Linwood Barclay: A Tap on the Window

“No, I’m fine.”

“Sit down,” Phyllis said.

I took a seat that allowed me to see Phyllis and Donna, and catch a glimpse of the street through the sheers.

“Smartest thing for you to do, Phyllis,” I said, “is walk out that door, hop in the truck with your son, and turn yourself in.”

“The book,” she said.

I reached, slowly, into my jacket and tossed it at Phyllis’ feet. She knelt and picked it up.

“It’s not very interesting reading,” I said as she stood, the gun still pointed at us.

“I’m sorry about all this,” she said. “I am. But I have to do what I have to do.”

“You think you’ve just about got the well capped now?” I asked. “What did Ricky tell you? That he got Dennis and Claire? That I’m the last one left who knows what happened? Now that you’ve got that piece of evidence in your hands, and you’ve taken care of Donna and me, you’ve got this under control?”

Her jaw trembled slightly. “Something like that.”

“Claire’s alive,” I told her. “Ricky didn’t hit her. And she’s home now, with her father. So now Sanders knows. And I’ve talked to Augie, and he knows. You’ll end up killing half of Griffon before you’re done, Phyllis.”

The color was draining from her face. “You’re lying.”

“No,” I said calmly. “I’m not.”

“We... we never wanted anyone to get hurt,” she said. “It was that boy’s fault. He had no business coming into our house.”

“Ricky killed Hanna Rodomski, didn’t he?” I asked. “When he found out the girls had tricked him.”

“She wouldn’t tell him where Claire went,” Phyllis said. “Sometimes he gets angry. But most of the time he’s a good boy. He’s a police officer. He does good things all the time.”

I wanted to know whether Ricky had told her about what had happened between him and our son, but I couldn’t bring that up, not now, with Donna present. What she was going through, at this moment, was traumatic enough without learning that everything we thought we knew about what had happened to Scott was wrong.

“I’m sure that’ll be taken into account,” I said. “Don’t make things worse by hurting anyone else. Everything has to end here. You and Ricky will have to answer for the things you’ve done, and it’s not going to be easy, but this can all come to an end quietly, or it can come to an end very badly.”

“You brought help, didn’t you?” Phyllis asked.

“I’m all alone,” I said.

“You’re lying!” she said, waving the gun. “Someone else is out there.”

I got half out of my chair, pulled back the sheer so we had an unobstructed view of the street. “You see anyone?”

Phyllis glanced out. “I don’t believe you.”

I sat back down, looked at Donna. Her face was rigid.

“Phyllis, give it up.”

“I could... we could take her with us,” she said, waving the gun at Donna. “Until we got somewhere safe.”

“Think it through, Phyllis. You have secret bank accounts somewhere? False identities in place? That doesn’t strike me as your kind of thing.”

I looked out the window again. Something had caught my eye. Something to do with Phyllis’ Crown Victoria.

“I’m somebody in this town,” Phyllis said. “I’m Phyllis Pearce. I know things about people.”

I looked back at her. “You think you know enough to get out from under this mess?”

This time, when I glanced out the window, I squinted. Something was dripping from below the trunk of the woman’s car, close to the bumper. Enough that a small puddle was forming at the back of the car.

I said to Phyllis, “Seems like a funny place for a car to be leaking oil.”

She said, “What?”

She moved closer to the window and glanced out. “Oh no,” she said quietly.

Phyllis was holding the gun, at that moment, down at her side, her back to both Donna and me. I was thinking: This is my chance. Jump her now.

I was getting ready to spring when I realized Donna was already on the move. Reaching up into the sleeve of my borrowed sweater, taking something out.

The small can of fixative spray.

She had her index finger on the nozzle, and as Phyllis turned back around, Donna pressed it.

Donna raised the canister to within six inches of Phyllis’ startled face and let loose. The spray, which took my breath away when she sprayed it too close to me in the house, completely clouded Phyllis’ mouth and nose and eyes.

She screamed, then gasped for air.

The gun was coming up, but before she could aim it anywhere, I was on my feet, grabbing her right forearm with both hands and slamming it against the windowsill.

Phyllis held on to the gun. I slammed her wrist again, much harder this time, against the sill, and the gun clattered out of her hand. Donna was still spraying. It was like her hand had gone into spasm, was frozen into position.

Phyllis coughed and hacked and clawed at her face with both her hands. But once her fingers touched her cheeks, they became adhered to them, and she struggled to pull them away.

I went for Donna’s arm, steered it away from Phyllis’ face. “It’s okay,” I said. “Nice going.”

She threw the can to the floor and put her arms around my neck. “Oh God oh God.”

As much as I wanted to hold her, I broke free to get Phyllis’ gun before she dropped down and started patting around to find it. Something she might have been inclined to try the moment she got her hands unstuck from her face.

Phyllis was screeching.

Donna had moved to the window. “Cal,” she said. “Ricky’s coming.”

I bolted out the front door, grabbing my Glock from the table in the hall along the way. The moment I was outside I glanced up the street.

Even if he couldn’t make out exactly what he was seeing from where he was parked, Ricky must have noticed some commotion in the window as I struggled with his mother. Now he was out of the truck, coming our way, gun in hand.

The front door to the house that was closest to his truck flew open and Augie charged out.

“Haines!” he bellowed. “Haines!”

Ricky glanced back, saw Augie, but kept on going. “Freeze!” Augie shouted, but Ricky was not about to follow orders from his chief right now.

There was the sense that all hell was breaking loose.

Feeling exposed, I charged toward Phyllis’ car for cover. I dropped to the ground near the rear bumper, my knee just missing the puddle that I now had little doubt was blood.

I had a pretty good idea what — who — was in that trunk.

There was screaming coming from the front door of my house. I glanced that way, saw Phyllis Pearce stumble out. Her hands were free but her face was streaked with blood where her fingers had pulled away skin. Donna appeared in the doorway behind her, still holding the gun, but raising her arm in a gesture of futility, as if to say, “I couldn’t shoot her.”

Ricky was nearly to Phyllis’ car. Still on one knee, I raised my weapon over the trunk and yelled at him: “Stop!”

Ricky raised his gun and fired.

I dropped down behind the car. There was another shot. I couldn’t be sure, but I guessed it was Augie, trying to stop Ricky.

Haines ran past the end of the car, turned the gun in my direction, fired wildly, missing me. Then he stopped, pivoted, aimed the gun back at Augie. I raised my head, saw my brother-in-law running this way.

Raised the Glock, aimed for the center of Ricky’s body, and pulled the trigger.

Once.

Twice.

Ricky staggered back as though he’d been hit with an invisible sandbag. He dropped left, put out an arm to break his fall, but by the time his palm hit pavement it offered no resistance. He crumpled into a heap.