Wall of Night

36

Latham prayed he had the advantage. Though the Zis had probably familiarized themselves with the layout of his house, he knew its feel, its nooks and crannies; he could walk it in his sleep. On the other hand, there were two of them and they’d obviously put some thought into the ambush.

He crouched down, pressed his palm against the door, and pushed it open. The doorway was empty. He peeked between the door hinges: Clear. He crept inside and eased the door shut behind him.

He stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The air in the laundry room felt strangely cool on his skin, and it took him a moment to realize why: Bonnie usually had a load of laundry going in the dryer when he got home at night.

He removed his shoes and tested his socks on the linoleum: Too slick. He removed his socks.

He visualized the lower level of the house: The laundry room led into the breakfast nook and kitchen; to the right would be the small family room; to the left, a short hall leading to the foyer.

Gun extended, Latham paced into the nook, looked left, then right, saw nothing, and kept going. He peeked around the corner into the family room. It was empty. He skirted the breakfast table and he leaned over the center island. Again, nothing.

He heard a squeak and immediately recognized the sound. Floorboard in the foyer hall.

He spun.

A shadow dashed around the corner into the foyer. Then, more creaking: footsteps going up the stairs. Latham sprinted down the hall, moving fast, then stopped short. No, Charlie!

Even as he was ducking back, he heard a crack from the landing above like two heavy books being slammed together. He felt a sting of heat on his left forearm, but kept back-pedaling.

Stupid, stupid …

They’d baited him, and it had almost worked. His forearm was slick with blood. He wriggled his fingers; no bones or ligaments hit. He backed into the kitchen, found a dish towel, then wrapped it around the wound. Wincing, he pressed his arm against chest.

They were upstairs. If they wanted to get out, they had to come past him.

Back in the hall, he turned sideways and leaned his head out for a peek at the landing. It was clear. Okay, Charlie, second floor: bathroom at the top of the steps; hallway goes left and right. Master bedroom to the right; spare bedrooms to the left …

He backed into the foyer, his gun trained on the landing. The tiles felt cold under his feet. He sidestepped toward the stairs, hand groping until his fingers touched the banister. He started up the stairs. At the third step, he stopped. He tested the tread with his toes until he found the cracked floorboard.

Eyes fixed on the landing above, he put his weight on the tread. It creaked.

Suddenly, a figure was there, rushing from the bathroom door. Latham shifted his aim and pulled the trigger. The figure’s gun winked back. Bullets ripped into the wall. Charlie dropped to one knee, fired two more shots. The figure kept coming. Center mass, Charlie … He fired twice more.

The figure let out an explosive grunt, then doubled over and tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap on the tiles. Latham reached out with his foot, kicked the gun away, then rolled the body onto its back. Grandpa Zi. The old man had three wounds, two in his side, one in the sternum.

“Christ,” Latham muttered. Three shots and he’d kept coming.

He stepped over the body and started up the stairs. One more to go. Where was she?

He imagined her hiding in the darkness, listening to the gunfire, waiting for him.

Check the spare bedrooms first, then move down the hall, clearing rooms as you go—

He felt a chill breeze on his back. He looked over his shoulder.

Standing in the center of the foyer, her gun leveled with his chest, was Grandma Zi.

The front door was open and Latham instantly realized what she’d done: From the laundry room she’d gone out the front door and waited for him to pass. With the moonlight at her back, her face was in shadow. She looked so tiny, almost comically so, with the too-large gun in her hand.

He was done. He might get off one shot, but not quickly enough. Even so, he wasn’t going to make it easy for her. He tensed, readying himself.

“Freeze … FBI!”

Grandma Zi spun toward the kitchen hall. She raised her gun. There was a double boom. Her head snapped back. She pirouetted to the right, then fell crumpled in the open doorway.

“Charlie!” Randall shouted. “Charlie!”

“I’m here!” Latham’s legs started trembling. With one hand on the banister, he sat down on the steps. He laid his gun beside his feet. “It’s okay, come on through!”

Randall came around the corner, sidestepped to Grandma Zi, kicked the gun away, and checked her pulse. “She’s alive, but not by much,” Randall said. “Jesus, Charlie, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, it not bad. God, I’m shaking.”

Randall let out an adrenaline chuckle. “Your car looks like hell, Charlie.”

Latham let out his own laugh. “Nothing a little duct tape won’t cure — Mrs. Felton!”

“What?”

“My neighbor!” Latham pointed at Grandma Zi. “Take her — Germantown Memorial … it’s three miles down two-seventy. We need her alive, and I need to find their car before the police get here. You’ve gotta buy me a little time.”

They quickly searched both bodies and found a set of car keys on Grandpa Zi.

“Go, Paul!”

Randall scooped up Grandma Zi and ran out the door. As he got in his car and squealed down the street, Latham sprinted across to Mrs. Felton’s house. The front door was locked. He ran to the back door, turned the knob. It was open. “Mrs. Felton!” God, let her be alive … “Mrs. Felton!”

Above his head he heard thumping. At the top of the stairs, he suddenly found himself surrounded by a cluster of mewling cats. He picked his way through them and rushed into the bedroom.

Mrs. Felton lay gagged and bound to her bed. Seeing him, her eyes rolled wildly. Latham removed the gag. “Oh, Charlie, I’m sorry, they made me—”

“Forget it, Mrs. Felton. Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes. My cats! Where are my cats?”

Latham smiled. “Your cats are fine.”

There was no way to avoid it. The police had to be involved. One person was dead in his house, another was at the hospital with a bullet in her skull. Even if he were so inclined, Latham couldn’t cover that up. Still, he wasn’t about to let the case unravel. He flipped open his cell phone, called Dutcher, and recounted the incident.

“Paul’s taken her to the hospital,” he finished. “I’ve got to call the cops, and then my boss. I’ve got their keys; I’m guessing their car is nearby. Can you send Cahil or Tanner?”

“Charlie, it might be time to cut our losses—”

“If we get their car, we can track down where they’re living. This could be the break we need, Leland. If we hand it to the police, we lose it all.”

“You’re sure the police aren’t already on their way?”

“Aside from Mrs. Felton, my closest neighbor is a quarter mile away. Besides, the sheriff’s station is, two miles from here. If they’d gotten a call, they’d already be here.”

“Okay, I’m sending Cahil — but I want him out of there before you start making calls.”

“No problem. Tell him to hurry. I’ve got a dead man lying in my foyer.”