Your mama should have strangled you at birth.”

“No!” He was heaving now, she could hear him, heaving from rage. “I'll kill you, Marty, and I'll enjoy every minute of it. You deserve to die, more than any of the others.”

“Let me take her out, boy.”

“No! She's mine, and this one too. I want both of them. You know this other one cusses all the time. Yes, I want both of them. You wait and see how well I slice them up. You'll be proud of me, Pa.”

He was screaming and pleading with his father, both at the same time. He was really close to the edge. “I'm the best slicer in the world, not you! I'm the best!”

Lacey walked very quietly, the knotted string wrapped around her hand. He'd built the maze very well. She hit two dead ends and had to retrace her steps.

She called out, “Marlin, it looks like you finally learned how to build a proper maze. I just hit the second dead end. Too bad you're so stupid that your daddy didn't teach you how to build a really good maze way back when you were young. It took you long enough to learn, didn't it, you pathetic little slug?”

“Damn you, bitch, shut up! Don't you talk like that! I know you're doing it on purpose to make me mad, to try to make me lose control, but I won't. I know you don't talk like that all the time. Do you? Damn you, bitch, answer me.”

“That's right, you little jerk. It's all just for you, Marlin, you miserable stupid fuck.”

“Shut up! SHUT UP!”

His voice was trembling. She could imagine him nearly frothing at the mouth with rage. Good.

Her voice rang out cold and calm. “Why the fuck should I?”

“I'll kill you now, Marty. I've got my Magnum right here, all ready to go. You walk faster or Hannah's going to lose her pinky finger.”

“I'm coming, Marlin. I told you I would. Unlike you, I keep my word. Only a coward would hurt her and you've been swearing to me you aren't a coward, right?”

He was breathing real hard now. She was close enough to hear his rage, nearly taste it. It smelled sweet, coppery, like human blood. “No, I won't hurt her. Not yet anyway. You're first, Marty, you. I want you, then I might be satisfied.”

She walked into a narrow pool of light. She carefully held the string at her side. “Where's your daddy, Marlin? Is he lurking around one of the corners of the maze? He's a coward too. You got it all from that precious father of yours, didn't you?”

“I ain't lurking no place, girlie,” Erasmus shouted out. “I'm just letting my boy do what will make him happy. You do what he wants, and I won't skin you.”

“Did you skin your wife, Erasmus? After you slit her throat or before?”

“Ain't none of your business, girlie. You come along now, you hear me? I want to get out of this place; it ain't comfortable. It makes my skin crawl.”