Джеймс Паттерсон - Blindside

Several times I heard people on the stairs who then walked past my room and toward the loading dock. After about thirty minutes, someone came down the stairs and stopped, then turned toward my room. Finally I was going to have some human contact.

Whoever it was, they hesitated outside the door. After another minute, a head popped into my room, allowing in some dim light. It was Natalie Lunden.

She didn’t say anything. I think she was shocked by the sight of an American police officer held prisoner in her boyfriend’s office building.

I managed to say, “Where are we?”

She didn’t answer. Natalie stepped into the small room and kicked away dead bugs near her feet.

“Are they going to torture me?”

She shook her head and said, “Henry doesn’t do that kind of thing.”

“Tell that to the guy Henry had shot in the head.”

I could tell by the look on Natalie’s face she had already been thinking about that. She looked like she might be ill. That’s just what this little shithole of a room needed: vomit.

Natalie said, “Henry acted rashly. He wasn’t thinking. He’s been under a lot of stress.” Everyone wanted to make excuses for criminals. Sometimes they were just assholes to the core.

“You’re kidding yourself. You’re not some wide-eyed country girl, for Chrissakes. You went to MIT. Can’t you see Henry is bad news?”

Natalie thought about it for a moment, then said, “I know what you think. But I’m here by choice. I wasn’t lying when I told you I bought my own ticket. It wasn’t my mom’s choice or my dad’s. I did it.”

“But why? For that little twerp with a Napoleon complex? How many steroids does he take to look like that? He looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Tom Cruise had a baby.”

Her pretty face flushed. She swallowed and said, “He loves me. And I love him.”

Then I understood. The one thing in the world that can screw up a good education, derail career plans, and generally mess with your head: love.

CHAPTER 74

OLLIE AND CHRISTOPHsat in an office on the ground floor of the new building. There were six offices on this floor and ten on the floor above them. Plus there was a loading dock and four storage rooms in the basement. It was dreary—that was the word Christoph thought of. No style or splash.

Henry was expanding. And getting crazier.

Ollie said, “I can’t believe Henry had Joseph shot. I think he was just trying to impress the American cop.”

Christoph said, “No doubt Henry can show off, but in his defense, gunshot wounds are hard to explain at hospitals.” He had his doubts about their employer, but he didn’t want to fuel Ollie’s growing dissatisfaction.

“But it’s like he thinks he’s some kind of god, ordering death sentences.”

Christoph nodded. “He pays well and is making money. Don’t worry about it. He said we could have this office space for ourselves.” Christoph liked the idea of them having their own office. Henry had designated this room just for them. At the moment, there was only a table and two folding chairs in it, but they had already ordered two desks and a bookshelf.

Ollie had a different take on it. He said, “Why on earth would we want an office? It’s just another way for Henry to keep track of us. Next thing you know, he’ll tell us to work regular hours. Do you want to get high at night and wake up at seven thirty the next morning for the rest of your life?” Ollie shuddered.

The way Ollie put it, Christoph wasn’t nearly as excited. He did like the easy hours they could generally set on their own. He was too lazy to go to school—that’s why he had to make the most of his youth and lack of conscience. He didn’t think he could be doing this kind of work into his forties.

Christoph said, “Doesn’t it make you feel more professional?” But looking at his partner, and his nasty black AC/DC T-shirt and long, greasy hair, he realized Ollie didn’t care anything about feeling professional.

Ollie said, “There’s only one thing that makes me feel professional: getting paid. If we didn’t get paid for killing people, we’d just be psychopaths. I don’t care about offices or if the boss likes us. I just want to get paid for our work.”

Christoph had told Ollie his plan to save enough money to buy an apartment for himself in Amsterdam and set up his mom in a nice house. He had about €130,000 saved. He needed more. A lot more. The idea of sharing a house with his mom was unattractive. Unless he talked her into still doing his laundry.

Christoph said, “I don’t want to have to find new work. Henry keeps us busy. I need the steady income.”

Ollie said, “Henry keeps us busy for now. The way he’s been acting, who knows how long this job will last. We need to get rid of this cop and start looking for a backup job.” He paused, thinking. “For the record, I don’t think it’s cool to kill an American cop. It could stir up all kinds of shit. I prefer it when we have to kill other criminals. No one cares much about that. We just need to be careful with this cop.”

Christoph said, “How do you want to do Bennett?”

Ollie pulled out of his pocket a Dutch two-euro coin with an engraving of Queen Beatrix on it. “I’ll flip this coin. Heads you get to kill Bennett, tails I do.”

Christoph nodded.

Ollie caught the coin in midair, then opened his hand. It showed the head of Queen Beatrix.

Ollie looked at him and said, “Gun or knife?”

Christoph shrugged. “If we’re going to take him out near the port to kill him, I’ll try my hand with a knife. I’ve shot plenty of people. I’ve only stabbed one.”

Ollie stared in disbelief, then said, “Who’d you stab?”

“Just someone a long time ago, when I was a teenager.”

“Really? I’ve never heard this story. I told you about shooting someone when I was seventeen over money, but now you’re all secrets and lies. You think you’re a spy or something?”

Christoph thought about it. Ollie already knew everything about him. He had seen some terrible things. There was nothing Christoph could tell him that would get him in more trouble if Ollie ever went to the police.

Christoph hesitated, then said, “I stabbed my cousin. We were fourteen. She’s still listed as a runaway.”

Christoph saw what he thought was a look of admiration on Ollie’s face. It was the first time he’d ever told anyone about his cousin Elizabeth. His first-ever murder victim. She had called him a pervert when he tried to sneak a peek down her shirt. When she threatened to tell Christoph’s mother, he panicked. He didn’t know what else to do and stuck his new folding knife right into her throat.

He even tried to help her afterward, but the blood just kept coming and coming. A few minutes later, she looked like she’d been left outside all winter. There was no color at all in her face. Her brown eyes just stared up at the sky.

They were in a field about a mile from his parents’ house. It didn’t take anything at all to weight her down with the rim of a tire and drop her into the pond on the edge of the field.

Aside from his aunt crying about her every once in a while, he’d never heard another word about it.

He figured he’d do the same thing to this New York cop.

CHAPTER 75

NOW I HADNatalie’s complete attention. She realized Henry loved the thrill of cracking security systems as much as making money. He’d never love anyone as much as he loved himself. She’d worked her way through an array of emotions, and I knew she was starting to assess how she fit into Henry’s plans. Smart people usually catch on when you point out something that’s not right. It just takes them a while to see what they don’t want to.