Guilty Minds

78

From the Google image I had a good sense of the house from above. I knew that the house rambled, and that there was a lot more to the house than the few rooms I’d passed through.

If this guy were telling me the truth, these double doors led to Vogel’s own wing. His residence, maybe.

Maybe.

Holding in my right hand the Glock I’d taken off the lanky guy, I opened the double doors with my left. Ahead I saw a long, broad hallway, with more wood paneling, chair-rail height. Here the wood was painted off-white, to match the walls.

On the right was what appeared to be a bedroom. The door was open, the light off. The bed was unmade.

On the left was another room, a study or office. More fancy woodwork here, and a long desk, cherrywood with scrollwork on the legs. On top of it, piles of papers. Cables and cords everywhere. In the corner of the room, a printer on a smaller table. The window had a view of the front yard. I could see the nose of the UPS truck. Here the lights were on. As if Vogel had been working there and left abruptly.

And then I saw Vogel.

And he saw me.

He was about thirty feet down the hallway from me, wearing a blue button-down shirt and a pair of dress slacks. He looked like he was about to put on a tie and go out for a meeting with a client.

I spun the Glock toward him. Vogel’s right hand was moving behind him, to where he probably had a weapon holstered, and I said, “Don’t.”

Vogel smiled. His right hand stopped moving.

“What are you going to do, Nick?” he said. “Shoot me?” He smiled.

I came closer, the Glock pointed at his center mass.

He’d raised an interesting question. Was I really going to shoot Vogel? Or maybe shoot him in the leg, wound him?

“Release Mandy and you can walk away,” I said.

He laughed. “Don’t insult me.”

“I’ll throw you a phone. You call your guys, tell them to let her go. It’s your only play, Vogel.”

He smiled, shook his head, as if this was the stupidest idea he’d heard in ages.

“Put the gun down, Nick.”

“First make the call. Then I’ll put the gun down.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, brother.”

I took a step closer. “Don’t make me do it, Vogel.”

He smiled again, the cocky son of a bitch. “You gonna shoot me, Nick?”

“Yeah, I am,” I said, and I squeezed the trigger.

It was deafeningly loud in this enclosed space. Vogel bellowed. The bullet ripped through his shirt, tearing a small hole at the shoulder. A large bloom of blood stained the sleeve of his blue shirt. The round had creased his shoulder, inflicting a minor but intensely painful flesh wound.

“God damn you, you son of a bitch!” Vogel shouted. His right hand came up to grab his injured shoulder.

“What’s next?” I said. “Your kneecap?”

I lowered the Glock and pointed it at his knee.

“Okay!” he said. “Okay! Jesus!” He glanced over my shoulder for just an instant, and then something came from behind my right side. A sudden movement, a shift in the quality of the light.

And in that same moment something long and cylindrical — I could just make out its shape — cracked into my right arm, causing me to drop the gun. My arm exploded with pain. I stumbled.

It was a baseball bat, wielded by someone who’d stolen up behind me.

The bat came up again, and I threw myself at my attacker, grabbed at the baseball bat. It cracked against my hands, a hot stinging, immensely painful, as I tried to wrench it from his grasp.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Vogel moving away. But I was too preoccupied to stop him. The attacker roared, like a battle cry, as we struggled over the bat. Both of our hands were on it. He pushed it at me, and it cracked against my skull, causing a starburst of pain. With one great lunge, I shoved the side of the bat into his throat. I could hear the crunch of cartilage. He dropped to the floor, both of his hands grasping his throat, gagging, his eyes rolling up in his head.

I knew he was down, permanently.

I turned, saw the spatter of blood in the carpet where I’d shot Vogel. He’d left a trail of blood, which I followed down the hall and then to the right, along another hall, and then the spatters got denser and more profuse.

Right in front of a white-painted windowless steel door.

The safe room.

He was inside.