CHAPTER 48
When Myron got back to his car, Claire was there. “It’s Erik,” she said.
“What about him?”
“He ran out of the house. With his father’s old gun.”
“Did you call his cell?”
“No answer,” Claire said.
“Any idea where he went?”
“A few years ago I represented a company called KnowWhere,” Claire said. “You heard of it?”
“No.”
“They’re like OnStar or LoJack. They put a GPS in your car for emergencies, that kind of thing. Anyway, we got one installed in both cars. I just called the owner at home and begged him to get me the location.”
“And?”
“Erik is parked in front of Harry Davis’s house.”
“Jesus.”
Myron jumped into his car. Claire slipped into the passenger seat. He wanted to argue, but there was no time.
“Call Harry Davis’s home,” he said.
“I tried,” Claire said. “There was no answer.”
Erik’s car was indeed parked directly in front of the Davis residence. If he’d wanted to hide his approach, he hadn’t done a very good job.
Myron stopped the car. He took out his own gun.
Claire said, “What the hell is that for?”
“Just stay here.”
“I asked you—”
“Not now, Claire. Stay here. I’ll call if I need you.”
His voice left no room for argument and, for once, Claire just obeyed. He started up the path, keeping a low crouch. The front door was slightly ajar. Myron didn’t like that. He ducked low and listened.
There were noises, but he couldn’t make out what they were.
Using the barrel of the gun, he pushed the door open. There was no one in the foyer. The sounds were coming from the left. Myron crawled in. He turned the corner and there, lying on the floor, was a woman he assumed was Mrs. Davis.
She was gagged. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her eyes were wide with fear. Myron put a finger to his lips. She looked to her right, then back at Myron, then back to her right again.
He heard more noises.
There were other people in the room. On her right.
Myron debated his next move. He considered backing out and calling the police. They could surround the house, he guessed, start talking Erik down. But that might be too late.
He heard a slap. Someone cried out. Mrs. Davis squeezed her eyes shut.
There was no choice. Not really. Myron had the gun at the ready. He was about to leap, preparing to turn and aim in the direction where Mrs. Davis had been looking. He bent his legs. And then he stopped.
Jumping in with a gun. Would that be the prudent move here?
Erik was armed. He might, of course, react by surrendering. He might also react by firing in a panic.
Fifty-fifty.
Myron tried something else.
“Erik?”
Silence.
Myron said, “Erik, it’s me. Myron.”
“Come on in, Myron.”
The voice was calm. There was almost a lilt in it. Myron moved into the center of the room. Erik stood with a gun in his hand. He had on a dress shirt with no tie. There were splatters of blood across the chest.
Erik smiled when he saw Myron. “Mr. Davis is ready to talk now.”
“Put the gun down, Erik.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I said—”
“What? Are you going to shoot me?”
“Nobody is shooting anybody. Just put the gun down.”
Erik shook his head. The smile remained. “Come all the way in. Please.”
Myron stepped into the room, his gun still up. Now he could see Harry Davis in a chair. His back was to Myron. Nylon cuffs were around his wrists. Davis’s head lolled on the neck, chin down.
Myron came around the front and took a look.
“Oh, man.”
Davis had been beaten. There was blood on his face. A tooth was out and on the floor. Myron turned to Erik. Erik’s posture was different. He wasn’t as ramrod as usual. He didn’t look nervous or agitated. In fact, Myron had never seen him look more relaxed in his life.
“He needs a doctor,” Myron said.
“He’s fine.”
Myron looked at Erik’s eyes. They were placid pools.
“This isn’t the way, Erik.”
“Sure it is.”
“Listen to me—”
“I don’t think so. You’re good at this stuff, Myron, no question. But you have to follow rules. A certain code. When your child is in danger, those niceties go out the window.”
Myron thought about Dominick Rochester, how he had said something so very similar in the Seidens’ house. You couldn’t start off with two guys more different than Erik Biel and Dominick Rochester. Desperation and fear had rendered them near identical.
Harry Davis raised his bloodied face. “I don’t know where Aimee is, I swear.”
Before Myron could do much of anything, Erik aimed his gun at the ground and fired. The sound was loud in the small room. Harry Davis screamed. A groan came from behind Mrs. Davis’s gag.
Myron’s own eyes widened as he looked down at Davis’s shoe.
There was a hole in it.
It was near the edge of the big toe. Blood began to run. Myron raised his gun and pointed it at Erik’s head. “Put it down now!”
“No.”
He said it simply. Erik looked at Harry Davis. The man was in pain, but his head was up now, his eyes more focused. “Did you sleep with my daughter?”
“Never!”
“He’s telling the truth, Erik.”
Erik turned to Myron. “How do you know?”
“It was another teacher. A guy named Drew Van Dyne. He works at the music store where she hung out.”
Erik looked confused. “But when you dropped Aimee off, she came here, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
They both looked at Harry Davis. There was blood on his shoe now. It oozed out slowly. Myron wondered if the neighbors had heard the gunfire, if they’d call the police. Myron doubted it. People out here assume the sound is a car backfiring or fireworks, something explainable and safe.
“It’s not what you think,” Harry Davis said.
“What’s not?”
And then Harry Davis’s eyes darted toward his wife. Myron understood. He pulled Erik to the side. “You cracked him,” Myron said. “He’s ready to talk.”
“So?”
“So he’s not going to talk in front of his wife. And if he did something to Aimee, he’s not going to talk in front of you.”
When Myron got back to his car, Claire was there. “It’s Erik,” she said.
“What about him?”
“He ran out of the house. With his father’s old gun.”
“Did you call his cell?”
“No answer,” Claire said.
“Any idea where he went?”
“A few years ago I represented a company called KnowWhere,” Claire said. “You heard of it?”
“No.”
“They’re like OnStar or LoJack. They put a GPS in your car for emergencies, that kind of thing. Anyway, we got one installed in both cars. I just called the owner at home and begged him to get me the location.”
“And?”
“Erik is parked in front of Harry Davis’s house.”
“Jesus.”
Myron jumped into his car. Claire slipped into the passenger seat. He wanted to argue, but there was no time.
“Call Harry Davis’s home,” he said.
“I tried,” Claire said. “There was no answer.”
Erik’s car was indeed parked directly in front of the Davis residence. If he’d wanted to hide his approach, he hadn’t done a very good job.
Myron stopped the car. He took out his own gun.
Claire said, “What the hell is that for?”
“Just stay here.”
“I asked you—”
“Not now, Claire. Stay here. I’ll call if I need you.”
His voice left no room for argument and, for once, Claire just obeyed. He started up the path, keeping a low crouch. The front door was slightly ajar. Myron didn’t like that. He ducked low and listened.
There were noises, but he couldn’t make out what they were.
Using the barrel of the gun, he pushed the door open. There was no one in the foyer. The sounds were coming from the left. Myron crawled in. He turned the corner and there, lying on the floor, was a woman he assumed was Mrs. Davis.
She was gagged. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her eyes were wide with fear. Myron put a finger to his lips. She looked to her right, then back at Myron, then back to her right again.
He heard more noises.
There were other people in the room. On her right.
Myron debated his next move. He considered backing out and calling the police. They could surround the house, he guessed, start talking Erik down. But that might be too late.
He heard a slap. Someone cried out. Mrs. Davis squeezed her eyes shut.
There was no choice. Not really. Myron had the gun at the ready. He was about to leap, preparing to turn and aim in the direction where Mrs. Davis had been looking. He bent his legs. And then he stopped.
Jumping in with a gun. Would that be the prudent move here?
Erik was armed. He might, of course, react by surrendering. He might also react by firing in a panic.
Fifty-fifty.
Myron tried something else.
“Erik?”
Silence.
Myron said, “Erik, it’s me. Myron.”
“Come on in, Myron.”
The voice was calm. There was almost a lilt in it. Myron moved into the center of the room. Erik stood with a gun in his hand. He had on a dress shirt with no tie. There were splatters of blood across the chest.
Erik smiled when he saw Myron. “Mr. Davis is ready to talk now.”
“Put the gun down, Erik.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I said—”
“What? Are you going to shoot me?”
“Nobody is shooting anybody. Just put the gun down.”
Erik shook his head. The smile remained. “Come all the way in. Please.”
Myron stepped into the room, his gun still up. Now he could see Harry Davis in a chair. His back was to Myron. Nylon cuffs were around his wrists. Davis’s head lolled on the neck, chin down.
Myron came around the front and took a look.
“Oh, man.”
Davis had been beaten. There was blood on his face. A tooth was out and on the floor. Myron turned to Erik. Erik’s posture was different. He wasn’t as ramrod as usual. He didn’t look nervous or agitated. In fact, Myron had never seen him look more relaxed in his life.
“He needs a doctor,” Myron said.
“He’s fine.”
Myron looked at Erik’s eyes. They were placid pools.
“This isn’t the way, Erik.”
“Sure it is.”
“Listen to me—”
“I don’t think so. You’re good at this stuff, Myron, no question. But you have to follow rules. A certain code. When your child is in danger, those niceties go out the window.”
Myron thought about Dominick Rochester, how he had said something so very similar in the Seidens’ house. You couldn’t start off with two guys more different than Erik Biel and Dominick Rochester. Desperation and fear had rendered them near identical.
Harry Davis raised his bloodied face. “I don’t know where Aimee is, I swear.”
Before Myron could do much of anything, Erik aimed his gun at the ground and fired. The sound was loud in the small room. Harry Davis screamed. A groan came from behind Mrs. Davis’s gag.
Myron’s own eyes widened as he looked down at Davis’s shoe.
There was a hole in it.
It was near the edge of the big toe. Blood began to run. Myron raised his gun and pointed it at Erik’s head. “Put it down now!”
“No.”
He said it simply. Erik looked at Harry Davis. The man was in pain, but his head was up now, his eyes more focused. “Did you sleep with my daughter?”
“Never!”
“He’s telling the truth, Erik.”
Erik turned to Myron. “How do you know?”
“It was another teacher. A guy named Drew Van Dyne. He works at the music store where she hung out.”
Erik looked confused. “But when you dropped Aimee off, she came here, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
They both looked at Harry Davis. There was blood on his shoe now. It oozed out slowly. Myron wondered if the neighbors had heard the gunfire, if they’d call the police. Myron doubted it. People out here assume the sound is a car backfiring or fireworks, something explainable and safe.
“It’s not what you think,” Harry Davis said.
“What’s not?”
And then Harry Davis’s eyes darted toward his wife. Myron understood. He pulled Erik to the side. “You cracked him,” Myron said. “He’s ready to talk.”
“So?”
“So he’s not going to talk in front of his wife. And if he did something to Aimee, he’s not going to talk in front of you.”
