The Guilty Part 36

"I just know I was on the phone with my girlfriend, she's an employee who works on the ninth floor, when I heard a gunshot. Then the line went dead."

"Who's your girlfriend?"

"Her name is Amanda. Davies."

346.

"Can you think of any reason why Miss Davies or her coworkers would be in danger?"

I took a breath. "William Henry Roberts. He's up there."

O'Hurley's face darkened. I saw a flash of anger in his eyes. The other cop looked at him.

"That's the guy killed Joe." O'Hurley nodded. "Roberts is supposed to be the grandson of Billy the Kid or something, right? Hey, kid," he said, clearly meaning me, "you work at the Gazette, Gazette, didn't you write some stuff about this guy?" didn't you write some stuff about this guy?"

"Yeah," I said. "I did."

"How much do you know about him?" O'Hurley asked.

I held up my hand, the st.i.tches still embedded in my skin.

The cop whistled.

"Manners aren't his strong suit. Let's say I know Roberts a lot better than I'd like."

"He did that to you," O'Hurley said, "and that's your girlfriend up there, then..." He paused, realized what was going on. "Maybe you shouldn't be here."

"You try and drag me away," I said. "And it won't be pretty."

"Fine," O'Hurley said. "But stay out of the way. If we need your help we'll ask for it."

"No problem, but Roberts is in there and I know he's going to hurt Amanda. I know know it. That's why he came here. That's it. That's why he came here. That's why he called the press first. He wants people to see every second of this.You don't do that kind of thing if you're looking to steal a few grand and disappear to the Caribbean." I noticed the rest of the cops were hanging back. "Are you going in?"

"Not yet," O'Hurley said. "We need to a.s.sess the situation, take his demands if there are any, and then figure out a strategy. Rushing in there might cause panic, stress and force Roberts's hand."

347.

"This sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d killed one of our own," the other cop added. "He's either spending the rest of his life getting reamed up the a.s.s in the shower or he's getting a one-way ticket to the juice chair."

"But what about Amanda?" I asked.

O'Hurley said, "We have no reason to believe she's in immediate danger. If she is the intended target, we have the hostage negotiation team en route."

"You might be negotiating for a body, Captain."

"Listen, Parker, I can imagine what you're going through.

Trust me, this freak will get what's coming to him. But we need to minimize collateral damage."

"By collateral damage you mean my girlfriend."

"That's right."

"You think he called the press just so he could try out his new stand-up routine? He's going to do something terrible, and if you guys don't do something soon it'll be too late."

"That's enough, Parker." O'Hurley pointed to where several cops were putting up blue sawhorses, stringing up yellow tape. "Wait behind the line with the rest of the press."

I watched as the cops herded several reporters behind the barricade. They put up a fight. They always did. But in the end they always moved back, docile.

Docile wasn't going to cut it today. Roberts was pure evil.

He wasn't going to wait for the cops to "strategize."

I waited until O'Hurley's back was turned, then I pushed the other cop aside and bolted toward the building.

I heard someone yell, "Stop that guy!" but it was too late.

I shoved the gla.s.s doors open, saw that the elevator was stuck on nine and not moving. Without hesitating I sprinted toward the end of the hallway, banged through the stairwell door and began my climb to the ninth floor.

348.

When I got to five, my breath beginning to leave me, I looked down. n.o.body was following me.

Four flights above was a man who was preparing to do something unspeakable to Amanda. Clenching my right fist, feeling the st.i.tches threaten to pop, I continued climbing.

57.

When I reached the ninth floor I stopped to catch my breath.

If we lived through this, I promised to use the StairMaster on a more frequent basis.

Guys like Roberts always looked like they would be a pushover in a fight. Not too big, not too heavy, but their muscles were trained. They were sleeping attack dogs waiting to be prodded. First fight I ever won was against Bruce Baumgarten in the sixth grade. Bruce was a hundred and ninety pounds, a Mack truck in seventh-grade weight. But I literally ran around him until he could barely see straight, then one punch to the stomach took away the last of his wind. He went down like I'd stepped on an empty bag of potato chips.

The first fight I ever lost was against Kevin MacGruder in the eleventh grade. I outweighed Kevin by twenty pounds. He was president of the Math club. He had freckles and acne and a rail-thin girlfriend we called Olive Oyl, and we mocked him mercilessly. What I didn't know is that to burn off the rage from our taunts Kevin hit the free weights five times a week. He dislocated my shoulder, and I p.i.s.sed blood for two days after he kicked me in the kidney. I never messed with Kevin again.

In a strange way I was glad I knew this. William Roberts 350.

would tear me to pieces. Even if I was able to separate him from the Winchester--which seemed as doable as separating Linus from his blanket--I had to deal with the fact that he could pound me into sirloin, expending less energy than it took me to climb the stairs.

I was prepared to fight dirty.

But that didn't mean I wasn't scared s.h.i.tless.

Adrenaline was pumping through me. It was working, my rage concentrating.

I'd only visited Amanda at her office once. Actually I'd meant to come more, but I could never get away from the Gazette during working hours. Or more accurately, I didn't during working hours. Or more accurately, I didn't want to get away from the Gazette. Gazette.

I tried to recall the office layout, seemed to remember there being a conference room with a long, mahogany table, several long-backed chairs and a speakerphone. I remembered Amanda's desk. There was a picture of us in a silver frame. I'd had it engraved for her. Only Happiness Lies Ahead. Only Happiness Lies Ahead.

I stood in the stairwell, moved closer to the door and pressed my ear up against it. The stairwell was painted gray, dirt coated the steps, and the metal was rusted. I glanced around, couldn't see any security camera, so I was fairly confident Roberts wasn't aware of my presence. I couldn't hear anything inside the office, but the metal was likely m.u.f.fling all sounds. But it couldn't m.u.f.fle a gunshot. And I didn't hear any cops storming the stairs. Roberts hadn't killed anybody. Yet.

I gripped the doork.n.o.b, turned it ever so gently just to see if it was locked. For a moment panic gripped me. If it was locked from the inside, I wouldn't be able to get in unless our friendly neighborhood rifleman decided to let me join the party. And I knew the cops wouldn't greet me with open arms if I slunk back downstairs. But the k.n.o.b turned. I stopped for a moment.

351.

The last time I barged through a closed door unannounced and unwanted, a cop ended up dead and I ended up on the run for my life.

I took three short, quick breaths, then three long deep ones and gripped the k.n.o.b. It turned easily, and I eased it all the way to the left until it wouldn't go any farther. Then I listened.

Nothing.

I pushed the door slightly to make sure it moved inward.

It did.

I pushed it just enough to create a small crack between the door and the jamb. I peeked inside.

I could see an elevator. An unmanned receptionist desk with a tall, white orchid. Nothing else.

I pushed the door farther in, enough so that I could slip inside. There were no sounds, n.o.body in view.

I stuck my head in, did a quick sweep, then crept inside and tiptoed over and ducked behind the receptionist's desk.

I poked my head out the side. There was a door which I recalled as leading to the conference room. I couldn't see anything. No Roberts. No Amanda.

Nothing except for a quarter-sized circle of blood on the middle of the carpet. My heart raced. I couldn't see any bodies. n.o.body was screaming or crying. But he was here.

Somewhere.

And when I felt the muzzle of the Winchester rifle press against the back of my neck, I knew for sure.

58.

"You were watching the whole time," I said as I stood up.

The gun followed me, the muzzle pressed against my flesh.

If my heart beat any faster, all I had to do was turn around and it would burst through my chest, killing Roberts. Might be worth a try.

"Yessir, I was," he said. "Everything's more exciting when you're being watched."

"Sure it is. That's why you called the press before the cops could come," I said. "You wanted us on the scene to 'make things more exciting.'"

"Yessir," he said.

"If we got here first, the cops wouldn't be prepared. You knew I'd try to contact Amanda.You knew I'd try to get inside."

"Yessir," he said.

"Then you also know that this building is surrounded by more ammunition than every Schwarzenegger movie combined. And cops whose trigger fingers will get epilepsy the second they get you in their crosshairs."

"Yessir, I do," he said. Roberts didn't seem the least bit upset by this. His face was calm, serene even, like everything was playing out perfectly.

353.

This was the first time I'd had a chance to study him from close up. No bandanna, no bonds holding me down. He was younger than I remembered. His short blond hair made him look like a young twenty-one. It must have been easy for him to pa.s.s through the city. Easy to get lost. He looked like anyone's brother. Son. His eyes didn't contain the hate or evil I thought they would. They contained as much levity as mine.

What lay behind those eyes might have been pure evil, but the prism it shone through disguised it, altered it. He could have been anyone.

"Same time, you can plan all you want but never really be sure what's gonna happen." Roberts clicked his tongue.

And if my eyes weren't deceiving me, even nodded his head in an appreciative way. "Glad you're here, Parker. Glad you could make it."

"Where's Amanda?"

"Safe," he said. "One thing I'll say, that's a strong female there. Didn't cry one bit. Didn't beg for help. She did say your name once, kinda like she expected you to come. Guess you two have some sort of telepathic link. That right? Can you read each other's minds?"

I shook my head. "No," I said softly.

"Come on," Roberts said, his voice like a goading friend.

"You can tell me. You and Davies, you hear each other's thoughts. Complete each other's sentences. Do all those goopy things lovers do. I bet you even talk talk to her after you're to her after you're done f.u.c.king. Don't just snooze off like most guys. Bet you talk to her about your feelings and s.h.i.t."

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about, you sick a.s.shole?"

I said. Clearly that was the wrong thing to say, because the muzzle bit into my skin harder than before. I winced. Roberts sensed this. Dug in harder.

354.

"I care because I want to know just how close you and Davies are. I need to know, man. I need to hear you say it."

"Why?" I asked.

He walked around the side of the gun, eyed me, then lightning-quick, smashed me in the stomach. I doubled over, pain shooting through my abdomen. I coughed, felt a speck of blood hit my hand. Wiped it off. Stood back up.

Robert smiled. "Come with me."