The Shop

54

A figure stepped in through the window. Black clothing, face covered by a balaclava. What riveted Jolie’s attention most was the rifle aimed at them. Aimed at her.

Quick calculation: no way could she grab the Walther before he shot her.

“Facedown on the floor! Do it now!”

Jolie dropped. There was nothing else to do. He had the rifle.

She heard the feet crunching on glass shards. The next thing she felt was the pressure of a rifle barrel against the back of her neck.

“Do not move!”

He jerked her arms behind her back and wrapped her wrists, once, twice, and then the sharp tearing sound of tape. She’d handcuffed bad guys a thousand times, but he was quicker. Much quicker. He frisked her equally as fast. Confiscated her purse, her cell, and her Walther PPK. He kept the Walther and tossed everything else out the broken window.

A ripping sound as he tore tape off the roll. It looked like packing tape. He wound the tape around her ankles, then rested the gun muzzle against the nape of her neck again and whispered, “Stay still.”

She would. No question about that.

“Be quiet.”

She would. You could hear a pin drop.

Then he was gone. She heard the tape ripping, again and again—everyone taped, wrists and ankles. She saw his boots go by—combat boots. And the rifle—she saw the long barrel when he hunkered down to tape Kay.

One arm was silver.

She realized the silver was duct tape. Wound all the way from the thumb and wrist up to the elbow.

An injury.

She felt the rifle muzzle again. “You a cop?”

“Yes.”

“Sit up.”

It was awkward, but she did. He aimed the rifle at her face—point-blank. For a moment, she believed this was it. Say your prayers. What would it feel like when the bullet hit? He would be good, so she would feel nothing at all. She usually tried not to think about death, but now it was all she thought about.

He pointed the rifle at the ground. “You do exactly as I say. You hear me? Exactly as I say.”

She felt absurdly grateful. If he had a ring, she’d kiss it. Instant Stockholm syndrome.

“Daddy, why’s he doing this?”

Riley.

“Daddy! You’re not going to let him get away with this? Do something!”

The silence was resounding.

“You have to tell him to stop!”

“Puddin’—”

“Quiet!”

“Don’t you tell me to—”

Their captor took a step in Franklin’s direction and aimed the barrel at the attorney general’s face.

His voice was low, but it sent chills up Jolie’s spine. “Quiet,” he said to Riley. “Last time.”

“Stop here.”

Jolie stood at the bottom of the shallow stairs into the basement, the last in line. Their captor touched her shoulder with his rifle muzzle. “In there.”

He opened the door to a cramped room containing a hospital bed and an oxygen tank. Roses were everywhere. On the bed table, on the ledge by the window, in pots on the floor. The scent was heavy, cloying, and underneath there was the underlying medicinal smell you found in hospitals.

“What’s all that noise? Who’s there?” The bathroom door opened, and a man in pajamas shuffled in. A tall man, good-looking for a ninety-year-old. He was tanned, with white hair and a rugged face, marred only by the cannula for the massive oxygen tank parked by the bed.

He stopped and looked at them. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Dad—”

“Shut up, Frankie. Who are you?” he said to their captor. “Are you a ninja?”

Their captor lifted his rifle in reply.

Jolie said, “He’s defenseless. You don’t need to shoot him.”

Their captor nodded toward the oxygen canister. “I wasn’t going to shoot him. I was going to hit him.” He said to Jolie’s grandfather, “This is your lucky day. You’ve got company.”

“I don’t want company. I’m sick of company. Like that asshole Jason. What a sanctimonious little turd. He won’t even let me have my one cigarette a day.” He looked straight at Jolie. “Dorie, can you get me a cigarette?”

He’d mistaken her for her mother.

“Dorie, go get your dad a cigarette, will you?”

“I can’t,” she said. “Oxygen.”

“You think I’ll blow us to kingdom come, do you? That’s an old wives’ tale. I’ve smoked plenty of times and never had a problem.” He squinted at her. “What’s that getup? You used to dress so nice—you had style.”

Jolie had no clue how to talk to a man with dementia. Disabuse him of the idea she was her mother? Humor him? She wasn’t sure, so she kept silent.

“Dorie, is the kid all right?” Franklin Haddox II canted his head like a curious bird. “You should bring her here. I want to know for sure she’s okay.”

Jolie had no idea what he was talking about.

Her captor shifted his feet. Bored, but putting up with it. It came to her with clarity that he would not kill them—at least not now. Why would he herd them down here when he could have killed them all at any time before this?

Kay said, “Granddad, how are your roses?”

Her voice was too high and too bright.

“My roses are fine.” He dismissed Kay with a look and turned to Jolie. “Dorie, you haven’t seen my hothouse. Maybe that would get you over your funk. You never even asked to see the rose I named for my grandchild.”

“Grandchild?” Kay asked.

“Jolie! Who did you think I meant?” The old man looked daggers at Kay. “Who did you think we were talking about? I named a rose for you too, so I don’t see what all the fuss is all about.”

Kay said, “Granddad, I think you’re confusing Dorie with her—”

“No, no, no! She needs to hear this. Dorie, do you have any idea how much it cost to buy off all those people? Everybody and their brother. Cops, public records, the paramedics. I don’t know what got into you! You were such a sweet, lovely child. Now look at you. I hear you’re a cop.”

“Granddad?” Kay said. “Jolie’s the cop, remember? Not Dorie.”

“I know it’s Jolie. Are you trying to make me look bad? I know all about you,” he said, looking at Jolie. “You’re a detective, and you want nothing to do with your own family.” He pointed a crooked finger at her. “I didn’t like your father, but he and I saw eye to eye on this. We did the right thing. He might have been a goddamn fool, but he was smart enough to know who to come running to when he needed help. We did the right thing.”

“Right thing?” Jolie asked.

The old man frowned at her.

“Who are you?”