The Killing Kind

Rachel reached out and held her hand.

“There was nothing you could have done,” she said softly, and in her voice I heard echoes of my own words from the night before. “Nothing. This man Lutz would have killed you both, and then nobody would have known what happened. But you didn't tell anyone what you saw?”

She shook her head. “I was going to, until I saw the book. Then I was too scared. I figured the best thing to do was to lie low and stay out of the way of the cops. If they found me, if the man who killed Grace knew what I had seen, then I was afraid that he would do the same thing to me. I rang my mom and told her that something bad had happened to Grace and that I had to stay out of everyone's way until I figured out what to do. I told her not to tell anyone where I was, not even the police. I took the first bus from Ellsworth the next morning and I've been here ever since, apart from one or two trips to the store. I rented the scooter, in case I needed to get away quickly.”

“Were you going to stay here forever, Marcy?” I asked.

She let out a long deep breath. “I had nowhere else to go,” she said.

“Did she tell you where she had been?”

“No. She mentioned a lighthouse, that's all, but she was completely wired. I mean, she was scared and excited at the same time, you know? She wasn't making a whole lot of sense.”

“And you still have the book, Marcy?”

She nodded, and pointed to her knapsack. “It's in here,” she replied. “I was keeping it safe.”

Then Louis called my name.

I looked at him.

“They're coming,” he said.

Lutz's white Acura roared up the gravel drive and drew up about twenty yards from the front of the house. Lutz emerged first, closely followed by a small, thin man with close-cropped hair. His eyes were crossed and he wore painter's overalls and rubber gloves. He looked like what Louis would call a “puppy drowner,” the kind of guy who wasn't happy unless he was hurting something smaller and weaker than himself. Both men had guns in their hands.

“Guess they want her dead or alive,” I said.

The smaller man opened the trunk of the Acura and removed an empty body bag.

“Nope,” said Louis. “Looks like they just expressed a preference.”

We drew back as Lutz examined the windows of the house from where he stood. He gestured at the smaller man to head around the back as he started for the front door. I put my finger to my lips and indicated to Rachel that she should take Marcy Becker into the small bedroom and keep her quiet. Louis handed Rachel his SIG, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it. Then, shotgun in hand, he padded silently to the back door of the lodge, opened it, and disappeared to intercept Lutz's associate. I waited until he was outside, then slipped the safety catch on my gun and examined my options.

The front door opened straight into a blank wall. Four feet to the left, the living room began, a tiny kitchen area at the far end. To the right of the living room was the bedroom where Marcy Becker now lay huddled beneath the window with Rachel, so that anyone looking inside would be unable to see them. I raised the gun, walked to the wall where the hall ended and the living area began, and waited, shielded from anyone entering. I heard the handle on the door turn and then a noise like a ca

He wasn't even armed.

Instead, he was kneeling on the ground with his hands on his head and the big shotgun in front of him. Behind him stood the tall, bald figure of the Golem, the Jericho two inches from Louis's head. He had a second Jericho in his left hand, pointing at me, and a length of rope hung across his arm.

“Sorry, man,” said Louis. To his left, Lutz's associate lay dead on his back, a huge hole torn in his chest.

The Golem looked at me, unblinking. “Put your gun down, Mr. Parker, or I will kill your friend.”

I held the Smith amp; Wesson out at shoulder length from my body, gripping it by the trigger guard, then laid it gently on the ground before me. Lutz raised his bloodied head and stared dazedly at the bald man. I was gratified to see the look of fear that gradually spread across his face, but it was a small, fleeting pleasure. We were all at risk from this strange, hollow killer.

“Now I want you to remove the detective's shoes and socks.” I did as I was told, kneeling on Lutz's legs to keep him still. With a flick of his wrist, the Golem tossed me the rope. “Tie his legs together.”

Again, I knelt and tied him. All the while, Lutz was whispering to me: “Don't let him take me, Parker. I'll tell you what you want to know, just don't let him take me.”

The Golem heard him. “Be quiet, Detective. Mr. Parker and I have reached an accommodation.”

I saw Rachel moving behind the window, and shook my head slightly to indicate that she shouldn't get involved.

“Have we?” I asked.

“I will let you and your friend live, your girlfriend too, and you can take the young woman.” I should have known that nothing would get past this man. “I take Detective Lutz.”

“No!” shouted Lutz. “No way, man. He's going to kill me.”

I looked at the Golem, although I hardly needed confirmation that Lutz's fears were justified.

“Detective Lutz is correct,” he said, “but first he will tell me where to find his associates. Put him in the body bag, Mr. Parker, then you and your friend will carry the bag to my car.”

I didn't move. I wasn't prepared to give up Lutz without first learning what he knew.

“We both want the same thing,” I said. “We both want to find the people responsible for these deaths.”

The Jerichos both cocked simultaneously beneath his thumbs. There was to be no discussion.

After a struggle, we put Lutz in the body bag, stuck his socks in his mouth to silence him, and carried him down the road to where the Golem's Lincoln Continental stood. We opened the Continental's trunk and put Lutz inside before slamming the lid closed on him with the grim finality of a coffin lid being sealed. I could hear his muffled howls through the metal and the sound of his feet kicking against the sides of the trunk.

“Now, start walking back to the house, please,” said the Golem.

We stepped back and began walking slowly backward toward the house, never once taking our eyes off the bald man with the guns.

“I don't think we will be meeting again, Mr. Parker,” he said.

“I won't take it personally.”

He waited until we were fifty yards from the car, then walked quickly to the driver's door, got in, and drove away. Beside me, Louis released a long breath.

“That went well,” I said. “Although your professional reputation took something of a beating.”

Louis scowled. “You know, used to take me months to set up a hit. You give me five damn minutes. I ain't no James Bond.”

“Don't sweat it. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who's going to tell.”

“Guess not. Man seemed like the strong, silent type.”