The Killing Room

FIFTY-ONE

When Byrne arrived at the address he had gotten on Carter’s cell phone, he realized he had not formulated a plan on what he would do when he found DeRon Wilson.

His prayer was that nothing had happened to Gabriel. Byrne knew that, if not for his own involvement with the boy, none of this would be happening. No, he amended. If it wasn’t for Kevin Byrne’s temper, none of this would be happening. He knew it as he was walking down that hallway that night, knew it when Wilson gave him that defiant look — a look he had seen a million times before on the job — knew it when he stupidly drew his weapon. Granted, he didn’t expect it to be splashed all over the nightly news, but that was no excuse.

He had dealt with the DeRon Wilsons of the world for more than twenty-five years. Why did he lose it so completely this time?

Vincent had wanted to come with him, to see this thing through to the end, but Byrne had cut him loose. He had no idea how bad this would get, and there was a good chance things were about to escalate. Vincent Balzano had done him a solid, and Byrne didn’t want to thank him by putting Vincent’s career in jeopardy. There would come a moment — there always did in police work — when Byrne would be there for him.

Before he could enter the building he felt a phone vibrate, a call coming in. Byrne fished the phone out of his pocket. It was not his own cell phone, but rather the cell phone he had gotten from Carter Wilson.

Who else has this number?

Nobody. Just DeRon.

Byrne checked the screen. It was a voicemail. He hit the appropriate buttons.

After a few seconds, the message played. The whispering voice made Kevin Byrne’s blood run cold.

‘One God, detective,’ the disembodied voice on the other end of the line said. ‘Seven churches.’

A second later he got a text on the same phone. It read:

IF YOU ENTER THE BUILDING THE BOYWILL DIE.

For a few seconds Byrne could not move. He drew his weapon, glanced around, overhead. He could be observed from a hundred different vantage points.

He put the phone in his pocket, turned on his heels, and ran.