Читать книгу They - SLMN - Страница 11

Chapter Six

You need to go home right now.

Tim Barns stared at the text message on his phone, scratching his head. He didn’t recognize the number of the sender. It was clearly meant for someone else. He clicked the reply button.

I think you have the wrong person.

“Tim, here’s the list you asked for.”

Tim looked up from his phone. Penny stood before his desk, waving a piece of paper at him. “You asked me not to send it electronically so I handwrote it. I feel so old school.”

“Thanks, Penny,” Tim said, taking the list. As he did so, his fingers brushed against hers. She seemed embarrassed for a moment, then she smiled.

“Anything else you need?”

“No, no this is great. Thank you. Go home early if you like. You’ve done great work today.”

“Thanks, Tim. Um, actually me and the guys are going to Echelon later for a drink. Would you like to come?”

She smiled at him, and Tim didn’t miss the implied reason for asking him.

“Some other time maybe? I want to go through this list before I go home.”

“Okay sure. Maybe next time.” She gave him a little wave then left his office.

Dear Penny. Fiercely loyal and dependable, always keeping him organized. She was lovely, and Tim certainly found her attractive, but she was at least ten years younger than him and he felt she should be with someone her own age. He had also not given up hope that Claire might come back. Sometimes he missed her more than he’d ever missed anyone or anything. Other times it was a relief to go home and not be scared to say anything for fear of triggering an argument. They had been married five years before she left, three months ago. She hadn’t asked for a divorce; said she wanted to work things out. He owed her time to reevaluate and decide what she wanted. He still loved her, still cared about her, but was no longer sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. When she walked out, he was surprised to discover that he felt just as relieved as he was upset.

His phone beeped again. Another text.

Tim, I’m a friend. Trust me. Go home now.

He frowned. Not a wrong number then. He found himself peering outside his office where his staff sat, trying to catch one of them pranking him.

This isn’t funny.

He waited for the response. It was deeply unsettling. If he went home would someone be waiting for him? Should he call the police?

The mystery messenger read his mind.

Don’t call the cops. They work for Granger. Go home. Tell no one where you’re going.

Tim stared at it. Then he packed up his laptop, grabbed his jacket and left his office.

“Going home early?” Penny asked on his way out.

“No, I have to meet a potential donor,” he lied.

“Oh, okay. Good luck!”

Tim arrived home some twenty minutes later to find his front door ajar. He crept inside, putting down his laptop case in the hallway and pushing the door closed behind him. Then he stood and listened. Sounds issued from the door to the basement, which was also slightly open. He took his phone from his pocket, intending to call the police. Then he reread the last message sent from his mystery contact.

Don’t call the cops. They work for Granger.

He put his phone away and slipped off his shoes. He crept along the hallway, being careful to plant his feet at the edges of the floor nearest the wall, where the floorboards would be less likely to creak. He overshot the door to the basement, heading for his study at the back of the house.

A crash came from downstairs; Tim froze. After a moment of hearing no footsteps on the stairs, he kept going until he was in his office. Carefully taking his keys from his pocket, he found the right one and unlocked a large bureau against the far wall. Inside one of the draws was his prized Richmond Braves baseball bat, signed by a great many players from the seventies. He hated the thought of damaging one of his most valued possessions, but he couldn’t think of anything else he might use as an effective weapon.

Holding the bat in both hands, Tim returned to the basement entrance.

Here, he hesitated. Should he just leave? Nothing down there was worth risking his life over. Perhaps he should get out now, wait for the intruder to be done, and then… well he didn’t know what he might do. Find a hotel for the night? Call the police anyway? Nuke the site from orbit?

What was that? Was there someone down else down there? Tim swore he heard the muffled cries of someone obviously restrained in between the crashing caused by the known intruder. That settled it, now he couldn’t leave.

As quietly and quickly as possible, Tim descended the stairs. The wall continued all the way down to the foot of the stairs, which worked to his advantage – if the stairs were open to the basement, his feet would have visible to the intruder long before he could have ducked his head down low enough to see.

His back to the wall, he raised the bat and made ready to leap out. He peered around first and then ducked back. There was a woman, young, black, terrified, tied to a chair in the center of the room. Her captor, a huge man with a mask on, was bustling around in the far corner of the dimly lit basement. The only light came from the small windows up at ground level. He was not facing the stairs, so Tim stepped out. He raised the bat and crept forward, intending to slam the intruder’s head with it.

Unfortunately the woman noticed him and drew a sharp intake of breath. The big guy turned and took in both him and his baseball bat instantly. Tim cried out and nearly dropped the bat as the big man crashed into him, far too close to get in a good swing. And then Tim was sprawled on the floor with the wind knocked out of him. The intruder had already disappeared up the stairs. Tim tried to stand but his legs didn’t work and he couldn’t breathe. Footsteps pounded across the hall above his head and then the front door slammed.

Praying the guy was really gone, Tim got painfully to his feet and dropped the bat. He stumbled over to the woman and pulled off her gag.

“Oh my God, help me!” she cried, frantic with terror, pulling at her bonds.

Coughing and nursing his bruised ribs, Tim attempted to loosen the ropes holding her to the chair. They were far too tight, so he stumbled over to a shelf where his tool kit sat open. He pulled out a box cutter and crouched down behind the chair.

“Get me out, please!”

“It’s okay,” Tim reassured her. “He’s gone. I’ll get you out. What’s your name?”

“Melissa,” she said. “Melissa Jones.”

“Well then Melissa Jones, just sit tight for a moment and I’ll get you out.”

Tim worked furiously to cut through the ropes. They were thick and took some sawing.

“I just want to go home,” sobbed Melissa, exhausted and almost delirious.

“Who was that man?” Tim asked her.

“Don’t know,” she blurted. “Never… saw his face.”

“Did he say anything to you? Why did he bring you here?”

“…Said I… shouldn’t talk to anyone…”

At last Tim was through the ropes and Melissa’s hands were free. It was easier to undo the ropes tying her legs, and a few moments later he was helping her to stand. Her legs gave way and she fell into his arms.

“Sorry,” she said weakly.

“It’s okay, you’ve been through a lot.”

Tim took her over to the old sofa beside the far wall. He sat her down and went over to the kitchenette to get her a glass of water. She drank greedily from the glass, draining it quickly, and handed it back to him.

“I know you, don’t I?” Tim said, looking into her eyes.

She was breathing heavily, her eyes puffy and damp from her ordeal.

“I’ve… probably been on the news a lot.”

“You’re Melissa Jones, right? Girlfriend of…” Tim trailed off. He didn’t want to upset her more.

She nodded, struggling to bring her breathing under control.

“My name is Tim Barns. I’m a Virginia State Senator. I think I know why you were kidnapped, and I can guess why they were planning to leave you in my basement for me to find later this evening.”

He sat down beside her and put an arm around her. She sobbed into his shoulder. He could hardly blame her after the couple of days she’d just lived through.

Tim’s mind raced. If Granger was behind this, and it seemed likely, then he really wasn’t fucking about. He must know Tim planned to cut him off. Was this a warning shot or a plan to discredit him completely? Who had sent the warning?

The front door upstairs burst open followed by stomping boots and shouting.

“Police!” yelled someone. Tim stood up, motioning for Melissa to stay seated.

He walked to the foot of the stairs and called up, “Down here!” Then he walked back to Melissa, sat down beside her and put his arm around her again.

Officers swarmed into the basement, all wearing SWAT gear and carrying guns. Tim stood up and raised his hands. They milled about in confusion for a moment, checking for the presence of anyone else down there. This was probably not the scene they had expected. Tim shielded Melissa with his body. He doubted a room full of armed police would do much to comfort her given what she’d been through.

One of the officers approached Tim.

“We got a report of a kidnapping,” he said.

“I’m sure you did. The kidnapping is over. I disturbed the man who kidnapped Melissa and was attempting to leave her restrained in my basement.”

“Is this true, ma’am?” the officer asked Melissa.

To Tim’s surprise, Melissa stood and placed herself between the guns and Tim, reversing the position he had taken to protect her.

“Yes,” she said, in a clear voice everyone in the basement could hear. “Senator Barns chased off my kidnappers and rescued me.”

“So that we’re clear,” said the officer, “Senator Barns did not kidnap you and restrain you in his basement?”

“That’s correct,” she said. Tim was impressed. A moment ago she was sobbing onto his shoulder. He had expected to have to defend himself without her backing up his story. Here she was proclaiming his innocence, despite the trauma she had been through. Tim doubted he could be this strong if someone inflicted a similar ordeal on him.

“You’ll both have to come to the station with us to make statements.”

Tim stepped forward, putting his arm around Melissa’s shoulder. “Of course, I’d be happy to speak with your chief and make a statement. Please, Miss Jones has been through a lot. Do you have a trauma counsellor present?”

“We’ll take her to one right away.”

“Thank you. Shall we go?”

Tim and Melissa were led up the steps, through the hallway and out into the cool evening air. A crowd of reporters and photographers surged forward, but the police held them back. Tim waved to them to demonstrate that he was not in handcuffs. Melissa stayed close to him, but when they reached the street they were separated and placed in different squad cars.

He sat in the back and the cops closed the door. Once out of sight of the press, he put his head in his hands and breathed deeply. If it hadn’t been for that tipoff, he might have arrived home to find the police waiting for him. They would have led him out in handcuffs for all the press to see. Then he’d be fighting to clear his name. It seemed he had sprung the trap much earlier than planned and the result was no credible case against him. He hoped there wouldn’t be a second trap waiting for him in case the first failed.