The Killing House

41

Each local and state police department was responsible for meeting a certain monthly quota of speeding tickets to line a city’s coffers. A highway at night offered patrolmen and state troopers the best opportunity to catch the most fish. Hidden by darkness, patrol vehicles parked on a median strip underneath a bridge could aim their radar guns down a highway without being seen — a problem for most drivers, as their vehicles didn’t contain the necessary equipment to detect radar.

Fletcher had installed two highly advanced and illegal items in the Jaguar: a scanner that would alert him to the use of radar guns, and a radar-jamming system. He had both units running as he drove across I-95 North. At his current speed, he would make it to Cape May, New Jersey, in good time.

Movement inside the backseat and then a sleepy voice croaked, ‘I’m gonna be sick.’

Karim’s warning came back to him: Don’t let him see your face.

Fletcher pulled into the breakdown lane. It took a moment to decelerate and come to a full stop.

His passenger was yanking hard on the door handle, trying to get out.

‘I need to open the door for you,’ Fletcher said. ‘I also ask that you close your eyes and keep them closed until I inform you otherwise. You have my word I won’t hurt you. You don’t have to be afraid of — ’

‘Yes. Yes, now please.’

Fletcher, having already tucked away his sidearm in a seat compartment, stepped out of the car and made his way around to the other side. He opened the door, about to reach inside and help Santiago out, when the young man darted away.

Santiago stumbled barefoot down a slope of dead grass, then cartwheeled and collapsed. Fletcher raced after him, wondering if Santiago were trying to escape. Then he saw the young man push himself up on to all fours and start vomiting.

‘Keep your face forward,’ Fletcher said. ‘Do not turn around and do not look at me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Plumes of breath appeared around Santiago’s face and evaporated, his bony arms quivering as he vomited again. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.’

‘There’s no need to apologize. But we need to get moving.’

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘To a home in New Jersey. A doctor will treat you, and preparations will be made for you to call your parents. Close your eyes and I’ll escort you back to the car.’

Santiago pushed himself back on to his knees. ‘I don’t think I can stand. Can you help me?’

Fletcher helped the young man to his feet. Santiago spun around, and Fletcher caught a wink of metal. Instincts engrained into his muscle memory from years of SEAL training took over; he snatched the man’s wrist and gave it a sharp twist. Santiago yelped in pain and surprise, the sound quickly muted when Fletcher gripped his throat and pinned him against the ground. Fletcher saw the weapon — a knife, the small, folding model with a black handle that had been inside the nightstand drawer back at the house.

‘Don’t hurt me,’ Santiago said, his voice thick with tears. ‘I’ll behave from now on. I’ll be a good boy, I promise.’

Don’t let him see your face.

Too late, Fletcher thought. He patted down the man’s pockets and, finding no other weapons, lifted Santiago to his feet. The young man sucked in air as he rubbed his throat.

‘I apologize for hurting you,’ Fletcher said. ‘Given your experiences with the likes of Mr Jenner and Mr Corrigan, I don’t blame you for not trusting me, Mr Santiago. That is your name? Nathan Santiago?’

The young man nodded.

‘I don’t work for Mr Jenner,’ Fletcher said. ‘You no longer have to worry about him or anyone else. You’re safe, and I’m bringing you someplace safe.’

Fletcher wrapped an arm around Santiago’s back. Santiago didn’t fight him, and they trudged up the slope.

‘How old are you?’

Nathan Santiago had to think about it.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Where are you from?’ Fletcher asked.

‘Lynn. Lynn, Massachusetts.’

‘How long have you been… gone?’

Santiago didn’t answer, staring at the car with a mounting dread.

‘The place where I’m taking you is a short drive away, less than an hour,’ Fletcher said. ‘When we arrive, a doctor will examine you, and then we’ll make arrangements to bring you home.’

Santiago looked up at him. ‘Who are you?’

‘Someone who helps people such as yourself.’

They had reached the car. Santiago started to tremble.

‘There’s no reason to be afraid,’ Fletcher said. ‘This doctor will not hurt you. She works with people who — ’

‘Don’t lie to me. Please don’t — ’

‘Listen to me. The doctor is going to examine you, and then we’re going to make arrangements to take you home.’

Santiago wouldn’t get inside the car. Fletcher thought about telling the young man he could call his parents once he got inside, but it sounded too manipulative, and it was too risky. His parents could still have a standing trace on their home phone.

‘Would you feel more comfortable sitting up front?’

Santiago didn’t answer. Fletcher opened the passenger’s door and kept reassuring Santiago that he was safe. It took some coaxing, but he finally managed to get the young man inside.

Fletcher, settled back behind the wheel, pulled on to the highway.

Nathan Santiago was curled up against his door.

‘You’re safe,’ Fletcher said. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

Santiago seemed to crumple into himself. Then he began to sob.

‘You’re safe,’ Fletcher said again, and placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘No one will hurt you, I promise.’