The Boy With The Painful Tattoo: Holmes & Moriarity 3 (27 page)

But I hadn’t meant to hurt him.

I continued puttering around the kitchen. Not that there was much to putter with. The leftover food had been put away. It didn’t look like we’d be having dessert. The dishwasher ran with quiet efficiency. The clock over the sink ticked peacefully.

I walked into the dining room and listened.

I could hear music from behind the closed door of J.X.’s office. The Black Keys again.

Well, hell. I wasn’t even sure how this worked. David and I did not apologize to each other. After a fight we just ignored each other until one of us decided to start speaking again.

Sometimes it was a matter of hours. Sometimes a matter of days. I tried to imagine not talking to J.X. for days. My heart sank.

But, as he’d said himself, it was important that we started the way we intended to go on.

Suddenly three thousand square feet seemed way too cramped a space for both of us. I listened to the call of The Black Keys.

It’s up to you now

It’s up to
you now

Yeah, well.

I went out through the side door into the garden. The evening air was mild and sweetly scented. An urban blend of industry and flowers. The sky still held a distant trace of pink and a few stars glittered in the fleecy folds of blue-black.

I walked up the series of little terraces to the pool. The crystal water shone aqua-blue. Something about a pool at night always fascinated me. It seemed magical. Like the entryway to an underwater kingdom. I was always watching for that door, but it never appeared.

I knelt and skimmed the water with my hand. It was warm. Warm enough to swim. I liked night swimming. I liked floating and gazing up at the stars.

Getting out of the pool would be chilly though. June nights weren’t usually all that hot.

Something rustled behind me. I turned in alarm. The boxwood hedge shook and then a large gray cat pushed through. Emmaline’s cat. Pinky.

He wandered over to me and I ran my hand down his sleek back. He slunk down and then pleasurably arched beneath the caress.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to go
over
the hedge?” I asked, picking a couple of small leaves off his coat.

Pinky meowed in reply. He had a very loud meow. He really did sort of remind me of Mr. Pinkerton.

“So it’s your job to keep the mice population down? We send our complaints to you?”

Another meow.

Nice to know someone was still talking to me.

I glanced back at the house. I glimpsed J.X. crossing the dining room on his way to the kitchen. Maybe he was looking for me. Maybe he wanted to talk. I was not a big fan of relationship talk—certainly hadn’t much practice—but I’d be willing to meet J.X. halfway. More than halfway.

I rose to return to the house. Pinky followed me across the bricks, then suddenly hissed and sprang away.

I looked over in surprise. But I was looking in the wrong direction.

Someone grabbed me from behind and threw me into one of the giant stone urns. I landed on my bad shoulder and the pain was so awful all my breath sucked in instead of whooshing out in a yell for help.

I slid down, landing on my hands and knees. Looking up through tears, I saw Beck, gilded in moonlight, as he towered over me.

Chapter Eighteen

“I
’m Swiss,” I said desperately. “I’m neutral. I don’t know what happened to your brother. I
got dragged into this. I don’t
know
anything.”

He picked me up by the back of my shirt, which tore loudly—or maybe that was my spine being ripped out—and hurled me into the urn once more.

I was pretty sure he was going to batter me to death. He was not really looking for an explanation. He was looking for payback. His brother was dead and he wanted someone to take his frustration and loss out on. And I kept popping up on his radar. Looking at it from Beck’s point of view, this made sense.

The second time I hit the urn, I did scream. But it came out as a choked sound and I doubted if it carried very far.

I flopped to the ground and started crawling for the house.

I didn’t expect to get very far, so it was a dull but welcome surprise when Beck did not instantly scoop me up again and sling me once more into a wall of concrete. Dimly, I heard a thud, a groan, and the earth seemed to jump beneath my hands and knees.

“Christopher? Are you okay?”

I knew that voice. And though it was not a voice I associated with good things, I was abjectly grateful to hear it.

“Jerry?” I stared up through the starring of tears.

Jerry now stood over me. He held a round stone garden sphere about the size of a baseball. I looked past him and saw Beck face down on the ground. There was a dark patch on the back of his silver head. He was groaning.

“Are you all right?” Jerry sounded weirdly calm. Almost cheerful.

“No,” I replied.

“Oh hey, that’s too bad.” Jerry dropped the stone sphere and dragged me to my feet. I swayed dizzily. “Good thing I was here. Seeing that your boyfriend is only interested in sitting around drinking beer by himself tonight.”

I looked automatically at the house. No sign of J.X. now.

Beck groaned more forcefully and pushed up on his hands. Jerry unhurriedly let go of me and bent down to pick up the stone sphere again.

I ran.

It was more of a staggering reel, but the motion propelled me forward and I stumbled down the series of terraces, across the brick patio and burst through the breakfast room doors. J.X. was not in the kitchen. He was nowhere to be seen.

“J.X.!”
I shouted breathlessly. “J.X.!”

I was having trouble getting enough air to speak. Like those old movies where some terrified and endangered person keeps pawing the air and wheezing out the word
help…
but no one notices. That was me. So I don’t know how he heard me, but he did. J.X. seemed to erupt out of his office and charge into the kitchen.

“Kit? What’s wrong?” His eyes went wide as he got a look at me.
“Jesus.”

“Beck,” I gulped. “Jerry is outside.”

Which I’m sure made no sense. But maybe my battered appearance said it all. In two steps, J.X. had his arms around me.

Well, no. That would have been nice. His hands did land on my shoulders, and they were warm and solid and reassuring, but it was only to better inspect the damage. He was swearing quietly, ferociously. He hooked his foot around the leg of one of the kitchen table chairs, dragging it out and pressing me onto it.

“Jerry knocked Beck out,” I said faintly.

J.X. shoved my head between my knees. “Don’t pass out, Kit.”

And he was gone.

What the hell?

I sat up, clutching the table to steady myself. I opened my mouth, but J.X. reappeared—out of his office again—and this time he was carrying a pistol. His face looked hard and dangerous and completely unfamiliar.

He crooked a hand under my arm, lifting me to my feet. “Lock the door after me, Kit. Then call 911.”

That
cleared my brain like nothing else could have.

“No. Wait. What are you doing? You can’t go out there!”

If he heard me, there was no sign of it. He drew me along with him to the breakfast room. “Lock this door behind me. Call 911. Do you understand?”

“Don’t go out there!”

“Do. You. Understand?” J.X. rapped out.

“Yes. But—”

But nothing. He stepped outside, turned and gestured furiously to me.

Huh? Oh right.

I locked the door, pressing my face to the glass, watching his lean form disappear into the shadows. The motion detector lights were blazing all around the house. Nothing moved in the darkness beyond. And now I couldn’t see J.X. either.

I remembered I was supposed to be phoning for help.

Shivering with pain and shock, I limped back to the phone. I called 911. I poured my disjointed story out to the 911 operator who told me help was on the way and to stay on the line.

She was still telling me to stay on the line when I went out the back door after J.X.

The crickets were very loud as I retraced J.X.’s footsteps. I could hear splashing from the pool area and I stumbled into a run.

I found him in the swimming pool. He was dragging Beck’s body to the shallow end. Or trying to. It was slow going because he was keeping the hand holding the pistol above water. There was no sign of Jerry.

Nor was J.X. happy to see me, despite the fact that he urgently needed my help.

“I told you to stay inside with the doors locked,” he yelled.

He got a mouthful of pool water for his trouble, so I forbade answering. I splashed down into the shallow end and helped him drag Beck the rest of the way to the steps.

“Is he dead?” I asked.

J.X. didn’t answer. Together we hauled Beck, heavy and sodden and dripping, onto the paved deck. I gasped when I saw the front of his face had been smashed in. My stomach did a ladylike somersault and it was all I could do to swallow my revulsion.

J.X. pushed him onto his side. He looked up. “Did you call 911, Kit?”

“They’re on their way.”

“Tell them they need to send emergency medical services. And stay on the line with them this time.”

“Where’s Jerry?”

J.X.’s voice was grim. “He was gone by the time I got out here.”

“He was here,” I said quickly. “I didn’t do this.”

“I don’t give a shit if you did it or not. Just get me some backup.”

“He can’t have gone far.” I looked uneasily at the brightly lit house ringed in white light.

J.X. had commenced life support efforts and did not answer me.

Somehow I managed to get back on my feet. I started down the walkway to the house. Lights were shining in Emmaline’s backyard.

“Yoo-hoo!” she called. “Yoo-hoo! Christopher? J.X.?”

“Emmaline, there’s a prowler,” I called. “Go back inside and lock your doors.”

“Are the police on their way?”

“They’re supposed to be.”

She answered, though I couldn’t make out the words.
What was this world coming to
? That sounded about right. It was certainly what I was thinking.

The phone was ringing when I made it back to the house. I picked it with a cautious, “Hello?”

It was the 911 operator. I gave her the latest update.

This time when she told me to stay on the line, I agreed. I was feeling strangely numb. Mentally. Physically, not so much. Mentally…so many things had happened in such a short time, I couldn’t seem to make sense of them, couldn’t connect the dots. And in any case, the dots seemed less important than my physical woes. There was blood trickling down my face from a cut on my forehead. My shoulder throbbed sickeningly. Had I rebroken my collarbone? My legs were shaking. My hands were shaking. I resisted the temptation to slide down to the floor. Mostly because the phone cord wouldn’t reach.

It wasn’t really surprising that Ladas had shown up. We should have expected it after my experiences that afternoon. I had been relying too much on those patrol cars and Ladas’ own sense of self-preservation. He wasn’t smart enough to have a sense of self-preservation.

I closed my eyes, leaned on the counter. I could hear water from my clothes dripping to the floor.

Don’t pass out, Kit.

No. I wasn’t going to pass out. Anyway, there was something I needed to remember…

What was it?

Right.

Jerry.

A floorboard squeaked behind me. I turned, ready for anything—and yet it still came as a sort of monotonous jolt to see Jerry standing there.
Not this again
.

He was holding a hammer.

No. Holding the meat tenderizer hammer I had joked about with him the first day he’d shown up. He was not carrying the kitchen tool in a threatening manner, but I’d read a lot of Scandinavian crime fiction by then, and I knew only too well what a well-placed hammer could do to you.

“I knew you didn’t leave,” I said.

“Of course not.” He smiled in agreement at the ridiculousness of the idea. “Not without you.”

“I have to stay on the phone, Jerry,” I said.

“Is someone there with you?” the 911 operator asked.

“Yes, I’m still here,” I said.

“Is your assailant in the house with you?”

“Yes.”

Jerry said, “What is she saying?”

“She wants me to stay on the line.”

“Hang up the phone, Christopher.”

“They told me to stay on the line.”

He said slowly and clearly, “Hang up the phone.”

“How about if I just set it down here?” I carefully set the receiver on the counter and stepped back.

Jerry’s face twisted and he smashed the tenderizer hammer down on the phone, which broke apart into several pieces.

Okaaaay. Time to go.

There was really only one way out of the kitchen. The breakfast nook was a dead end. I’d never get the door unlocked in time. So I just shoved right past Jerry, who swung belatedly at me with the hammer—and missed.

I heard it hit the door frame with considerable force though, and that old cliché about adding wings to your feet? I was
jetting
as I darted across the dining room.

I ran into the parlor, hitting the light switch as I passed. The room plunged into darkness. Or at least partial darkness. The light from the dining room cast a faint irradiation over one end. At least there was no real moonlight.

I took a couple of cautious steps. A floorboard squeaked. I froze.

I thought my best chance was to escape through the front door. That meant getting to and across the foyer unseen. But I wasn’t sure where Jerry was now.

I listened.

Nothing.

But he was still here. No way had he given up and fled. He was somewhere close by. I could feel his presence like it was a tangible thing. Was he in the dining room? Or had he gone out through the breakfast room to try and cut me off if I tried to get to J.X.?

Arms out, I soundlessly felt my way past chair, shelf, table, lamp, chair—I was getting to know these rooms even in the dark—sofa, table, a solid cardboard box with tissue paper…