Linwood Barclay - Bad Move

“Sarah.”

“-only a few blocks from here, they found this woman with her head smashed in, I think I told you about that-”

“Sarah.”

“-drove home as fast as I could and-”

“Sarah!”

“What?”

I tried to stay calm. “Get out of the house.”

“What?”

“Just get out of the house. Walk out the door, get in the car, and, and just drive to the doughnut shop. I’ll find you there.”

“What do you mean, get out of the house?”

“Sarah, I’ll explain later, but right now it’s important that you-”

“Hang on,” she said.

“What?”

“Just hang on. There’s someone at the door.”

“Sarah, don’t answer the-”

And I heard her put the phone down. She must have been using the one in the kitchen, not a cordless, otherwise she would have kept talking as she went to the door.

“Sarah.”

Nothing.

“Sarah?”

Still nothing.

“Sarah!”

And then, a minute later, the sound of the receiver being picked up.

“Sarah?”

“Hey,” said a voice I recognized. “I’ll bet this is Zack.”

“Rick,” I said.

“Gotcha. Why don’t you come home, bring along that ledger I think you got, before I kill your wife.”

I was barely two minutes from home, but it was the longest drive of my life. I stomped hard on the gas pedal of the Beetle, screeched around two corners and through two stop signs, and drove right up onto our front lawn, jumping out of the car without turning it off or bothering to close the door. Sarah’s Camry was in the drive, blocked in by Rick, who had parked his car behind it.

The front door was locked, so I fumbled in my pocket for my own set of keys, got the right one into the lock after a couple of tries, my hands were shaking so badly, and burst into the house.

“Sarah!”

The house was eerily quiet. I paused, just for a moment, wondering where Rick and Sarah were. Blood pounded in my temples.

“Hey, Zack!” Rick called out casually. “We’re in the kitchen!” Like he was saying “Come in for a beer.”

I moved through the house slowly, wondering how I should be handling this. The truth was, I had no idea how to handle this. I was already thinking I’d made a terrible mistake, that before I got here I should have dialed 911, or grabbed Earl again, or banged on Trixie’s door and gotten the ledger, but I wasn’t thinking all that straight. Sarah was in trouble, and all I could think to do was get to her as quickly as possible.

And now I was here, and there she was, sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, duct tape wound about her waist several times to secure her. Her hands were bound behind her, and there was more tape around each of her ankles, securing her legs to the chair. Rick stood by the sink, wielding the switchblade I’d seen him use to pick out loose pieces of caulking in our shower.

“Hi, honey,” I said weakly.

She looked too frightened to speak. Tears had streaked her mascara, and there were a couple of dark trails leading down across her cheeks. But she managed to say one word, a question.

“Kids?”

I nodded. “They’re fine. They went to stay with friends overnight.”

“Isn’t that keen,” said Rick, looking at me. “I used to love sleepovers when I was a kid. This could have been such a great night for the two of you, kids out of the house, chance to get it on, right?”

I said nothing. Rick waved the knife about, swung it into the corner of the countertop, chipping it. He whacked at it again, taking out a chink. He was going to whittle away our kitchen.

“So, Zack, good to finally catch up with you,” Rick said. “I feel like I’ve been running around all night looking for you.”

“It’s all over,” I said. “Your boss Greenway, and Carpington, the police are going to be on to them in no time. Just get out of here and make a run for it. It’s not going to take any time for them to figure out you killed Spender, and Stefanie.”

“Whoa, you got that all wrong, fella.”

“Just go. Don’t hurt us. We won’t call the cops for an hour. That’ll give you time to get away.”

Rick looked hurt. “But Sarah here and I were hoping to get to know one another. I feel that you and I have had a chance to get acquainted, but Sarah and me, we don’t hardly know a thing about each other.” To her, he said, “You know I didn’t even realize, until the second time I was here, that your husband wrote one of my favorite books.”

“Really,” Sarah whispered.

“That’s a fact. And I’m not a big reader, so you can imagine my surprise when I found out.”

“Of course,” Sarah said.

Could I rush him? There was the matter of the knife. At least it wasn’t a gun. He couldn’t get me from where I was standing. Suppose I ran? Just bolted, went for help? Outran the son of a bitch? And while it seemed like at least a possibility, I had some trouble with the optics of it all, of fleeing the house, leaving Sarah behind with this guy. At least now, if he went after her with the knife, I could try to do something about it. Try to be some kind of hero.

“In fact, I was wondering if you’ve got a copy of that book,” he said to me, “and if you could autograph it for me.”

“Of course,” I said, my eyes moving back and forth between the knife and Sarah. “I’d be happy to do that for you. And anything else you want, I’ll give it to you, if you’ll go, and leave us alone.”

Rick considered my request. “Well, when I was here last time, I was really only looking for one thing. This big book, with payments and everything listed inside. It was very important to Mr. Greenway that I get that back. And I still want that, no question about it. And maybe those negatives that asshole Carpington says you’ve got, although I don’t really give a fuck about them one way or another.”

Sarah, in addition to looking frightened beyond her worst nightmare, had this look of total bewilderment. Big book? Negatives?

“But what I was wondering was, you said you’d nearly finished the sequel to that book.”

“Yes.”

“Is it, like, printed out on pages and everything?”

“Uh, yes, it is.”

“Terrific. I want that, too.”

“The manuscript.”

“The what?”

“The manuscript. That’s what the book is called.”

“Manuscript,” he said, as though he was picturing the word in the air. “That’s the title? Like, not Missionary Part Two ?”

I shook my head. “No, a manuscript is what you call the printed-out pages of the book.”

Rick eyed me suspiciously, as though I was trying to make him look stupid. “You fucking with me?”

“No, listen, sorry. Yes, you can have it.”

“The problem is, didn’t you say you hadn’t quite finished it?”

“That’s right. There’s a chapter left.”

Rick nodded, thought. “Well, let’s deal with the most important matter first. I want that ledger.”

“I don’t have it,” I said. “Not anymore.”

“Where is it?”

I couldn’t put Trixie at risk. I couldn’t send him next door. So I said, “I dropped it off on the doorstep at the police station. They’ll find it, and start figuring out what it all means.”

Rick shook his head slowly. “I think you’re shittin’ me there, Zack. I don’t believe you did anything like that at all. But I think I’ll be able to get the truth out of you eventually. Sit down in that chair.”

He indicated the one across from Sarah. When I didn’t move right away, he took a step forward, waved the knife. “Chair! Now!”

I sat down. Rick tossed a roll of duct tape that he’d left sitting by the phone in my direction. “Gimme your cell phone. Wrap that around yourself so you’re tied into the chair,” he said.