He had his SIG out as he poked the door fully open. He turned on the light switch. He saw the trashed living room. Furniture overturned, lamps hurled against the wall, her lovely prints slashed, beer cans and empty Chinese cartons and pizza boxes on the floor. One piece of molding cheese pizza lay halfway out of the box onto a lovely Tabriz carpet.
The kitchen was a disaster area. It was weird, but he could smell Sherlock’s scent over the stench of rotted food. She’d been here. Recently. Then he saw her fanny pack on the floor under the table. He opened it but saw it wasn’t Sherlock’s. It was Hannah Paisley’s. They had both women. How the hell did they get Hannah? How did they know to get Hannah? And why had they taken her?
Of course he knew the answer to that. Marlin knew he’d have to have some leverage, something to make Sherlock do what he told her to do. And that would be? To walk the maze, to get to the center, where he’d kill her, to pay her back for scamming him, for shooting him, for beating him.
So he and his father would have taken the women to some warehouse nearby. But where? There were lots of likely places in Washington, D.C. He knew Sherlock would know that he’d realize what had happened. She had to have left him something, if she’d had the chance. He looked around the kitchen but didn’t see anything.
He was on the cell phone to the cops when he walked into the small bathroom off the downstairs hallway. He nearly gagged at the stench. He pulled open the linen drawers below the sink. Nothing. He pulled aside the shower curtain. There was Sherlock’s purse on the floor of the shower stall, open.
“Give me Lieutenant Jacobs, please. I imagine he’s gone home. What’s his phone number? Listen, this is Dillon Savich, FBI. We’ve got a real problem here and I need help fast.”
Savich was on the phone to Jacobs even as he was bending down to pick up Sherlock’s purse. It was a big black leather shoulder bag. He’d kidded her about carrying a full week’s change of clothes and running shoes in there. “Is Lieutenant Jacobs there, please?” He carefully pulled out each item. It was when he got to her small cosmetic bag that he went really slowly. He unzipped it just a little bit at a time, holding it upright.
“Is this you, Lewis? Savich here. I’ve got a huge problem. You know all about Marlin and Erasmus Jones? Well, they’re here in Washington and they’ve got two of my agents-Agent Sherlock and Agent Paisley. Hold just a second.” Slowly Savich turned the cosmetic bag inside out. There written in eyebrow pencil was: Calvert & Williams, wareh-
Damn, she was good. “Lewis, she managed to leave me a message. There’s a warehouse at Calvert and Williams. Marlin and his dad have both Agent Sherlock and Agent Paisley. He’s going to make her go through a maze, Lewis, and Marlin will be at the center. He’ll kill her. Do a silent approach, all right? I’ll see you there in ten minutes.”
He couldn’t believe it. His Porsche wouldn’t start. He tried again, then raised the hood. Nothing obvious, not that he was a genius with cars. He cursed, then kicked the right front tire. Then he ran into the street. A motorist nearly ran him down, slammed down on his brakes, and weaved around him. Savich cursed, then stood there, right in the middle, waving his arms.
A taxi pulled up. A grinning black face peered out at him. “Well, if it isn’t the lucky man who’s going to marry that pretty little gal.”
35
THERE WAS NO TIME. NO time at all.
She didn’t want to die, didn’t want to lose her life to this crazy bastard who was grinning at her like the madman he was. No, he wasn’t mad, he knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew it was wrong. He enjoyed it. Remorse was alien to him. Being really human, in all its complexity and simplicity, was alien to him.