A crash reverberates through the house, followed by shouts of “Police! Stay where you are!” Grant utters a rushed “Igottago” into the phone just as a pair of cops charge in with guns drawn.
Howard jerks from his slumber right on cue, immediately blurting, “It wasn’t me!”
We’re ordered to keep our hands visible while the police sweep the scene. The officers make quick work of checking the room—one, a ponytailed policewoman, and the other, a young freckled man who looks a bit like a boy in a Halloween costume. The former radios for EMTs while the latter nervously steps forward to pat Howard down.
“Theydid it!” Howard argues, jerking his head in my direction. “I’m a victim. Look, they’re the only ones not handcuffed!Theyassaultedme!”
“Did they also build a terror dungeon inyourhouse before calling the police on themselves?”
All heads turn toward the deep voice coming from the doorway. The brawny goateed man standing there draws a hush from the room. He’s in plain clothes, a shirt-and-tie combo starched and pressed to perfection, but from his commanding posture andsteely glare, there’s no mistaking that he’s the boss of this operation. He enters the room with his hands in his pockets, eyeing the scene like a sergeant preparing for inspection, then nods to Freckles.
“Proceed,” he says, crossing his arms.
“Er, Howard Armstrong,” Freckles says in a nasal voice, “you are under arrest on suspicion of abduction as well as assault and battery.”
“Try several counts of murder,” I scoff.
“And hacking,” Grant adds from the hall, a little too proudly.
“Nuh-uh!” whines Howard.
The young officer glances from me to Grant, swallows hard, and says, “Right. Abduction, assault, et cetera.” He finishes reading Howard his rights and then falls silent. The only sounds in the room are Howard’s whimpering, the female officer softly questioning Raj, and Raj responding in what sounds like assorted birdcalls.
The boss man shifts impatiently, crossing his arms tighter. “Uncuff him,” he orders Freckles.
“Right, sir. Sorry, sir. Only—I seem to have left the key in the car.”
The boss throws up his hands in exasperation. “Fuck’s sake, Harris.Go get it.”
Harris shuffles out, leaving a trail ofyes, sirs andsorry,sirs in his wake, and then the boss turns his dark eyes on me.
“You can put your hands down now. You too,” he adds to Grant, beckoning him over. “DI Walter Akinyemi,” he says. “We’ll need statements from each of you, of course.”
“Oh my God,Wally?” It’s out of my mouth before I can think better of it.
The shift in his expression is subtle but dangerous—like watching an icicle form where there was once only a cold drip.
“Flores,” he calls calmly to the remaining officer, not taking his eyes from us. “I suspect Harris has locked himself in the car again. Go and help him out, please.”
After she leaves the room, Wally fixes us with a deadly stare. “Change of plan,” he says, his voice like gravel. “I don’t need your statement. In fact, I’ll give you one of my own: stay the hell out of my investigation.”
“But we just caught you a criminal,” Grant argues.
“I’m not a criminal!” Howard sobs. “I’m misunderstood!”
“SHUT IT,” bellows Wally in a pyrotechnic outburst of fury that leaves Howard curled and shaking against the wall. When he turns back to me and Grant, he’s eerily calm. “I know why you’re here. There’s only one person who calls me Wally, and he belongs nowhere near the criminal justice system. Which means neither do you. So you will cut all ties with Lesley Burns henceforth, or else.”
An involuntary snort escapes me. Chilling as this all is, no one can pull offor else. Not even Inspector Hard-Ass Walter Akinyemi.
“Oh,” I say, seeing his frosty glare. “You’re serious. Sorry.”
Wally leans toward us, and his voice drops to a dangerous rumble. “How’s this for serious?” he begins. “Your darkest night terrors could not fathom the things I’ve seen in the line of duty. So if you halfwits have any survival instinct, you’ll turn round, pack your bags, and march yourselves straight back where you came from.Orelse”—this he pronounces with a particularly malicious flash of his teeth—“you will very likely be delivered there in a little box labeledhuman remains. And that’sifmy colleagues are able to find whichever dumpster you wind up in and fish you out, bloodied limb by bloodied limb.” He stands back, crossing his arms. “Better?”
After a nauseous, frozen moment, all the air rushes out ofme in one fell swoop, and I have the most awful feeling Anna is going to describe this as “She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.”
I glance at my arm. “Yeah, wow. I have actual goose bumps, look.”
Harris and Flores hurry back in with paramedics in tow, and Howard immediately resumes his bellyaching.
