power button, but nothing happened. The fear he’d pushed away over the past few days was back as a pounding in his chest, and a dryness in his mouth.
The absence of light was total. The room was so dark that he could feel his hand against his face but he couldn’t see it. He shouted for help, but no one came.
Then, maybe a minute later, maybe five minutes, he heard the door being opened. Outside the door was dark as well. Then a sharp blinding light burst on, directed at his face. He squinted into it, black shapes edged in yellow swimming in front of him. He sensed someone behind the light. Then a bag was thrown into the room, landing at his feet.
‘Merry Christmas,’ a man’s voice said.
Josh stared down at the bag.
‘Go ahead, Josh. Open it.’
He reached down and undid the zip. His hands shook.
Inside were a pair of sneakers.
‘Put them on.’
He sat down on the floor and hurriedly threw them on to his feet, fumbling with the Velcro fasteners.
‘OK, now turn round so you’re facing the other way.’
He did as he was told.
‘Now, I’m going to put a hat on you. A big hat so you won’t be able to see anything. But I’m not going to hurt you. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ Josh said. His voice sounded strange to him. Then he remembered he hadn’t spoken in days.
He turned round and the man pulled the hat down over his face.
‘OK, do you promise not to peek?’
‘I promise.’
‘Good, because if you do, you can’t go home ever again. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK, I’m going to hold your hand and show you where to go.’
Josh felt rough skin against his hand as the man led him out of the room. The air was colder, and he could hear the echo of the man’s shoes as he walked next to him. There was a click, like a door being opened. The man pushed Josh forward and then there was another click. He guessed that was the door closing again. Then the man took his hand again and they kept walking forward. Josh struggled a little to keep up, rushing every few steps to stay level. The last thing he wanted to do was make the man mad.
There was a buzz and the click of another door opening, and then an icy blast of cold air.
‘Watch your step,’ the man said, almost hauling Josh off his feet. ‘This way.’
There was the sound of a heavy car door being opened, and then he was shoved inside, bundled into the back.
‘Here, sit down.’
He felt a pressure against his chest as the man forced him back down. The seat felt soft, cold and smooth against his bare hands. There was the sharp clip of a seatbelt.
‘Keep the hat on. I’ll be watching you.’
A moment or two later the engine started. Josh placed his hands in his lap. He could feel the wool of the hat tickling his skin but resisted the urge to scratch. He dug his fingernails, which had grown since he’d been taken, into the palms of his hands, to distract himself.
The car smelled the same as the one he and Natalya had got into after the party, what seemed like an eternity ago. It brought back memories of things he’d tried not to think about. The panic he’d felt as they drove away. The smell of the river. The spine-stiffening crack of the gun. He clenched his hands tighter, his nails pressing deeper into his flesh, the pain pushing it all away.
In the front seat, the driver made the first of three phone calls. The first one worried him the most because he had no idea if the person he needed to reach would answer. He was relieved to hear the voice on the other end of the line. He’d spent hours familiarizing himself with it, listening over and over to the threats made by the man who possessed the voice.
‘Yeah?’
‘I know what happened to Stokes, and why.’
‘Who is this? How’d you get this number?’
‘If you want to find out, you need to meet me in one hour,’ the driver said. Then he gave him the address and ended the call.
Human nature would do the rest.
Forty
Ty and Lock slid into a booth. Opposite them, Tiffany stirred a hole in the bottom of her coffee cup with a spoon.
Ty slid a picture of Cody Parker across the table. Tiffany glanced at it for less than a New York second and shook her head.
Lock leaned across the table towards her. ‘But that’s him, that’s Cody Parker.’
‘He didn’t look nothing like that.’
Lock used his hand to crop the top of Cody’s head, reasoning that for all he knew Cody’s long flowing locks could have been a disguise, grown at a later date. ‘Look again.’
She kept stirring her coffee. Lock reached across and plucked the spoon from her hand. She went to snatch it back but he held it out of reach.
‘I said, look again.’
‘I don’t have to. That looks nothing like him.’
Lock handed her back the spoon and she resumed her stirring.
‘OK, so what did the Cody Parker that Natalya was seeing look like, then? And if you say “not like the picture” I’ll take that spoon from you and wedge it up your ass.’
Tiffany glanced at Ty. ‘Your buddy’s really intense.’
‘I know,’ said Ty, ‘and that’s one of his better qualities.’
‘Let’s start with height,’ said Lock.
‘Like his height,’ she said, indicating a squat Hispanic busboy who was clearing the detritus from a nearby table.
‘Around five eight?’
‘If that’s what that guy is, then yes.’
‘White? Black? Hispanic?’
‘White, but his skin was all messed up. Like he’d had really bad acne when he was younger.’
‘What kind of hair?’
‘Brown with some white. Cut short.’
‘Like mine?’
She put the spoon down on the table, a tiny slick of coffee clinging to its bowl. She looked up at Lock like she’d only just noticed him. ‘Yeah. Kind of.’
‘How old?’
‘Forties. Maybe fifty.’
‘But he said his name was Cody?’
She regarded Lock like a particularly impatient teacher might look at a defiantly obtuse pupil. ‘Yeah.’
‘You stay with her for five minutes,’ Lock said to Ty. ‘Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.’
‘Why? Where are you going?’
‘To get some more pictures.’
