Linwood Barclay - No Safe House

“They got no experience with handling this kind of thing the way I intend to handle it,” Vince said. “Christ, can you imagine if I called the cops? They’d love that. They’d put the cuffs on me and spend a week busting my balls before they got around to looking for Jane.”

I thought he was probably right about that.

“No, no way. I’ll handle this.”

“Do you know who has her?” I asked.

His head went side to side slowly. “But I got an idea. I think I recognize the voice. A woman. Someone who brought some cash for me to hide a few days ago. Now I think maybe she was sizing me up, seeing how the operation works. I was wondering that about those two guys who came to see me last night, too. Maybe they’re in this together.”

“What two guys?”

“Logan, and his asshole brother, Joseph. The donut eater.”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

“There was something about them didn’t smell right. But the woman, she must have an idea how much money and stuff there is. She said bring it all. Said if I didn’t, she’d know. Son of a bitch. If she really knows, then I’m gonna be coming up short.”

“The Cummings house,” I said. “You got ripped off last night.”

“Two hundred grand, and incidentals,” Vince said, his jaw tightening. “I gotta go.”

He took a couple of unsteady steps toward the door.

“What about your guys?” I asked. “You said you’ve got nobody.”

Another shrug. “Eldon’s dead. Gordie’s dead. And Bert, he’s bailed. Abandoned me. Disloyal fuck.”

Cynthia gasped. “Two of your men are dead? These people who have Jane, did they kill them?”

A shake of the head. “No. Eldon... had a problem. And Bert said Gordie was in an accident. Minutes ago. Hit by a truck.”

“You mentioned Nathaniel,” Cynthia said. “You said dog walker.”

“They thought he might have ripped off the stash last night. Picked him up for a chat. Things didn’t go right.”

“Is Nate — what happened to Nate?” Cynthia asked.

“Got away.”

Cynthia looked relieved. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Pull together what I can, in the time I’ve got. Bert, Gordie got to a few places where we tucked stuff away. But not all. They were running out of time — some people were home; they couldn’t get in without causing a scene. Had to find out if we’d been hit anywhere else. They pulled together a few hundred thou, some other stuff. I can raise maybe another couple hundred, buy myself some time.”

“How much time do you have?”

“She’s calling me again after one. Gives me better part of four hours. Gotta get moving.”

“Wait. Just hang on,” Cynthia said. “Let me get this straight. You have to go to how many homes? Where the money’s hidden?”

He rolled his eyes up into his forehead, thinking. “Five — maybe six — oughta do it. If the money’s there. If we didn’t get ripped off like at the Cummings.”

“And you’ve got keys and security codes?”

“At the office.”

“And if the people are home? What then? You going to shoot them? But get them to hold the ladder first so you can get into their attic? You’re already woozy. I don’t see you crawling around cramped spaces. There’s no way you can do this.”

“This has nothing to do with you,” he said and took another step toward the door.

But it did. What happened at the Cummings house had everything to do with us. Grace had been there. Someone had seen her, and might still consider her a threat. Until we knew who that was, we were still very much involved.

Cynthia pressed on. “You don’t want to call the police, but you think you can barge into people’s homes and they won’t dial 911?”

He had the door open, then raised a hand high and placed it on the jamb, leaning into it.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” he asked, his back to us, his voice breaking. I could see his body heaving with each exhausted breath.

“Give us a minute,” I said, then touched Cynthia’s arm and led her into the kitchen, past Grace, still sitting on the stairs.

“What?” she whispered once we got there. I closed the door so Vince, as well as Grace, could not hear what I was going to say.

“I can’t believe I’m thinking this way, but maybe we should help him,” I said.

“The only way we can help him is to call the police.”

“I don’t know about that. You were saying, what happens if he goes to these houses and someone’s home? What’s he going to say? ‘Hi, I hid money in your attic. You mind if I come in and get it?’ For sure that’ll get him arrested. But the alternative, going to the cops, that may not work, either. He needs to be able to get into those houses and get the money if he’s got a shot at saving Jane.”

Cynthia wasn’t certain. “But if he explains things to the police, makes them understand, quickly — You remember that detective? The woman? Rona Wedmore?”

“I remember.”

“If Vince talked to her, if we talked to her with him, maybe they wouldn’t waste a lot of time worrying about Vince’s business. They’d worry about Jane.”

“It’s not just about Jane,” I said. “I mean, I don’t want anything to happen to her, but there’s more at stake than just her.”

Cynthia looked at me blankly for a second, but then she got it. “Grace.”

“Yeah. Once this whole can of worms gets opened, everything’s going to come out. Including the business about our daughter breaking into that house. And there’s the matter of who was there, who may be worried that Grace got a look at him.”

She was shaking her head. “But nothing that bad even happened in the house. Grace has heard from Stuart. Those texts. He’s okay. If we call the cops, Grace may not be in as much trouble as we first feared, and we’ll be helping Jane at the same time.”

I wasn’t so sure.

I decided to try another tack with Cynthia.

“That man out there, I know what he is. He’s a thug. I get that. But I still feel I owe him. For how he helped us before. If he hadn’t come with me that night, I wouldn’t have found you — you and Grace — in time. And like they say, no good deed goes unpunished. He nearly died.”

Cynthia’s eyes softened. “I don’t feel any different. I know the sacrifice he made. But what can we do? Jesus, Terry, what the hell can we do?”

“I have an idea how we can get into those houses so he can get the money. Any house where there are people.”

“How?”

“Mold.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Mold,” I repeated. “Your latest project. Mold infestation in houses. In damp attics. Health risks. Fucking spores floating around in the air getting into people’s lungs.”

“I’m not following.”

“Get your purse,” I said.

She didn’t ask why. Instead, she went out into the hall and was back in ten seconds.

“They’re talking out there,” she said.

“What?”

“Vince and Grace. They were talking, and then stopped when I came in.”

I couldn’t care about that right now. “Get out your ID.”

“What ID? My driver’s license?”

“No. From the health department.”

Something sparkled in her eyes. She knew what I was thinking. Cynthia dug into her bag, pulled out her official ID from the Milford Department of Public Health.

“That’s what you’re going to show when they answer the door,” I said.

She nodded. “I tell them we’re checking homes in the area. That there’s some kind of mold epidemic.”

“Has there ever been a mold epidemic?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” she said. “But I’ve got pamphlets on household mold in the car. It outlines the risks. There’s pictures in them that’ll scare any home owner to death.”