Michael Connelly - Blood Work

McCaleb shook his head. He knew it was a lie. Killing Graciela and Raymond would be the final misery Crimmins would joyfully and without guilt bestow on him. The ultimate victory. He knew that no matter what happened after, he couldn’t let Crimmins off the beach alive. He had come to Mexico for one reason. He now had to act on it.

Crimmins seemed to know his thoughts and smiled.

“No choice, Agent McCaleb. I walk away from here or they die alone in a black hole. You kill me and no one will find them. Not in time. Starvation, darkness… it is an awful thing. Besides, you forget something.”

He held the gun up again and waited a beat for McCaleb to reply but there was nothing.

“I hope you think of me often,” Crimmins said. “As I shall think of you.”

He started walking toward the light.

“Crimmins,” McCaleb said. “You have nothing.”

Crimmins turned and his eyes dropped to the gun now in McCaleb’s hand. McCaleb took two steps toward him and raised the muzzle of the P7 to his chest.

“You should have checked the duffel bag.”

Crimmins countered by raising the Sig-Sauer to McCaleb’s chest.

“Your gun’s empty, Crimmins.”

McCaleb saw doubt flick through the other man’s eyes. It went by fast but he caught it. He knew then that Crimmins had not checked the gun. He didn’t know that it contained a full clip but no round had been chambered.

“But this one isn’t.”

They stood there, each man holding the muzzle of his gun a foot from the other’s heart. Crimmins looked down at the P7, then up to McCaleb’s eyes. He stared intently, as if trying to read something. In that moment McCaleb thought about the photo in the newspaper article. The piercing eyes that showed no mercy. He knew then that he had those eyes again.

Crimmins pulled the trigger of the Sig-Sauer. The hammer snapped on an empty chamber. McCaleb fired the P7 and watched as Crimmins jerked backward and fell flat on his back on the sand, his arms outstretched at ninety-degree angles, his mouth open in surprise.

McCaleb moved over him and quickly grabbed away the Sig-Sauer. He then used his shirt to wipe off the P7 and dropped it on the sand, just out of the dying man’s reach.

McCaleb got down on his knees and leaned over Crimmins, careful not to get blood on himself.

“Crimmins, I don’t know if I believe in a God, but I’ll hear your confession. Tell me where they are. Help me save them. Finish it with something good.”

“Fuck you,” Crimmins said forcefully, his mouth wet with blood. “They die and that’s on you.”

He raised a hand and pointed a finger at McCaleb. He then dropped it to the sand and seemed drained by the outburst. He moved his lips once more but McCaleb couldn’t hear him. He bent over closer.

“What did you say?”

“I saved you. I gave you life.”

McCaleb stood up then, brushed the sand off his pants and looked down at Crimmins. His eyes were tearing and his mouth was moving as he labored for his final breaths. Their eyes connected and held.

“You’re wrong,” McCaleb said. “I traded you for me. I saved myself.”

McCALEB DROVE ALONG the gravel roads on the bluff over the village of Playa Grande and studied each house and trailer he passed, looking for the telltale sign of a telephone line hookup or a mounted microwave dish. He had all the windows of the car open and each time he came upon a property that fit the search profile, he pulled the ear in close, turned it off and listened.

Not many of the properties were connected to the outside world by telephone or airwaves. McCaleb assumed most of the people who lived in so remote a location chose to do so because they didn’t want that connection. They were expatriates and recluses, people who wanted to be cut off from the rest of the world. It was another reason Crimmins had chosen the place.

Twice people came out of their homes to ask McCaleb what he wanted. He showed them the photos but got negative responses. He apologized for the intrusion and moved on.

By the time the sun was close to the horizon, he was growing desperate. Without daylight he knew his search would be untenable. He would have to stop at every house or wait until the following morning. That would leave Graciela and Raymond alone somewhere for the night, without food and light, probably no heat, scared, bound or held captive in some way.

He increased his speed and quickly moved through an entire trailer park, stopping only once to show the photos to an old woman sitting on the front porch of a decrepit trailer. She shook her head no at the photos and he moved on.

Finally, after the sun was gone and the sky held the last of the day’s light, he passed a crushed-shell drive leading over a small rise and then out of sight. A gate was pulled across it and posted with a No Trespassing sign printed in Spanish and English. McCaleb studied the gate for a few moments and saw that it was tied closed with just a short length of wire through the hasp. He got out, pulled the wire free and pushed the gate open.

Once over the first rise, McCaleb could see that the drive led to a trailer home set on the next rise. The ticking of anticipation began in his chest when he saw the small dish mounted on the flat roof. As he got closer, he could see there was no car parked under the aluminum carport. He also noticed a small Quonset-style storage shed at the back of the property near an old fence. Sitting on top of several of the fence posts were bottles and jars, as if set out for shooting practice.

The sound of the Cherokee’s tires turning on the crushed shells obliterated any possibility of a quiet approach. It also robbed McCaleb of the chance to listen until he stopped the car.

He pulled into the carport and stopped. He turned the key off and sat frozen still and listened. There was only silence for two seconds and then he heard it. The sound was muffled by the trailer’s aluminum siding, but he heard it. The ringing of a telephone inside the trailer. McCaleb held his breath and listened to it ring over and over until he was sure. He blew out his breath and felt a jolt go through his heart. He knew he had found them.

He got out and approached the trailer’s door. The phone kept ringing, at least ten times now since he had stopped the car. He knew it would keep ringing until he got inside and answered it or somebody ventured into the phone booth at the Pemex station and hung up the receiver.

He tried the door and found it locked. Using the ring of keys he had taken from Crimmins’s pants, he tried several in the knob until he had the door open. He stepped into the quiet and warm trailer and looked around what seemed to be a small living room. The shades had been drawn and it was dark except for the glow of a computer screen that sat on a table against the wall to the right. McCaleb reached to the wall to the left of the door and found a light switch. He flicked it and the room was illuminated.

It was much like the warehouse he had discovered in L.A., crowded with computers and other equipment. There was a small sitting area apparently reserved for relaxation. None of it meant anything to McCaleb. He didn’t care anymore. He had come for only two reasons.

He stepped into the trailer and called out.

“Graciela? Raymond?”

He heard nothing in reply. He thought about what Crimmins had said, about them being in a black hole. He turned and looked out the door, his eyes scanning the desolate landscape. He saw the Quonset shed and started that way.

With the heel of his palm he banged on the padlocked door and the noise echoed loudly inside but there was no answer. He fumbled as he got the keys out again and quickly jammed the small key with the Master Lock logo on it into the lock. Finally, he swung the door open and stepped into the darkness. The shed was empty and McCaleb felt a great tearing inside.