It was Don. No one, wisely, had turned on any lights.
“Yeah,” I said. “There’s at least one. I just saw him move past the front door.”
Claire and Trixie were behind them. “Stay with Katie,” he told them, and they both slipped into the girl’s room. “Who is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. But he was going around the south side of the house.”
“I’ve got a rifle, but it’s in the back of my pickup,” Don said. “Shit.”
I thought of the small garden shovel by the front door, the one Claire had swung at me, but we’d have to go outside to get it, too.
“There’s an old baseball bat in the basement,” Don said. “If I can see to get down there.”
We both went back down to the first floor. I tapped Don’s arm, pointed to the front door. The shadow was moving the other way, past the door and then the living room window. Then it crouched down, disappeared below the frame.
“Call the police,” I whispered.
“But if they, if they come and find Miran…”
“Don.”
“Jesus, I know.” I followed as he crept into the kitchen, took hold of the receiver from its wall mount, and put it to his ear. “Oh God,” he said.
“What?”
“There’s nothing. No dial tone.”
I took the receiver from him, put it to my own ear, then hit the receiver button a couple of times. I hung the phone back up.
“My cell,” I said. I tiptoed back into the living room, found my jacket draped over the back of a chair, fumbled around in the pocket until I had my cell phone out. I flipped it open, but because I’d left it on for so long, and had neglected to hook it up to a charger on the drive up here, it was dead.
“Are you kidding me?” Don whispered.
“Do you have a cell phone?” I whispered. Don shook his head. “Okay, go find your bat. I’ll stay up here, you see what you can find.” I trained my sights on the living room window and saw part of a head rise into view. Then another shadow moved across the window in the door.
“Oh no,” I said to myself.
I could hear Don bumping into things in the dark basement. Then footsteps coming back up. I could make out what appeared to be a bat in one hand, and a length of two-by-four in the other.
He handed me the bat.
“There’s at least two,” I said. “One by the window, one by the door. He must have brought Leo with him.”
“We get on either side of the door, when they come in, wham,” Don said.
It was as good a plan as any.
We got into position. Standing perfectly still, we could hear the board creak under the two men—it sounded like they were both out there—as they shifted their weight from one leg to another.
Four men, all within a few inches of each other, two on one side of the wall and two on the other, doing their best not to make a sound. All poised, waiting to strike.
Don stood across from me, holding the four-foot section of lumber over his shoulder. I had the bat at the ready.
And then, a good thirty feet away from us, the back door burst open.
My mouth dropped. Don’s probably did too, but I wasn’t looking at him. I was looking at the four men storming into the living room by way of the kitchen, arms raised, weapons pointed, handheld lights blazing.
And then the front door burst open, and three more men came barreling in, similarly armed.
They were all screaming: “Police! Freeze!”
Just like in the movies.
Lights got flicked on. Don and I were pushed to the floor by two cops while others ran upstairs. I heard Claire and Trixie scream. Katie crying.
I tried to crane my head around to see what was happening, but a boot came down on my head and held it to the carpet.
I lay that way for a while, listening to the crackle of police radios, and then someone was told to let me up. I got to my knees, and standing there, waiting for me to get up, was Detective Flint.
“Mr. Walker,” he said, smiling and taking off his fedora.
And then it hit me. Why he’d let me keep Trixie’s car. Its built-in GPS system not only helped a driver figure out how to get around.
It could be used to track a missing car.
They’d let me lead them to Trixie.
Nice one, Zack.
30
THEY LED TRIXIE AWAY in handcuffs, but before they slapped them on her, they allowed her to change from her robe into some clothes. While she was getting dressed, I said to Flint, “I told you about Gary Merker. You told me about the stun gun marks on Martin Benson. Merker was there, he left Trixie a note. I can get it for you.”
Flint looked tired. He was a long way from home, and it was the middle of the night. But he still looked better than the rest of us.