The Dead Room

20

The front door slammed shut. Jamie listened to the man breathing somewhere near the armoire as she replayed fragments of the conversation. The man named Peter had tried to visit the boy named Sean and ended up speaking to this McCormick woman from the Boston PD. How had he gained access to the room? Had he posed as a cop? Was he a cop?

Enough thinking. Time to act.

She was about to sit up when she remembered the keys and phone tucked inside her jacket pocket. If she sat up too fast or moved too quickly, the keys would make noise. If the man heard anything, it might give him enough time to reach for his gun – or swing his shovel.

He started digging. She lifted her head, looked through the gap: she saw tanned hands gripping a shovel, and white shirt cuffs with gold cufflinks sticking out from a blue suit jacket. She couldn’t see his face.

Too close, she thought, panic fluttering against the walls of her heart. The moment I stand up he’ll see me.

I’ll be back in a few minutes, Kevin had said.

Jamie placed one hand on her right pocket, feeling the keys and phone beneath the nylon fabric. Hugging her body close to the back of the chest, she slowly moved up to a sitting position. A pins-and-needles sensation worked its way through her legs.

Peter kept digging.

Do it now and do it fast. If he reaches for the gun or tries to run, drop him.

She got to her feet fast, blood rushing to her head, making her dizzy.

‘Freeze.’

The man jumped, dropping the shovel. He was taller than she expected – his lisp and soft, effeminate voice had conjured up an image of a short man with flabby arms. The middle-aged man standing in front of her had a lean build. He wore a dark blue suit without a tie. The jacket was unbuttoned and she could see a shoulder holster.

Using her hip, she pushed the chest to one side.

‘Floor,’ she said, stepping over the grave. ‘Get… ah…’

Don’t stutter your way through this: just say one word at a time.

‘Flo… Floor. Now.’

His brown eyes blinked, then narrowed. ‘I know you.’

‘Floor.’

‘Okay, okay. Just take it easy… it’s Julia, right?” He hiked up his trousers before kneeling. Then he clasped his hands behind his head. ‘I remember reading about you in the papers.’

She slammed him down against the floor, pressed the Glock against the back of his head. He breathed in dirt and started coughing.

‘Don’t… ah… ah… move.’

He turned his head to the side and said, ‘You have my word.’

She pulled back his suit jacket and reached for the shoulder holster.

‘Since you were hiding down here, I think it’s safe to assume you heard my conversation with Mr Reynolds.’

She tossed the nine into the grave.

‘And I’m assuming you’re the one who shot up the Belham house last night.’

She ran a hand across his belt. No handcuffs. She needed something that she could use to tie him up. She looked at the workbench. Paint cans and tools covered in dust.

You need to find something to tie him up and gag him – and you better do it quick before Kevin comes back.

‘What happened to your husband and children, I didn’t have anything to do with that. You have to believe me. That… that was all Kevin and Ben. You know Ben, don’t you? He was at the house last night. Did you speak to him? What did he tell you?’

There was nothing here with which she could tie him up, nothing at all.

‘I can tell you everything you need to know, but I need to sit up. I have asthma and I’m finding it hard to breathe. I need my inhaler. I’m going to sit up, reach inside my pocket for it, and then we can talk, okay?’

He spoke calmly. She didn’t like it. Was he going to try to stall her until Kevin came back? Did he think she was that stupid?

‘If you want me to talk, I need to use my inhaler first,’ he said. ‘If I don’t, I’m going to pass out.’

You’ve wasted too much time. Kevin will be back here any minute and then what are you going to do? Shoot your way out of the house? If you die, Kevin will bury your body someplace where it’ll never be found. The kids will be left wondering what happened to you as they’re shipped off to foster homes. Cut your losses and get out of here.

She stood.

‘Ben’s… ah… partners. Two men… ah… at… ah… my house.’

‘Let me get my inhaler.’ Breathing hard, wheezing. ‘I’m going to reach into my pocket –’

‘Names… ah… first.’

‘Just give me a second, okay?’ Slowly he reached inside his jacket pocket.

She shot him in the chest.

The exit wound sprayed the back wall with blood. He put out his hands and said, ‘Wait, please,’ and she pressed the trigger and held it down, the Glock’s semi-automatic action kicking in, spitting spent shells into the air.

Jamie wrapped the jacket’s nylon hood around her head, tying it off underneath her chin. Ears ringing, she ran up the stairs to the front door and looked out of the oval window. No one outside. She tucked the Glock inside her shoulder holster, zipped up her jacket and opened the door. No one coming. Her gloved hands inside her pocket, she jogged across the street, which was still pounding with summer rain.