First Drop

Five

For a moment I sat very still, my face expressionless while my mind reeled. I skimmed back over every chance remark and casual word I’d overheard since I’d arrived in the Pelzner household and came up blank.

No-one had mentioned Trey’s mother.

From somewhere I’d formed a vague impression that it was a bit of a sticky subject as far as Keith was concerned, but I’d no idea what the official line was on her whereabouts.

I glanced at the boy. He was worrying at one of the burn holes in the bedspread with the end of his finger, staring fixedly at the bed. His other hand was clamped onto his own wrist so tight the knuckles showed up as a row of whitened double indentations. I wavered over believing him or dismissing the whole thing as another of his fantasies.

“What happened to her?” I said quietly.

“When I was a kid we were living up in Daytona and she and my dad used to fight all the time,” he said, speaking so low I could hardly hear him. “One night they had this mega row, like total war, screaming at each other and throwing stuff. The next day, when I got home from school, Dad told me she’d gone.”

“It happens,” I said, disappointed at the lack of concrete evidence – or just of fresh laid concrete in the back garden. I tried not to put anything into my voice, one way or another. “Marriages break up every day.”

He speared me with a single vicious look. “She would never have left me,” he said, vehement. “Oh she talked about going, but she swore she’d take me with her. She swore. Every time after they’d been fighting she’d come into my room and sit on my bed and cry and tell me how she’d find a place for us real soon, and it would just be the two of us.”

He sniffed, letting go to wipe the back of his arm across his nose. He’d been gripping so tight he’d left reddened finger marks on the skin of his wrist. His hand still picked at the burn hole in the bedspread, which was now big enough for him to get his fist into, and growing all the time.

I eyed the oblivious destruction. “How long ago did your mother disappear?”

“Five years,” he said. “It was right around the time I turned ten. She’d promised me this real big party. The best ever. Dad was going on at her how we couldn’t afford it, ‘cos he wasn’t doing so good then. But that’s how I knew, when she didn’t come home, that it was down to him.”

I closed my eyes momentarily, trying to get a handle on the logic. OK, supposing just for a moment that there was any grain of truth in all this. Supposing Keith Pelzner had murdered his wife five years ago. It seemed far-fetched, but then so did being pursued and shot at by an imitation or off-duty cop in an amusement park. So did being followed in broad daylight by a couple of hardcases in a Buick.

“So why has he waited until now to do anything about you?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Dunno,” he said, looking up at me but unable to hold my gaze for long. “Maybe it’s ‘cos I wanted to go to Daytona for Spring Break this year. Maybe he thought if I go back up there I might find out what really happened to her.”

Now that really was stretching it.

I shook my head slowly. “I just don’t know, Trey, it sounds a little—”

That was as far as I got. He jumped off the bed like someone had turned up the gas under him. “Oh sure,” he cried. “That’s right, tell me I’m talking weird, just like Dad does whenever I try to talk to him about Mom. Why don’t you tell me I’m delusional, too? Drop a few hints about how maybe I should, like, see a shrink, huh?”

And with that he stormed into the only place he could get away from me – the bathroom – and made sure he slammed the door behind him hard enough to set the wall light fittings jiggling.

I sat there on the bed and put my head in my hands. Of all the training I’d had in the army to prepare me for stress under combat, nothing compared to trying to keep a stroppy teenager under control.

“Jesus, Sean,” I murmured under my breath, “where are you now when I need you?”

I reached behind me and pulled the SIG out of the back of my belt. With automatic movements I dropped the magazine clear and thumbed the rounds out into a little pile in front of me, counting them. I had the full eight, but no spare magazine. I hadn’t expected Sean to carry a gun that wasn’t fully loaded but if people were going to keep shooting at me it was nice to be sure, even so.

The sight of the pistol and the copper-nosed bullets brought back all the rush of emotion I’d felt at the house. I had to take a couple of deep breaths and clamp down hard on it, scowling at my reflection in the mirror on the wall behind the TV.

Sean might still be OK, I told myself. After all, he had said he was going to see Gerri Raybourn this morning to find out what the real story was with Keith Pelzner. Maybe it was Keith himself who’d intercepted him. Maybe Sean had never got there. If he had, I tried hard to ignore the fact that he had promised to go armed and had clearly not done so. There could be any number of reasons he’d left his gun behind other than the one that was uppermost in my mind.

And there was one way to find out.

I quickly refilled the magazine and tucked the gun away again out of sight, then dug the mobile phone out of my pocket. I didn’t know the direct line number for Gerri Raybourn but, along with the obligatory Gideon bible, there was a Bell South Yellow Pages in the drawer by the bed. I looked up the number for the software company Keith worked for and dialled.

As I waited for the phone to be picked up I checked my watch. It was well before five, but for a while I feared they’d already left for the afternoon.

Eventually the phone was answered by a girl who spoke so fast I could hardly tell what she said. I gave her my name anyway and asked to be put through to Gerri’s office.

She put me on hold and for what seemed like a long time I listened to the quick-fire presentation of the local commercial radio station. Then the lady herself came on the line.

“Charlie!” she yelled, her voice strident enough to make me jerk the mobile away from my ear. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Well that answered the question of whether she’d been informed about the bloody battle at the park, I suppose. Not quite the face of concern I’d been hoping for, though.

“Well thanks a bundle, Gerri,” I bit back, hackles rising defensively. “That kind of attitude’s going to get us a long way, isn’t it?”

For a moment there was silence and I had visions of her building up to a real explosion. But when she spoke again her voice had that reined-in quality which told me she’d been using the time to get a grip on her temper. “OK, OK, I’m sorry,” she ground out, surprising me with the apology. “Just let me talk to Trey.”

I glanced at the bathroom door, still firmly shut. “He’s not available to come to the phone right now,” I said dryly.

I heard Gerri’s breath hiss out in annoyance. “Godammit, Charlie, he’s just a kid. I need to know he’s all right, you understand me? I can’t help you unless I know he’s OK.”

Oh great, so you don’t give a shit if I get killed in the process? The thought was fully formed before it dawned on me that was exactly what I was being paid for. I suppose it was the realisation of my own expendability that allowed more sarcasm to creep into my voice than it should have done.

“You’ll just have to trust me when I tell you that he’s unharmed,” I replied. “And I am doing my best to keep him that way.”

“OK, OK.” Another long pause, then the words came out in a rush. “Look I’m here to help. I really appreciate that you’ve contacted me, but I need for you to tell me what it is you want me to do.”

“Want?” Her question was so banal I had to wrestle a sudden splurge of temper. Jesus, and I thought these people were supposed to be professionals. “What I want you to do,” I snapped, “is help me find a way out of this mess.”

“OK, that’s good,” she said, sounding distracted now, as though she was also trying to carry on a second conversation at her end of the line and was only managing to give me half her attention. Either she wasn’t taking this seriously or she was so far out of her depth she needed a wetsuit. “That’s good,” she repeated. “We can help you. Are you under threat at this time?”

“Hang on.” I moved over to the curtain and peered down onto the parking area. Two cars that had been there when we’d arrived had now gone, but no new vehicles had taken their place. In particular, there were no beige Buicks. “No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

“OK Charlie, that’s good. Now, just tell us where you are and we can sort this whole thing out.”

There was something about that slightly agitated tone that was setting all my instincts on edge like the fur down a dog’s spine. “What about Sean?”

That got an immediate reaction. “Jesus Charlie, there’s nothing I can do—” She stopped abruptly, obviously realising what I was asking and that she hadn’t picked the most diplomatic manner of breaking the bad news.

“Look, I’m real sorry about Sean, Charlie, but you’re gonna have to let him go,” she said, making a fresh start and hiding the fact she didn’t give a damn behind the quick apology, her voice oozing with insincere concern. “Let’s just concentrate on getting you and Trey to safety, OK? We can work out the details later. Just tell us where you are and let us come get you.”

It was my turn to go quiet, fighting not to let the tears come. For a moment there was nothing but the occasional click of static on the line, then her patience broke. “Come on, Charlie, cut me some slack, huh?” she bit out. “I’m putting my neck on the line for you here.”

“All right,” I said and gave her the name of the motel and a rough idea of its location, trying to ignore the mental klaxon that was blaring in the back of my skull.

But not completely. When Gerri demanded the room number I squinted through the gap in the curtain at the block opposite, but the room numbers themselves were small and I couldn’t quite read them clearly at this distance. The room directly across from ours was in darkness, unoccupied. On impulse, I directed her there. “Right-hand block, left-hand end room, first floor,” I said.

“We’ll find it, don’t you worry,” she said. “Now sit tight, Charlie and wait for us to come get you. And don’t worry. You’ve done the right thing. Everything’s gonna be OK.”

So why, as I ended the call, did I get the feeling I’d just made a big mistake?

I knew there were a hundred other questions I should have asked Gerri while I had the chance, but I was still shell-shocked about Sean. I went backwards and forwards over that part of the conversation, recalling with a stark clarity the way Gerri had blown up at the mention of his name. She’d been evasive, too. Whatever had happened to him, it must have been bad to have provoked that kind of reaction.

I was still sitting there, staring at nothing when the bathroom door opened and Trey shuffled out, looking a bit sheepish. He’d been attempting, I noticed, to clean up his shirt. The front of it was still wet. Not just sulking, then.

I don’t know what he saw in my face, but his stride faltered and he came to sit on the side of the bed opposite. When he spoke his voice was almost tentative. “What’s up?”

I glanced up at him, tried to force a smile that took more effort to produce than the end result was worth. “I’ve just called Gerri Raybourn,” I told him. “She’s coming to pick us up.”

His face spasmed momentarily, like a kid let out with the grown-ups who’s just been told it’s bedtime. “When?” he demanded.

I shrugged. “Soon, I expect,” I said.

It occurred to me then that Gerri might have been just the person to ask what had really happened to Trey’s mother. If the company carried out any kind of background checks before they took people on, a suspicious disappearance of a spouse was just the kind of thing that should have jumped out at them. They must have looked into it further. Still, I suppose there would be time enough to find that out later, once the kid was off my hands.

Trey was fidgeting, but he stilled when he caught my inquiring glance. “I kinda don’t trust her,” he mumbled.

This time I didn’t have to push the smile out. “Neither do I – not entirely, which is why I’ve told her we’re in the room across the way,” I admitted. “We’ll watch from here what she does when she arrives before we go out there.”

That got me a quick, unexpected grin. I blinked, and it came to me that Trey must have been a pretty-faced child. Once he’d got over the gawkiness and the tantrums, the acne and the braces, he would no doubt turn into an attractive adult. His mother must have been a looker, I concluded, because he certainly didn’t get that side of his genetic make-up from Keith.

“So we wait here, yeah?” he said. And just when I thought he’d been doing some rapid growing up, he added with a hint of his old whingey tone, “I’m hungry.”

There was no way I was going to go out to the diner, and I vetoed Trey’s idea that we should order in pizza, even though there was a menu from a local takeaway next to the TV. In the end we compromised on raiding the vending machine I’d spotted at the top of the stairs when we came up. There had been a bank of them offering everything from cans of soft drink to snacks, as well as an ice maker.

I used some of the stash of money Keith had given to me that morning. There was still a heap of it left and I was glad I hadn’t given in to Trey’s whim on the leather jacket. Even with Gerri Raybourn on her way to get us out of here, it was always good to have a contingency fund.

We went to the vending machines together and I let Trey have a free hand with the food. He seemed intent on grabbing one of just about everything in the glass-fronted machine, stabbing at the selection buttons so fast I couldn’t follow him. By the time we’d gathered an armload each I was anxious to get back to the safety of the room.

It was past six now, but the temperature was still as balmy as an English summer day. The light was starting to drop fast, though, the sky a vast wash of turquoise and shell pink. Already the cars on the road outside had their headlamps on. I wondered what was keeping Gerri, how long it would take her to get to us from Miramar. I hadn’t been to the company itself, had only a vague idea of the distance involved from a glance at the map.

As Trey fiddled with the key to get us in I scanned the car park, but there was nothing untoward. The room opposite our own was still in darkness.

We sat on one of the beds and inspected our haul. I had no clue what most of it was, and it seemed he’d dropped in one or two surprises.

“My God,” I said, suddenly finding myself trying to bite through a piece of spiced conveyor belt webbing. “What the hell is this?”

“Teriyaki beef jerky,” he said, tearing a chunk off with his teeth and chewing with his mouth open. “You like it?”

“I’m sure it would come in very useful if I was training a dog, but otherwise? No.”

Trey laughed and started to come back with a smart remark, but then I heard the sound of a car engine pulling in slowly off the road and I held my hand up for quiet. For once he shut up straight away.

I hopped off the bed and clicked the light out before easing the curtain aside. A dark-coloured Chevy saloon was idling in the middle of the car park. As I watched, the front doors opened and two men climbed out, giving the whole area a thorough but apparently casual scrutiny as they did so.

One was thickset, running downhill from muscular towards just plain fat but he moved lightly, like he didn’t know it yet. He was going bald from the front in a big way, leaving a two-inch band of short-cropped hair around the back of his head from ear to ear. The other guy was younger, black, and in great shape by comparison. I recognised both of them the moment they stepped out of the car.

“Hey, it’s Mr Whitmarsh and Chris.” Trey was by my shoulder now, looking down. “Let’s go.”

Still wary, I grabbed his arm. If Keith and Sean were out of the picture, how had these two escaped unscathed? “Not yet,” I said. “Let’s see what they do first, hmm?”

The two men strolled towards the block opposite, still checking around them, but to my surprise they ignored the stairs. “Now why aren’t they going to the right room?” I wondered out loud, more to myself than to Trey. “I know I told Gerri the far left-hand room on the first floor.”

“That’s where they’re heading,” Trey said, sounding confused. “We’re on the second floor.”

I stared at him. It hadn’t occurred to me that the Americans would refer to the ground floor as the first, and the first floor as the second. I shifted my eyes back to the room below the one I thought I’d indicated. There was a light on and I could see somebody moving around behind the curtains.

“Oh shit,” I muttered.

Whitmarsh and Chris were at the door now. I expected to see them knock and wait, but Chris pulled a silenced semiautomatic out from under his jacket and calmly put two rounds through the door around the lock. He did it smoothly, without hesitation. This had been the plan from the start, not some last-minute impulse decision.

Jim Whitmarsh reared back and kicked the door, using his arms for balance. Whoever was inside the room can’t have put the safety hook across, or maybe it was just weakly mounted. Jim was a big guy and he looked like he’d done this kind of thing before. The door broke open with a crack, bouncing back against the inside wall. By the time the two men dived through the doorway, they both had a gun out.

I froze, drenched in shock. Whatever I’d been expecting, that wasn’t it.

“Jesus,” I muttered, “What the hell are they—?”

Because of the silencers we didn’t hear the sound of the shots, and the muzzle flashes were reduced to little spurts of light, spilling out from the open doorway. I desperately tried to remember who’d been in there, but I hadn’t seen anybody, hadn’t known the room was occupied.

And even if I had it wouldn’t have made any difference, I realised with a sick taste at the back of my throat. I simply hadn’t known that I’d given Gerri Raybourn directions to the wrong room.

“What’s that?” Trey asked in a small voice. “What are they doing in there?”

For a moment I couldn’t answer. Then Whitmarsh and Chris reappeared, stalking out, moving fast. The set of their shoulders betrayed their anger. Whitmarsh tucked the gun away under his arm, bringing out a mobile phone and hitting speed-dial. Whoever he was ringing must have been waiting for the call.

“They’re not here,” I heard him say tightly into the phone, his voice loud with anger and tension. “How the hell should I know?” There was a pause while the person at the other end of the line had their say. “OK,” he added, glancing back at the room briefly. “You’d better send a clean-up crew out to the motel.”

He snapped the phone shut again and they both climbed back into the Chevy before swinging out of the car park. The whole thing took less than three minutes.

The door to the room they’d burst into was still standing open and I eyed it with major apprehension. Everything in me was screaming to get out of there, to run and keep running but I knew I couldn’t do it without knowing what devastation I’d caused, however unwittingly.

“Stay here,” I said to Trey. “I’m going to have a look.”

I could hardly see his face in the gloom, but I took his silence for compliance. I let myself out of the room, shutting the door quickly behind me. Despite the onset of evening it was still pleasantly warm outside, with the cicadas clicking constantly in the background.

I moved to the stairwell and hurried down it. The motel’s outside lights had come on and there weren’t any shadows to offer a comforting hiding place to linger. I was just going to have to get this over with as quickly as I could.

Nevertheless, once I’d reached the far block I paused at the doorway to the room, feeling Trey watching me from the other side of the car park but unable to walk straight in. Come on, Fox, where’s your courage?

When I stepped over the threshold, I needed all of it.

A girl lay sprawled over the bed, limbs flung wide. She had clearly just got out of the shower when they’d killed her. There was a bath towel knotted loosely around her body, and another around her head like a turban.

She’d been shot twice in the body, the blood a livid stain against the white cotton of the towel, splashing up the wall behind and across the same floral bedspread as in our own room.

I stood for a moment and stared down at her, this girl whose death I was ultimately responsible for. She was young, maybe in her early twenties, but she could even have been still in her teens.

From the bathroom came the sound of running water. I moved through there and found her boyfriend had never made it out of the shower before they’d shot him, too.

He must have grabbed at the plastic curtain as he’d fallen, snapping it off the rail and pulling it on top of him as he’d gone down. He sat slumped in a corner of the bath with the water still beating down on his head and bubbling across his open staring eyes. It hit the wall behind him, washing the last traces of his blood away down the drain. An expression of horror was forever frozen on his youthful features.

Without the curtain to hold it back, the bathroom floor was already flooded. I didn’t venture in. I didn’t need to in order to know there was nothing I could do for either of them. I turned and walked out, using the tail of my shirt to pull the splintered door as far closed as I could behind me.

As I walked back across the car park I felt nothing inside me but a cold, brightly burning rage against Whitmarsh, and Chris, and Gerri Raybourn. They would pay for this. At that precise point I had no idea how but, in the end, they would pay.

I would make sure of it.