He looked through the window one more time, letting his gaze wander over the variations of darkness beyond. Was there a disruption in the shadows that hadn’t been there before? Probably a trick of his fatigued mind. Either way, it was too late now. He had set his course of action, and he would stick to it.
The window held at the first attempt. Herkus cursed and drew his right hand back once more. Harder this time, he struck the butt of the screwdriver, and in an instant the glass transformed from a solid pane into thousands of tiny crystals showering down to the ground. It sounded like a waterfall.
He scraped fragments away with the point of the screwdriver, then lined it up on the second pane. The glass gave with the first blow, and as the pieces glittered around him he felt a wall of warm air fall from the house.
Once the tinkling and clattering of the glass fragments had ceased, he stood still and listened. There could be no surprises. Whoever dwelled here would have heard the window shattering. Herkus did not believe he would call the police. The man whose home this was had gone to great lengths to secure it. Clearly there were things in here he did not want others to see.
He put one foot on the windowsill, gripped the frame, and hauled himself up. Glass crunched beneath his feet as he stepped on the draining board on the other side and lowered himself to the floor. He grunted as he straightened his back. A man of his size was not built for climbing over gates or through windows. He shivered. A sweat had formed on his body, and now it chilled him.
In the dark interior, he could make out the door to a hallway. He crossed to it, his footsteps as light as his bulk would allow, his breathing slow and shallow, his hearing strained for any movement around him.
A crack of light caught his eye as he left the kitchen. It formed a rectangle in the black. He went to it, ran his fingers over its surface until he found a handle. The door opened with a hard creak to reveal a wooden staircase. Below, a muffled voice.
A girl’s voice.
56
GALYA’S THROAT TIGHTENED against the sickly salt tang. She coughed, but couldn’t expel the towel from her mouth. For a few moments she thought she might vomit, and the idea of choking here in this cellar terrified her as much as anything she had experienced in the previous twenty-four hours.
She forced herself to breathe deep through her nose, letting the oxygen flood her mind, dampening the panic enough to allow her to think. She thought she had endured all the fear she could, more than she would ever have thought possible. It might have been easier had sanity deserted her, but her mind clung on, even though it seemed it could do her no good.
But then the madman left her, and hope stole back in. For a moment she cursed it, wished she could banish it from her consciousness, but still it came.
Once more, Galya prayed to her grandmother’s departed soul. She screwed her eyes shut and begged Mama for some miracle, some way out, anything. Her prayers had gone unheeded up to now, but she offered them regardless.
Tears stole her vision as she opened her eyes. She blinked hard and felt the hot lines on her cheeks. The haze cleared, but only for a moment, because what she saw caused yet more tears to fill her sight.
A man, tall and broad, coming down the steps, his big hands ready to free her.
Galya Petrova wept for joy, thanked Mama’s soul, and offered one last prayer.
57
THE MAN WHO had once been Edwin Paynter watched from the top of the stairs. He had flattened himself against the kitchen wall, become part of the darkness, when the big man broke the window and entered. He had remained there unseen until the big man left the room.
Back when he was Edwin Paynter, he had worked hard on not being seen. He had often enjoyed following people, observing them from only a few feet away, while they were oblivious to his interest in them. Particularly women. He had taken tremendous pleasure in stalking young mothers as they toured the aisles of supermarkets, unaware that he followed their every move. Now and then the woman would pause, bring her fingers to the back of her neck, as if trying to brush away some irritant, and he would have to suppress a giggle.
Once, he had tailed a woman in a business suit from the first aisle, all the way through the store, to the checkout, and out to her car. It had been one of those new Volkswagen Beetles. Many things crossed his mind when he realized she and he were alone in that corner of the car park. A dozen impulses fought for release as he watched her pack away her shopping, none stronger than the urge to save her, show her the way of the Lord. But his higher mind, the part that concerned itself with his own preservation, reminded him that if he acted in such a rash manner, all would be lost.
That woman had no idea how thin a wall stood between her and the beast he held caged in his heart. Had he not been so strong, she would have felt the blessing of its rage.
He had taken three by that time, but they had been messy, risky enterprises. The second had been better than the first, and the third better yet, but the spell in prison had taught him to restrain himself until he could carry out his work with the skill it demanded. Then the Lord had guided him to this city, and to this house, and he knew then that he could begin his journey.
But that was all over now.
The big man was no burglar. He had not chosen this house at random. And if the big man had sought this place out, then there would be others.
In the time it took for a window to shatter, Billy Crawford ceased to be. Edwin Paynter was reborn. And Edwin Paynter had prepared for a time such as this. A time when he would have to run.
But first, the big man.
And the girl.
He switched the screwdriver from his left hand to his right and raised his fingertips to the light switch.
58
HERKUS STRUGGLED TO comprehend what he saw. It was the whore, all right, exactly as Darius had described her, and almost the woman in the passport photo the cop had shown him. But she was bruised and cut, as if she’d been kicked from here to Ukraine and back again. Blood caked her clothes. A towel had been rammed into her mouth, and her feet sat in a bowl of bloody water. Cable ties bound her hands to the chair, and a toothbrush and a pair of wire cutters lay on the floor by the bowl.
And in spite of it all, he had never seen a girl look so joyous. God help her, did she think he had come to rescue her? He almost laughed, but closed his mouth tight lest anyone else hear. Who had done this to her? The man Rasa had drawn? If so, he was clearly sick in the head.
And probably still in this house.
Herkus considered his best course of action. The priorities were straightforward: Arturas wanted the whore dead, and he would want proof of such. The simplest option would be to use the Glock to put a bullet in her head and then take a picture with his phone to show to the boss.
Simple was always best. Herkus did not believe in complicating matters unnecessarily. He drew the Glock from his waistband, chambered a round, and pressed the muzzle to her forehead.
He had a second to watch the hope and joy in the whore’s eyes die away before the light went out and darkness fell upon him.
59
LENNON RECOGNIZED THE Mercedes as he pulled up behind it. He climbed out of his
