Last to Die

Frost backed up and surveyed the upper windows, most of them shattered. “I don’t see any sign for Jarvis and McCrane.”

“I checked the tax records. They are the listed owners for this property.”

“Does this look like a real business to you?”

“Let’s go around back.”

They rounded the corner, past broken crates and an overflowing Dumpster. At the rear of the building, she found an empty parking lot where weeds were forcing their way up through cracks in the pavement.

The rear door latch had been pried open.

She nudged the door with her shoe and it creaked ajar, revealing a cavernous darkness within. She paused at the threshold, feeling the first prickles of alarm.

“Ho-kay,” Frost whispered, his voice so close it startled her. “So now we have to search the scary building.”

“This is why I brought you along. So you wouldn’t miss all the fun.”

They glanced at each other and simultaneously drew their weapons. This was not their jurisdiction, not their own state, but neither one dared to venture unarmed into that gloom. She clicked on her flashlight and swept the darkness. Saw a concrete floor, a crumpled newspaper. Felt her heart kick into a faster tempo as she stepped across the threshold.

It felt even chillier inside, as if these brick walls had trapped years of dankness where anything could be incubating. Waiting. She heard Frost close behind her as they moved deeper into the building, their flashlight beams skittering past pillars and broken crates. Frost accidentally kicked a beer can, and the rattle of aluminum over concrete was as startling as gunfire. They both froze as the echoes faded to silence.

“Sorry,” whispered Frost.

Jane heaved out a breath. “Well, now the cockroaches all know we’re here. But it doesn’t look like there’s anyone else …” She stopped and her head snapped up toward the ceiling.

Above them, the floorboards groaned.

Suddenly her heart was thumping faster as she listened for more movement above. Frost was right behind her as she made her way toward a metal staircase. At the bottom of the steps she paused, peering up at the second floor, where gray light seeped through a window. That sound they’d heard could mean nothing. Just the building settling. Wooden floorboards contracting.

She started up the metal staircase, and each step sent off a faint clang that made the darkness hum and announced: Here we come.

Near the top of the steps she crouched, palms sweating, and slowly lifted her head to peer over the second- floor landing.

Something hurtled toward her from the shadows.

She flinched as it whistled past her cheek. Heard glass shatter on the wall behind her as she saw a crab-like figure retreat into the gloom.

“I see him, I see him!” she yelled to Frost as she scrambled up onto the landing. “Police!” she called out, her gaze fixed on the dark shape hulking in the corner. He was folded into himself, his black face obscured in shadow. “Show me your hands,” she ordered.

“I got here first,” a voice growled. “Go away.” The figure raised an arm, and Jane saw another bottle in his hand.

“Drop it now!” she commanded.

“They said I could stay here! They gave me permission!”

“Put down the bottle. We just want to talk!”

“About what?”

“This place. This building.”

“It’s mine. They gave it to me.”

“Who did?”

“The men in the black car. Said they didn’t need it anymore, and I could stay here.”

“Okay.” Jane lowered her weapon. “Why don’t we start over? First, what’s your name, sir?”

“Denzel.”

“Last name?”

“Washington.”

“Denzel Washington. Really.” She sighed. “I guess that’s as good a name as any. So Denzel, how about we both put away our weapons and relax.” She slid the gun into her holster and held up both hands. “Fair?”

“What about him?” Denzel said, pointing to Frost.

“Soon as you put down the bottle, sir,” Frost said.

After a moment, Denzel set the bottle down between his feet with an emphatic thud. “Only take me an instant to throw it,” he said “So you better behave.”

“How long have you been living here?” said Jane.

Denzel struck a match and leaned over to light a candle. By the glowing flame, she saw a trash-strewn floor, the splintered remains of a broken chair. He planted himself beside the candle, a disheveled African American man in ragtag clothes. “Few months,” he said.

“How many?”

“Seven, eight. I guess.”

“Anyone else ever come by to check out the place?”

“Just the rats.”

“You live all alone here?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Denzel,” Jane said, and felt ridiculous just saying that name. “We’re trying to find out who really owns this building.”

“I told you. Me.”

“Not Jarvis and McCrane?”

“Who’s that?”

“What about Nicholas Clock? You ever heard that name? Ever met the man?”

Denzel suddenly turned and barked at Frost: “What are you doing over there? You trying to steal my stuff?”

“There’s nothing here to steal, man,” said Frost. “I’m just looking around. See a lot of iron shavings here on the floor. This must have been some old toolmaking factory …”

“Look, Denzel, we’re not here to hassle you,” said Jane. “We just want to know about the business that was here two, three years ago.”

“Wasn’t nothing here.”

“You knew the building back then?”

“This is my neighborhood. I got eyes.”

“You know a man named Nicholas Clock? Six foot two, blond hair, well built? About forty-five and good looking.”

“Why you asking me about good-looking guys?”

“I’m just asking if you’ve seen Nicholas Clock around. This address was listed as his place of business.”

Denzel snorted. “Must have been real successful.” His head swiveled toward Frost and he snapped: “You really don’t pay attention, do you? I told you to stop looking around my place.”

“What the fuck,” Frost said, staring out the broken window. “Someone’s in our car!”

“What?” Jane crossed to the window and looked down at her Subaru. Saw the passenger door was ajar. She reached for her weapon and snapped, “Let’s go!”

“No, you won’t,” Denzel said as a gun barrel suddenly pressed against the back of Jane’s head. “You are going to drop your weapons. Both of you.” His voice, no longer a careless drawl, was now cold and crisp.

Jane let her Glock fall to the floor.

“You, too, Detective Frost,” the man ordered.

He knows our names.

The second gun thudded to the floor. Denzel grabbed Jane’s jacket and shoved her down to her knees. The