The visitors stand against the wall, where posters advertise summer classes, summer workshops, summer holiday destinations, an end-of-year dance. A couple of girls come bopping down the hall, both wearing softball jerseys and caps. One is tossing a catcher’s mitt from hand to hand, playing hot potato with it.
Holly’s phone goes off, playing an ominous handful of notes from the Jaws theme. Without slowing, one of the girls says, ‘You’re gonna need a bigger boat,’ and they both laugh.
Holly looks at her phone, then puts it away. ‘A text from Tina,’ she says.
Hodges raises his eyebrows.
‘Her mother knows about the money. Her father will too, as soon as he gets home from work.’ She nods toward the closed door of Mr Ricker’s room. ‘No reason to hold back now.’
27
The first thing Pete becomes aware of when he opens the door to the darkened inner office is the billowing stench. It’s both metallic and organic, like steel shavings mixed with spoiled cabbage. The next thing is the sound, a low buzzing. Flies, he thinks, and although he can’t see what’s in there, the smell and the sound come together in his mind with a thud like a heavy piece of furniture falling over. He turns to flee.
The clerk with the red lips is standing there beneath one of the hanging globes that light the back of the store, and in his hand is a strangely jolly gun, red and black with inlaid gold curlicues. Pete’s first thought is Looks fake. They never look fake in the movies.
‘Keep your head, Peter,’ the clerk says. ‘Don’t do anything foolish and you won’t get hurt. This is just a discussion.’
Pete’s second thought is You’re lying. I can see it in your eyes.
‘Turn around, take a step forward, and turn on the light. The switch is to the left of the door. Then go in, but don’t try to slam the door, unless you want a bullet in the back.’
Pete steps forward. Everything inside him from the chest on down feels loose and in motion. He hopes he won’t piss his pants like a baby. Probably that wouldn’t be such a big deal – surely he wouldn’t be the first person to spray his Jockeys when a gun is pointed at him – but it seems like a big deal. He fumbles with his left hand, finds the switch, and flips it. When he sees the thing lying on the sodden carpet, he tries to scream, but the muscles in his diaphragm aren’t working and all that comes out is a watery moan. Flies are buzzing and lighting on what remains of Mr Halliday’s face. Which is not much.
‘I know,’ the clerk says sympathetically. ‘Not very pretty, is he? Object lessons rarely are. He pissed me off, Pete. Do you want to piss me off?’
‘No,’ Pete says in a high, wavering voice. It sounds more like Tina’s than his own. ‘I don’t.’
‘Then you have learned your lesson. Go on in. Move very slowly, but feel free to avoid the mess.’
Pete steps in on legs he can barely feel, edging to his left along one of the bookcases, trying to keep his loafers on the part of the rug that hasn’t been soaked. There isn’t much. His initial panic has been replaced by a glassy sheet of terror. He keeps thinking of those red lips. Keeps imagining the big bad wolf telling Red Riding Hood, The better to kiss you with, my dear.
I have to think, he tells himself. I have to, or I’m going to die in this room. Probably I will anyway, but if I can’t think, it’s for sure.
He keeps skirting the blotch of blackish-purple until a cherrywood sideboard blocks his path, and there he stops. To go farther would mean stepping onto the bloody part of the rug, and it might still be wet enough to squelch. On the sideboard are crystal decanters of booze and a number of squat glasses. On the desk he sees a hatchet, its blade throwing back a reflection of the overhead light. That is surely the weapon the man with the red lips used to kill Mr Halliday, and Pete supposes it should scare him even more, but instead the sight of it clears his mind like a hard slap.
The door clicks shut behind him. The clerk who probably isn’t a clerk leans against it, pointing the jolly little gun at Pete. ‘All right,’ he says, and smiles. ‘Now we can talk.’
‘Wh-Wh—’ He clears his throat, tries again, this time sounds a little more like himself. ‘What? Talk about what?’
‘Don’t be disingenuous. The notebooks. The ones you stole.’
It all comes together in Pete’s mind. His mouth falls open.
The clerk who isn’t a clerk smiles. ‘Ah. The penny drops, I see. Tell me where they are, and you might get out of this alive.’
Pete doesn’t think so.
He thinks he already knows too much for that.
28
When the girl emerges from Mr Ricker’s homeroom, she’s smiling, so her conference must have gone all right. She even twiddles her fingers in a little wave – perhaps to all three of them, more likely just to Jerome – as she hurries off down the hall.
Mr Ricker, who has accompanied her to the door, looks at Hodges and his associates. ‘Can I help you, lady and gentlemen?’
‘Not likely,’ Hodges says, ‘but worth a try. May we come in?’