Lisa Gardner - Hide

Except Mr. Marvin wasn't currently on the premises. Had taken off about an hour ago. No, Lopez didn't know where. Mr. Marvin was a volunteer after all. They didn't track the man. However, Mr. Marvin was known to work the streets, visiting with the homeless. The police might want to try some of the parks.

Bobby assured him they already had officers on the way. Marvin was wanted for immediate questioning.

Lopez seemed doubtful. "Our Charlie Marvin? Bushy white hair, bright blue eyes, always got a grin on his face, Charlie Marvin? What'd he do, man? Steal from the rich and give to the poor?"

"It's official police business. In regard to a murder."

"No way!"

"Yes way."

"Well, score one for AARP."

"Just give us a call if you see him, Mr. Lopez."

"Okay, but now that you got me thinkin', I'd head to Mattapan. Check out the grounds of that old mental institute. You know the one they've been digging up? Charlie's been hanging around there day and night ever since… Hey, you don't really think…"

"Thanks, Mr. Lopez. We'll be in touch."

Bobby and D.D. headed toward Mattapan, while Bobby got out his cell phone and dialed Annabelle.

I ANTICIPATED CHARLIE'S first reckless lunge, sidestepping on autopilot while my brain tried to sort out many things at once. Charlie Marvin was a former patient at Boston State Mental. Charlie Marvin had discovered the pit. Far from being horrified, Charlie Marvin had been impressed.

It would seem Mr. Marvin had a little violence in his past. He certainly knew how to move with a switchblade.

After his first failed lunge, we neatly exchanged places within my tiny kitchenette. Before I got too far in congratulating myself, I realized Charlie's move had worked perfectly. He was now positioned between me and my open doorway

He watched my gaze dart past his shoulder to my best hope at escape, and grinned broadly "Not bad for an old guy," he offered. "I confess it's been years, but I think I got some magic left."

Bella backed into my legs. She had her hackles up, was regarding Charlie, a low growl in her throat.

Bark , I wanted to yell at my hyper dog. This would be a good time to make some noise ! She, of course, continued to growl in the back of her throat. Which I couldn't really blame her for, because three minutes into my first confrontation with evil, I still couldn't manage a scream.

Fear sometimes paralyzes the vocal cords, my father had said. He really had done his homework.

Charlie stepped forward, I stepped back and bumped into my kitchen counter. The kitchenette allowed precious little room for maneuvering, but I already realized I couldn't let Charlie herd me deeper into my apartment. The open door, the exposed hallway were my best hope for escape.

I found my balance, prepared to take a stand. He was old, a switchblade wasn't as threatening as a gun. I stood a decent chance.

Charlie feinted low to the right.

I prepared to swing into an arcing kick.

Bella leapt up at the last minute.

And I heard my silly, heroic dog yelp as Charlie's blade buried itself in her chest.

PHONE RINGING.

Phone ringing.

Phone ringing.

The answering machine picked up. Bobby heard Annabelle's crisp voice announce, " We are not home right now. Leave your name and number after the beep ."

"Annabelle," he said urgently. "Annabelle, pick up. We need to talk. Got some new information on Charlie Marvin. I'm running late, at least pick up the phone."

Still nothing. Had she grown tired of waiting for him, gone running off on her own? Anything was possible with this woman. Maybe that's why he felt so scared.

Screw it. He hit the brakes.

"What the hell-" D.D. exclaimed. "He followed her."

"Who?"

"Marvin. He found her in the park last night. Twenty to one, Charlie Marvin knows where Annabelle lives."

BELLA WENT DOWN, the phone rang, and I heard my own voice ripped from my throat. "You son of a bitch!"

I launched myself at Charlie, knitting my fingers together and aiming for the soft spot at the base of his throat. He rolled, grabbing my forearm, slicing at me with his switchblade. I toppled, and we became lost in a tangle of limbs. In the detached part of my brain that preferred to watch rather than act, I thought this wasn't the kind of fight I'd been preparing for. There was no fancy footwork, no graceful dodging of well-considered blows. Instead, we grunted and heaved, pummeling each other frantically as we rolled across the floor.

I could taste sweaty salt beading down my face, feel stinging in my hands and arms. Charlie continued to slash madly. I continued to batter at his face, working with my right hand to hit his eyes, while defending with my left.

I was quicker. He was better armed. I was bleeding. He was short of breath. He sliced left, flaying open my cheek. I slammed the heel of my hand into his sternum and he fell back with a gasping cough.

I got my hands beneath me. Staggered to my feet. Lurched for the door.

I couldn't do it. Couldn't leave Bella. He'd kill her for sure.

Charlie was already up, weaving forward. I scuttled back toward the kitchen cabinets. He kept coming. I reached behind me, working the wooden edge of the cabinet with my fingers.

He came within range. I kicked for his chin. He ducked beneath and I finally showed a little skill, reversing my motion, catching the top of his head, and slamming it toward his knees. Not as much force as I wanted, but enough to get the job done.

I got the cabinet open, starting sifting through the disordered stacks of pots and pans.

Charlie was straightening up.

Come on, come on.

And then I found it. Edge of my cast-iron frying pan. The perfect weapon.

Charlie started advancing once more and I prepared to do something I never thought I'd do: kill another human being.

Suddenly, in the distance, the sweetest sound I've ever heard. Footsteps, pounding up the stairs. Charlie froze. I stilled.

Bobby, I thought, Bobby coming to rescue me.

A brown UPS uniform burst through my apartment door.

"Ben!" I gasped.

Just as Charlie said, "Benji?"

And Ben answered in a shocked voice, "Christopher?"

BOBBY GOT CAUGHT in traffic. Of course he got caught in traffic. Because this was Boston, where driving was a blood sport, and just because the other vehicle had a siren and you didn't was no reason not to be an asshole.

He dialed Annabelle's number again. Got the answering machine, hung up. Punched the steering wheel.

"Temper, temper," D.D. drawled.

"Something's wrong."

"Because lover girl isn't waiting anxiously beside the phone?"

He shot her a look. "Seriously. She knew I was returning to take her to a hotel. She wouldn't just leave."

D.D. shrugged. "She has a dog. Maybe she needed to take her out or go for a run."

"Or maybe," Bobby said flatly, "Charlie Marvin beat us there."

His phone rang. He flipped it open without bothering to glance at the display It wasn't Annabelle, but his buddy, Detective Jason Murphy from the Massachusetts State Police.

"Ran Roger Grayson, like you asked," Jason shot off rapid-fire. "Found record of a storage locker in a facility right off Route Two, north of Arlington. Grayson had been prepaying the fees in five-year chunks. Latest payment ran out a few years back, so the owner's filed a lien. In fact, if we want to come down and clean out the whole thing, that works for the owner. He'd like to get the space back in circulation."

"Excellent."

"Criminal history was negligible. Nothing more than a traffic infraction, and that was twenty-five years ago. Grayson must be a regular choirboy."

"Traffic infraction?"