Whatever was going on now, Thomas just wished that his dad would come clean. It couldn’t be worse than what Thomas and Ryan had been imagining. He and his brother weren’t stupid. Thomas could see that his dad had been tense even before Mom ran off. He had no idea why, but since Mom got back from that teachers’ conference, something had been really wrong. Their house was like a living thing, like one of those delicate ecosystems in science, and now something foreign was throwing off everything.
When Thomas opened the office door, that lady police officer, Johanna, was standing with the principal, Mr. Gorman. Mr. Gorman said, “Thomas, do you know this woman?”
He nodded. “She’s a friend of my dad’s. She’s also a police officer.”
“Yes, she showed me her ID. But I can’t leave you alone with her.”
Johanna said, “That’s okay,” and stepped toward him. “Thomas, do you have any idea where your father is?”
“At work, I guess.”
“He didn’t show today. I tried his cell phone. It’s going straight to voice mail.”
That little pang of panic in his chest started to grow. “It only does that if someone switches the phone off,” Thomas said. “Dad never switches it off.”
Johanna Griffin came closer. He could see the look of concern in her eyes. It scared him, and yet this was what he wanted, right? Honesty instead of protection? “Thomas, your dad told me about the tracker your mom put on his phone.”
“It won’t work if the phone is dead.”
“But it shows where he last was when the phone was turned off, right?”
Thomas got it now. “Right.”
“Do you need a computer to access—?”
He shook his head, reaching into his pocket. “I can look it up on my phone. Just give me two minutes.”
Chapter 51
Why did you kill Ingrid?”
When Adam tried to sit up, tried even to peel his face off the concrete—where was he anyway, that log cabin?—his head screamed in protest. He tried to bring his hands to his skull, but they wouldn’t move. Confused, Adam tried again and heard the rattling.
His wrists were tied.
He looked behind him. A bike chain had been wrapped around his wrists and threaded behind a pipe running from the floor to the ceiling. He tried to take stock of the situation. He was in a basement. Directly in front of him, still wearing the same baseball cap, was the stranger. Gabrielle stood on the stranger’s right. A young guy, not much older than Thomas probably, was on the left. The kid had a shaved head and tattoos and too many piercings.
He was holding a gun.
Behind the three of them was another man, maybe thirty-ish, with long hair and the start of a beard.
“Who are you?” Adam asked.
The stranger took that one. “I told you before, didn’t I?”
Adam tried again to sit up. The bolts of pain nearly paralyzed him, but he dodged past them. There was no way he could stand. Between the pain in his head and the chains on his wrists, there was nowhere to go anyway. He sat now and leaned against the pipe.
“You’re the stranger,” Adam said.
“Yes.”
“What do you want with me?”
The kid with the gun stepped forward and aimed the weapon at Adam. He turned the gun sideways, like something he’d seen in a bad gangsta film, and said, “You don’t start talking, I’m going to blow your head off.”
The stranger said, “Merton.”
“Nah, man. We don’t have time for this. He needs to start talking.”
Adam looked up at the gun. He looked into Merton’s eyes. He’d do it, Adam thought. He’d fire and not think twice.
It was Gabrielle who spoke next. “Put that gun away.”
Merton ignored her. He stared down at Adam. “She was my friend.”
He pointed the gun at Adam’s face.
“Why did you kill Ingrid?”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Bullshit!”
Merton’s hand started shaking.
Gabrielle: “Merton, don’t.”
With the gun still pointed at Adam’s face, Merton reeled back and kicked him like he was attempting a field goal from long range. He wore steel-toed boots and the blow landed right on the delicate spot on the bottom of Adam’s rib cage. He let out an oomph sound and slumped over.
“Stop that,” the stranger snapped.
“He’s gotta tell us what he knows!”
“He will.”
“What are we going to do?” Gabrielle asked, her voice in full panic. “This was supposed to be easy money.”
“It is. We’re fine. Just calm down.”
The guy with the long hair said, “I don’t like this. I don’t like any of it.”
Gabrielle: “I didn’t sign up for kidnapping.”
“Will you all just stay calm?” But even the stranger now sounded on edge. “We need to find out what happened to Ingrid.”
Adam winced and said, “I don’t know what happened to Ingrid.”
They all turned toward him.
“You’re a liar,” Merton said.
“You need to listen to—”
Merton cut him off with another kick to the ribs. Adam’s face landed back on the hard concrete. He tried to crawl into a protective ball, tried again to free his hands so that they could cradle his aching head.
“Stop it, Merton!”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Adam managed.
“Right, sure.” It was Merton. Adam tried to tighten up his protective ball in case another kick was coming. “And I suppose you didn’t ask Gabrielle about Chris either, right?”
Chris. He knew the man’s first name.
“Back up,” Chris—the stranger—said. He moved closer to Adam and said, “You started searching for Ingrid and me, right?”
Adam nodded.
“And you found Ingrid first.”
“Just her name.”
“What?”
“I found her name.”
“How?”
“Where’s my wife?”
Chris frowned. “Excuse me?”
“I said—”
“No, I heard you.” He looked back toward Gabrielle. “Why would we know where your wife is?”
“You started this,” Adam said. He struggled up into a sitting position. He knew that he was in deep trouble here, that his life was in danger, but he also knew that these people were amateurs. The stench of their fear was everywhere. The bike chain was loosening. He was starting to work his wrists free. That might help, if he could get Merton and his gun close. “You came at me first.”