Ryan watched her trying to gauge the situation. It was after eight, there were two strangers at the door, and they now knew that the man of the house wasn’t around. She had two choices: number one, to claim that there was someone else there with her, or—
She went for number two.
‘I’m expecting him back soon, though. I can give him a message, if you like.’
‘We’d prefer to wait and give it to him ourselves, if it’s all the same to you,’ said Dempsey.
Mrs. Napier’s mouth opened and closed. Ryan could see her getting worried. Maybe she knew about her husband’s work on the side, or perhaps she’d just guessed when the cash began to flow more freely. He wondered if she was the kind to ask questions. If she was, then her husband wasn’t the kind to answer them. He’d always struck Ryan as sullen and taciturn, and his wife didn’t have the face of a woman who was being smothered in spousal affection. Whatever she knew or suspected, it was enough to connect their arrival on her doorstep with any doubts she might have about the state of her husband’s affairs. Ryan liked to think that he could blend in with a crowd and look like a regular guy, but Dempsey carried the smell of the streets with him. At best, they could expect her to call and warn him. At best.
‘Well, I’m not sure when he’ll be home.’
‘Soon,’ said Dempsey. ‘You told us he’d be back soon.’
‘That changes. I never know. He drives a cab. If he’s having a good night, then sometimes he stays out late.’
‘It’s quiet all over tonight,’ said Dempsey. ‘I don’t figure this for a late one.’
‘Obviously you’re free to wait in your car,’ said Mrs. Napier. ‘It’s cold. I’m going to close the door now.’
She tried to follow through, but Dempsey’s foot was in the gap. Ryan watched the pallor seep into her face.
‘Please take your foot away,’ she said.
‘We’d like to wait inside,’ said Dempsey. ‘Like you say, it’s cold out.’
‘If you don’t remove your foot, I’ll call the police.’
‘That settles it, then,’ said Dempsey. His hand shot through the gap and grabbed Mrs. Napier by the hair, pulling her face toward him until it was sandwiched by the door and the frame. He let her see the gun.
‘Take the chain off.’
‘Please—’
Now he pressed the muzzle hard against her forehead. ‘I won’t ask again.’
‘I can’t take it off without closing the door.’
‘You don’t have to close it all the way.’
‘I have to close it a little.’
‘That’s okay. Give me your left hand.’
She hesitated. Dempsey pressed the gun harder against skull. She yelped in pain.
‘Easy,’ said Ryan instinctively, and Dempsey bared his teeth at him in warning.
‘Give me your hand,’ he repeated.
She did as she was told. Her wrist was very thin, and as brittle as the skeleton of a bird. Dempsey turned her hand so that her fingers were flat against the frame of the door. He handed the gun to Ryan, then slipped a knife from his pocket. He flicked the sharp blade and pressed it hard beneath the top knuckles of Mrs. Napier’s fingers. Seconds later, blood began to flow.
‘If you screw around, I’ll cut off the tips of your fingers,’ said Dempsey. ‘Close the door against your hand and lose the chain.’
Slowly, she closed the door. They heard her fumbling with the chain.
‘It still won’t open,’ she said. She had started to sob.
‘Try harder.’
She pushed against the door, trying to close the gap a little more. The pressure on her fingers made the blood flow faster.
‘It hurts,’ she said.
‘And you can make it stop,’ said Dempsey. He was getting anxious. The street had been empty until now, but Ryan could see the figure of a man approaching from the east, walking his dog before bedtime.
The chain came free. The door opened.
They stepped inside.
‘Nice. Your husband buy this?’
Dempsey was standing by a flat-screen TV, the kind that was so large you had to pivot your head to take in the whole picture. It looked as if it had only recently come out of its packaging. Beneath it was a Blu-ray player, a cable box, and an amplifier for the home theater system. It was a neat set-up, spoiled only by the clothes drying on a rack by the radiator behind the TV.
Mrs. Napier nodded. She was still pale, and shaking with shock. Ryan had found a clean cloth in the kitchen and had given it to her so that she could bind her wounded hand. The blade hadn’t required much pressure on it to break the skin, and there was a lot of blood soaking through the material.
‘New? It looks new.’
Mrs. Napier found her voice. ‘It’s pretty new.’
‘Driving a cab must be more lucrative than I thought,’ said Dempsey. ‘If I’d known just how much money could be made on it, I’d be driving one myself. How about it: You think we should go into the cab business?’
Ryan didn’t reply. He thought Mrs. Napier might be about to vomit. The first floor of the house was an open plan, with only a decorative arch separating the kitchen from the living area. Ryan moved toward the sink.
‘Where are you going?’
‘She’s in shock. I’m going to get some water for her.’
Dempsey looked at Mrs. Napier.
‘Are you in shock?’
She didn’t reply for a moment, then said, ‘I don’t know. I feel nauseous.’
‘Shock it is, then,’ said Dempsey.