The Killing House

34

Corrigan stared at his iPhone as though it had suddenly transformed itself into a poisonous snake. Fletcher outlined how the upcoming conversation would be conducted as he removed his own smartphone and, with it, a cord wound into a tight coil. He placed both items on the edge of the table.

‘I have five thousand dollars in my suit pocket,’ Corrigan said, his eyes brightening with purpose. ‘I’ve also got another fifty grand in cash stored inside a safe at my house.’

Fletcher slid one end of the jack into the iPhone.

‘Take me with you and the cash is yours,’ Corrigan said.

Fletcher slid the other end of the jack into his own phone.

‘ Goddamnit, listen to me! ’

Fletcher pressed the iPhone’s on-screen button for the speakerphone.

‘I’m begging you,’ Corrigan sputtered. ‘In the name of God please don’t do this.’

‘You have nothing to fear, Doctor. I’ll be standing right behind you to lend moral support.’

Fletcher slid the chair back up against the table.

‘I’m not speaking to him,’ Corrigan said.

Fletcher pressed the on-screen button to dial the number.

‘Please don’t do this.’

On the first ring Fletcher picked up the cleaver.

‘Please,’ Corrigan whimpered. ‘Please, I’ll do anything but this.’

Another ring and the line on the other end picked up: ‘What’s up, Gary?’ Jenner had a deep and nasal voice. He sounded nervous.

Corrigan wouldn’t answer. Kept his lips clamped shut.

Fletcher pressed the cleaver against the doctor’s throat.

‘Gary, you there?’ Jenner asked.

‘I’m here,’ Corrigan answered, his voice pinched tight.

‘Can this wait?’ Jenner asked. ‘I’m just about to stop for some gas. I should be there in twenty minutes or so.’

‘No.’ The doctor cleared his throat, started again. ‘No, it can’t wait.’

‘Is it Santiago? Is the infection under control?’

Corrigan couldn’t reply; Fletcher had clamped a hand over the man’s mouth.

Corrigan trembled, beads of sweat dripping on to the plate. When he failed to answer Jenner’s question, Jenner said, ‘Jesus Christ.’ Heavy breathing, and when Jenner spoke again, his voice kept rising: ‘You said the infection was under control — said we had nothing to worry about. What the hell happened?’

Fletcher whispered his instructions into Corrigan’s ear.

Jenner waited for an answer. The silence lingered.

‘Don’t tell me Santiago died,’ Jenner said, his tone full of dread. ‘Please don’t tell me that.’

Fletcher looked at his phone. The software had locked on to Jenner’s signal; the man was eighteen miles from the house.

Plenty of time, he thought, and released his grip on the cleaver.

Corrigan said, ‘Our patient is doing fine. Are you coming alone?’

A grateful sigh of relief echoed over the speakerphone. ‘Jesus, you had me scared there for a moment,’ Jenner said. ‘How’re your hands holding up? You ready for surgery?’

‘Are you coming alone?’ Corrigan asked again.

‘I’ve got Marcus with me. The others will be arriving around nine or so. Why? What’s going on?’

Corrigan couldn’t answer the question; Fletcher had terminated the call.

Fletcher came out from behind the chair. ‘Your patient, Santiago,’ he said, collecting his phone and equipment. ‘I want his full name.’

‘Nathan,’ Corrigan replied, trembling. ‘Nathan Santiago.’ He fought back tears. ‘I’m sorry I lied, but you have to understand — ’

‘Do you want to save your life, Doctor?’

‘God, yes.’

‘Rico Herrera. Where is he?’

‘I don’t know their names.’

‘How many others are there?’

‘I don’t know. I swear to God I’m telling you the truth.’

‘You said that last time. Why should I believe you now?’

‘Three, I think,’ Corrigan said. ‘There are three others. At least.’

Are, Fletcher thought. There are three others. Present tense. ‘They’re alive,’ he said.

Corrigan nodded, then broke down, sobbing.

‘Where?’ Fletcher asked.

‘Let me go and I’ll take you there.’

‘Give me an address, and I’ll consider it.’

‘No. You have to take me with you.’

Fletcher felt a spike of anger. He looked at the cleaver.

‘I won’t tell you,’ Corrigan said. ‘You have to take me there.’

Fletcher couldn’t take both Corrigan and the man lying upstairs, Nathan Santiago. There wasn’t enough time.

‘If you don’t take me with you,’ Corrigan said, ‘you’ll never find them.’

‘And the surgery you’re due to perform?’

‘I’ll explain everything once we arrive at our destination. Then I’ll disappear, you have my word. Now hurry up and untie me before — ’

Fletcher hit Corrigan in the throat.

The doctor’s head whipped back, his face turning a dark crimson as he sucked in air in painful, broken gasps.

The second blow crushed the man’s larynx.

Fletcher balled up the dishcloth and stuffed it in the man’s mouth. Corrigan bucked and thrashed against his restraints, the cutlery and plates rattling against the table. The FlexiCuffs tying him to the chair had cut through his skin, and he was bleeding. Fletcher picked up the wine bottle, shoved the man’s head back and poured the wine into the dishcloth. Corrigan started to choke. Fletcher turned the empty, heavy bottle in his hands and swung it across the man’s face, shattering his nose. He swung the bottle again and smashed it against Corrigan’s temple.