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48

At the Jeep, Sam tossed his dying flashlight into the hidden storage area as he retrieved his gun and make-up kit. With heavy footsteps, he walked to the driver’s side and slipped the key into the ignition.

After grabbing the bag that contained his soiled uniform, he turned away. In this neighbourhood, the Jeep would be stripped, stolen or burned to the ground before morning.

Walking through the night, he thought of Davey, wondering why he had been chosen as a victim. They hadn’t seen each other since high school. That was nearly a quarter century ago. Sam didn’t know anyone – apart from the old friend he had just set alight – from that long ago. So how could they possibly share an enemy?

A disturbing thought caught him by surprise. The owner of the liquor store had said he recognized him. What if it wasn’t from TV? Could he have attended the same high school, too?

Sam rubbed at his eyes, his skin oily with soot. He thought of Davey’s screams and his own unmasked brutality. Davey could just as easily have died as not. He thought of Zack and how he had not only destroyed his career, but also the way others would always remember him.

If Sam was going to continue down this path, a path so completely out of his control, he needed to know for certain the end could be justified. And that was the monster’s best trick of all, leaving Sam to wonder if his family was even alive.

Sam pulled out the cellphone and dug his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. He returned with a white business card that had a private number pencilled on its back.

He hesitated, his finger tracing a line under the numbers. He took a deep breath and keyed them in.

The phone was answered on the third ring.

‘If this is you, Preston,’ grumbled a groggy voice, ‘I’m going to goddamn-well shit in your hat.’

‘Detective Hogan?’

The voice became instantly alert. ‘Who’s this?’

‘It’s Sam White.’

‘Liquor-store-robbin’ Sam White?’

Sam was caught off guard. ‘Yeah,’ he said finally.

‘Interesting,’ Hogan mused.

‘Is he all right? The owner.’

‘He’s alive, but mighty pissed. I would shop elsewhere from now on.’

‘Good,’ Sam said quietly. ‘I mean, it’s good he’s alive.’

‘Well, he certainly thinks so.’

Sam hesitated again. ‘I need to ask you something.’

‘Go on.’

‘What did the coroner say about the bodies?’

Hogan inhaled sharply. ‘I’m told it takes a while for this work to be done, but we know the younger victim, the child, isn’t your daughter.’

Tears leaked from Sam’s eyes. The official word made it more real that what he was doing was right. His family was still alive.

‘Are you going to tell me who she is?’ Hogan asked.

Sam’s voice trembled. ‘I don’t think that’s my place.’

‘Well, that’s an odd way to put it. She was found in the remains of your house.’

‘Is she a black child?’

‘Yes.’

Sam felt a sharp pain deep in his chest that radiated out to the tips of his toes and the strands of his hair. He thought of Zack and what he had said about wanting to die, but not having the courage to pull the trigger. Was there still hope there? Did Zack believe that like Sam’s family, a resurrection was possible? Sam needed Zack to remain strong, but this news, this confirmation, could shatter him into a billion pieces.

After a moment of hesitation, Sam said, ‘Her father will call when he’s ready.’

‘Oh, so her dad is alive?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the mom?’

‘She’s the other body.’

Hogan sighed. ‘Did you kill these people, Mr White?’

‘No! Christ, no! How could you—’

‘What? You think that’s a tough assumption to make?’

‘It’s not what it seems. My family has been kidnapped. He’s making me do things . . .’

‘He’s making me do things?
Do you know how that sounds, Mr White?’

‘Yes,’ Sam conceded.

‘You should turn yourself in, Sam. I can come get you right now. We can work it out. Get you a good lawyer.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I need to find out who’s behind this,’ Sam said. ‘And stop them.’

‘We can help, Sam. Just turn yourself in.’

Sam snorted. ‘You think I’m psycho.’

‘Hey, prove me wrong.’

‘I’m trying.’

‘Yeah?’ Hogan sighed again. ‘Well, the liquor robbery was a good first step.’

49

‘Shit!’

Hogan had played it too tough. He was supposed to be acting as good cop, being a friend, gaining his trust.

He replaced the handset in its cradle and checked the caller ID. The call was listed as
Private
and the number blocked.

Hogan dialled the station and asked to be patched through to the tech desk. Once connected with the lone, late-shift techie, he requested a trace on the call he had just received.

‘I don’t need any triangulation hocus-pocus,’ he told the techie to circumvent any grumbling about cops who watched too much TV and thought everybody had
C.S.I
. and
C.T.U
. resources. ‘I just need owner ID on the phone and a billing address.’

After being assured the information would be on his desk by morning, Hogan rolled over and spooned the sleeping form of his wife. Her body
was warm and her nightgown soft. She stirred slightly as he cupped one breast in his hand and gently kissed the nape of her neck. She murmured something unintelligible and a hand rose to squeeze his fingers before she resumed a gentle snore.

Hogan smiled and closed his eyes. As he tried to get back to sleep, a quote from
Alice in Wonderland
played in his head: ‘Curiouser and curiouser.’

50

Sam exited a yellow cab two blocks from the motel and walked the rest of the way. The door to the room was locked, but Zack had given him the extra key.

Inside, Sam was surprised to find the room empty and Zack’s bed unused. The clock on the nightstand said it was 2 a.m. Sam turned to the window and looked out. The Mercedes wasn’t parked in its usual spot.

The absence of the vehicle, and the contents of its trunk, made his heart unexpectedly race faster.

Sam didn’t have a clue how he could possibly get his hands on the quarter million he still needed, so what did the absence of the rest really matter? If Zack’s idea couldn’t raise the full amount . . . He didn’t want to finish the thought.

Sam paced the room like a caged animal, stopping to stare out of the window at every turn. He felt himself growing angry . . . desperate.

He sat on the edge of the bed and switched on
the TV, but none of the talking heads made sense. He couldn’t concentrate on the words.

He hit the shower, scrubbing the smell of stale smoke, rum and sweat from his pores. After towelling off, he returned to the window. Neon flames licked the pane, flickering reflections of the motel sign outside.

He waited.

51

Detective Hogan snatched a sheet of blue paper off his desk and grinned at its contents.

‘You know why the paper’s blue, right?’ said Preston.

Hogan glanced up at his partner, waiting.

‘Our late-night techie’s gay.’ Preston touched the side of his nose with one extended finger. ‘But he’s still in denial. He thinks blue paper makes him look more hetero.’

Hogan grinned a little wider. ‘That’s what makes you such a good detective. You’re so full of horseshit, you can grow a tale taller than anyone.’

Preston pretended shock. ‘You wait and see. Once our boy comes out, all your tech sheets will be pink and proud.’

Hogan laughed as he reached for the desk phone and dialled the cell number on the paper.

The phone rang once, and then a recorded message said: ‘We’re sorry, but this phone cannot receive unauthorized calls.’

Hogan hung up and waved the blue paper in front of his partner’s nose.

‘Feel like busting down a door and picking up our elusive Mr White? It’s about time you made yourself useful.’

Preston grinned, showing two rows of healthy teeth. ‘You’re just jealous cause I cracked the blue paper case.’

52

Sam woke with a start, his hand reaching to his hip and feeling nothing but denim. He opened his eyes, the nightmare fading as the weight of reality suffocated all other thought.

He looked to his left and saw Zack sitting on the edge of his bed, still dressed in his soiled suit. His skeletal face looked impossibly thinner, his dark eyes sunk even deeper into their sockets than the night before.

‘I didn’t hear you come in,’ Sam rasped.

‘It was late.’

‘You don’t look too hot.’

‘I’m fine.’ Zack attempted a small, reassuring smile. ‘Nights are the hardest.’

These last words were spoken so quietly, Sam wasn’t sure if Zack meant to say them aloud.

‘I work nights, but I know what you mean,’ Sam agreed. ‘The quiet times when the outside doors are closed and it’s just the three of you.’

‘I lived for those,’ Zack said. ‘Stretch out on the
couch with a new book; Kalli watching a silly movie with her headphones on; Jasmine curled up beside me, smacking her lips as she flips through one of her cookbooks.’

He paused, a cloud drifting over his face.

Sam broke the silence, his need for the words to be aired outweighing their possible impact. ‘I called one of the detectives last night.’

Zack’s face fell. ‘Oh, fuck. How could—’

‘I had to know,’ Sam blurted.

‘Know? He warned you—’

‘I had to know if what I was doing . . . if the violence . . . if there was a reason for hope. And . . .’ Sam paused, thinking of his connection to Davey.

‘And?’ Zack pressed.

‘And if I could really trust you.’

Zack shook his head violently and dropped his gaze to his hands, the fingers of his right twisting the gold wedding band on his left.

‘Trust?’ Zack leapt to his feet and began to pace the room. ‘Trust?’ He moved in close again, his face looming over Sam’s, his voice angry. ‘You can’t trust anyone, Sam. Not me, not the cops, nobody. We all have our own agendas. You want your family. I want revenge. The cops want someone to lock up. What good can the cops do except piss
him
off?’

‘The detective confirmed the child wasn’t MaryAnn,’ Sam said in the hope of defusing the situation. ‘You told me the truth. She was black.’

Zack staggered backwards as if he had been struck. Tears overflowed and began to pour down his cheeks in a waterfall of grief. He didn’t try to hide it, but as the news sank in, grief was once again replaced with anger.

He rose up straight with clenched fists and gritted teeth, his whole body shaking and his breathing shallow and fast.

‘What gave you the right?’ he seethed. ‘You selfish son of a—’

Zack lashed out, his right fist rising from the floor to catch Sam under the chin.

Sam spun across the bed, blood spraying from his mouth.

‘What gave you the bloody right?’ Zack staggered like a drunk as his voice crumbled into a blubbering mess of disjointed words. His hands moved to his head, fingers lacing into his hair before curling back into fists. He pulled his flesh tight until panic stopped him cold and he ran for the bathroom.

Zack heaved his guts into the toilet, but the bile in his stomach was nothing compared to the churning in his mind.

Sam had crossed a line. How could he have been so stupid? The watcher had warned them. He had been clear about that. If he found out that Sam had called the police, he might decide to cut his losses and kill his hostages . . . kill Jasmine.

Zack crossed to the sink and splashed cold water on his face.

Without knowing it, Sam had forced him to choose a side. He could never tell the watcher what Sam had done, but in choosing to go against him, Zack knew he could lose everything – again.

53

When Zack returned, Sam was standing at the window with his back to the room. He had a towel pressed against his mouth and his body language spoke volumes.

Zack moved behind the bed and cleared his throat. ‘We didn’t meet by accident, Sam.’

Sam turned, his eyes burning.

Zack held up one hand. ‘You were right not to trust me, but let me say my piece before you react.’

Sam glanced down at the bed. The handgun he had left on top of the covers was missing.

‘My wife is alive,’ said Zack.

Sam was taken aback. ‘How?’

‘I don’t know. I thought she was killed in the explosion, with . . .’ his voice faltered ‘. . . with Kalli. But like you, I received a phone call.’

‘You talked to her?’

‘Yes.’

‘He said you could save her?’

Zack nodded.

‘By betraying me?’ The towel fell as Sam’s hand formed a fist.

‘What would you do?’ said Zack quickly. ‘He asked me to spy on you, to make sure you kept your end of the bargain. I haven’t told him any—’

‘Fuck!’ Sam screamed.

‘I haven’t told him anything he didn’t already know, Sam.’

‘Then what good are you?’

‘I know how to get the money. I can help you get the full million.’

‘And then what? Then you and him—’

Zack snapped, ‘I still plan to kill him, Sam. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I was going to keep lying.’

Sam turned and drove his fist into the wall. The plaster buckled and cracked under the blow. He was lucky he missed the studs. He spun back around, his face red, his knuckles raw. ‘And I’m supposed to trust you?’

‘YES!’

‘Why?’

‘Because we both have something precious to lose if you don’t. For the first time we’re both in the same spot. I won’t tell him about you calling the cops. I just want my wife back.’

A troubling thought cut Sam to the bone. ‘Hannah. Is the other body Hannah?’

Zack winced. ‘I don’t know. Who can tell with
this sick fuck? But you have to have hope, Sam.’

Sam bristled. ‘How can I be sure that you don’t know who he is? Where he’s holding them?’

Zack’s eyes narrowed into slits. ‘Because if I did, he would already be dead.’

Sam exhaled heavily, his heart thundering in his chest. He turned back to the window. Rage and anger weren’t helping him, he needed facts.