"Good question," said Bram.

Sophie pointed the beam of her flashlight into the front seat. "Honey-"

"What?"

"I think you'll want to see this."

"What is it?" He scrambled around the back of Chris's car.

"A gun," she said, holding her light steady on it. "You see? There on the front seat next to that Coke bottle."

Bram tried the door. "Locked. Figures."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"That we just found the murder weapon?"

"Last I heard, the police didn't have it."

"Nah. Couldn't be."

"You saying we suck as detectives?"

"The police have been searching for it for weeks, Sophie."

"Yes, but they didn't know about this storage unit. You did."

"Do you have your cell phone with you?"

"Am I ever without my cell phone?"

"Now might be a good time to call the cops."

"Sure, now that we've solved the case."

As Sophie found the phone in her purse, Bram grabbed the top of the garage door and started to bring it back down.

Sophie shushed him. "I heard something."

"Oh, come on, Sophie. Don't do that to me again. We need to get out of here." He stuck his head out of the garage and surveyed the lane in front of the unit.

"No. In here-in the garage. I heard something."

"It's probably a rat."

"Rats don't moan."

Bram listened. After a few seconds, he heard it, too. "It sounds like it's coming from the trunk of Chris's car." He thought a moment, then pocketed his flashlight and pulled the garage door closed.

"Why'd you do that?"

"So nobody will hear me when I do this." He slammed the bolt cutter into the driver's-side window, breaking the glass all over the front seat. Pulling up the door lock, he grabbed Sophie's flashlight and trained it on the dash. It only took a second to find the trunk button.

"That opened it," whispered Sophie. She was back by the trunk. Lifting the lid upward, she gasped.

Instantly, Bram was by her side. His heart nearly stopped when he saw Chris lying in a fetal position inside, her hands and feet bound with duct tape, a cloth bag pulled over her head. There was a small gash on her upper leg and her bare arms looked deeply bruised and battered. "Dear God," he said, leaning down close to her ear. "Chris, it's Bram and Sophie. You're safe now. Don't be frightened. I'm going to remove the cover from your head." He did so as gently as possible, hoping that the sound she'd made meant that she was still alive.

When the bag came off, Chris's eyes were wide-open and wild with terror. She shivered as she sat up. Bram removed the duct tape from her mouth. "Are you okay?"

Her voice was low and raspy, but still strong. "Get me out of here!"

Sophie took off her coat and put it around Chris's shoulders while Bram continued to work on the tape.

"Is anything broken?" asked Bram.

"I don't think so," responded Chris. "But hurry. Please! He could come back any minute." She was terrified, shaking uncontrollably, barely holding it together.

Once she was free, Bram pulled up the garage door, then stepped outside to look around. Everything seemed quiet. Moving back inside, he lifted Chris and carried her out to the backseat of his Bentley. While Sophie got her settled, he eased the garage door back down and then replaced the mangled padlock, making it look as if it was still functional. It might buy them some time.

Jumping into the front seat of his car, Bram hit the ignition, then the gas, and took off.

"She's like a block of ice, honey. Put on the heater."

As he glanced into the backseat, he caught sight of a car swinging onto the road behind him. The headlights in the rearview mirror momentarily blinded him.

Chris turned to look. "It's Phil!"

"We don't know that," said Sophie.

"And we're not about find out," said Bram, hanging a quick left and making straight for the exit. For a few seconds, he thought he might be able to outrun the other car, but then he remembered that to get out of the lot, he had to go through another gate, and to get it to open, he had to punch in the code. That meant he had to stop-all the time he'd gained was moot. As he saw it, he had two choices. Gun the motor and hope the car was heavy enough to break through the gate, or play it safe and stop to enter the exit code.

Seeing the heavy gate loom suddenly up in front of him, he was afraid that if he ran into it at full throttle, Sophie and Chris would rocket into the front seat and probably out through the windshield. None of them had taken time to put on their seat belts. Feeling that he had no choice, he stomped on the brakes.

"He's coming," gasped Sophie, her voice squeezed tight with fear.

Bram concentrated on the task at hand. He lowered the window and tapped in the code. As the gate swung open, he floored the gas pedal and roared off.

"The gate's closing," called Sophie. "The other car's still inside."

Bram breathed a sigh of relief as he sped out onto the frontage road and headed back toward the bridge.

"Better go straight to a hospital," said Sophie.

"No!" cried Chris. She lurched forward, grabbing Bram by his shoulder. "I'm fine. You have to hide me. If he finds me, he'll kill me."

"You're safe, Chris. Trust me. I won't let anything happen to you." He turned right on Blackman and pulled into the lot of a 7-Eleven, parking in back next to a Dumpster. "Maybe we can wait on the hospital, but we need to call the police."

"Yes. Okay," said Chris. "But can we stay here for a while? Just a few minutes? I feel safe here. I just need to feel safe!"

Bram cracked the car door, looked back at Chris. "Sophie give me your cell phone. I have to call the cops. And then I'll get Chris something hot to drink. Something to eat. You must be starving."

Chris shook her head. "God, how did you ever find me?"

"Long story," said Bram. "Sophie, you fill her in and I'll be back in a flash."

Standing next to the front door, Bram tapped in Al's home number. It was going on one in the morning. Bram figured he'd find his buddy in bed.

"Lundquist," came a sleepy voice. "This better be good."

"Al, it's Bram."

"Christ, Baldric. It's the middle of the night."

Bram quickly filled him in on what had happened.

"Let me get this straight," said Al, clearing his throat. "You broke into a mini storage lot?"

"No, no. You're not listening. I rented a garage. Totally legal. But, well, yes, once I was inside, I did break into a unit that belonged to Phil Banks. But that's beside the point now. If I hadn't, Chris would be dead."

"Why didn't you call me? I could have sent a squad car."

Now Bram was outraged. "I told you about Chris this morning. You said I had to wait twenty-four hours before it became a police matter."

"Baldric, you are a true work of art, you know that? Tell me what the gun looked like."

"It looked like a gun. It was metal. Ugly. Like I said, it was lying on the front seat next to a plastic Coke bottle. There were a couple of other Coke bottles scattered on the floor. The guy's a pig. What can I say. Maybe he used them for target practice."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because the bottoms were blown out."

Al exploded. "Jesus, Baldric. Why didn't you say that right away?"

"Say what?"

"Hang up the damn phone and bring the woman in."

"Are you going to take care of the storage garage?"

"I will as soon as you hang up!"

Bram cut the line. He returned to the car a few minutes later with a cup of hot coffee and a couple of candy bars. "Sustenance," he said, handing it all to Chris.

"You've got to hear this," said Sophie.

"Hear what?" said Bram, climbing back in the front seat.

Chris began slowly. She seemed calmer now, but dazed. "He only married me so I would give him an alibi."

"Chris-" said Bram.

"It's okay. I know I'm a fool. I guess I've known it all along."

"Don't blame yourself," said Sophie.

"No?" She looked out the window. "Then who should I blame? I was making us some breakfast this morning when Phil must have knocked me out. Next thing I remember, we were in my car and I was all tied up. God, I was so scared. Phil was silent all the way to the mini storage place, but once we got inside the garage and he'd closed the door, he slipped back into the front seat and started talking.

"He told me he'd killed Ken Loy because Loy killed his sister, Valerie. The lawsuit he'd filed against him wasn't going anywhere, and besides, he said, it was too slow. He'd been watching Loy for months. He knew all his habits. He was just biding his time, waiting for the right moment. And then we went to that movie. I chased Phil out, told him to go sleep in the car. But when he got outside, he took off. He drove to the mini storage lot. He keeps one of his construction company trucks there. It's fairly close to where Loy lived. Maybe he planned that, too. I don't know. Anyway, he found Loy riding down Shepard Road, so he pulled up next to him and shot him. He was feeling really pumped about what he'd done, so he cruised over to Bob Fabian's place to tell him the good news. Apparently Bob didn't feel the same way Phil did. He tried to call the paramedics, but Phil shot him before he could finish the call. Then he drove back to the storage garage, exchanged the truck for his car, and headed back to the theater."

"So it was Phil," said Bram, feeling vindicated. "I knew the police had arrested the wrong guy."

"But see, there was a problem."

"Irazarian?" asked Bram.

"Right. Seems he'd just learned that day that he was about to be fired. So he went to Bob's house that night to talk to him. But as he was about to ring the doorbell, he heard a muffled gunshot. Next thing he knew, Phil was charging out the back door. Irazarian followed him all the way back to the storage unit. It didn't take him long to put it all together. That's when he called Phil, tried to blackmail him with what he knew. That was a big mistake. Phil said he met Irazarian yesterday morning and agreed to pay him a bunch of money to keep his mouth shut. He was supposed to deliver it last night around nine. But he got to the motel early."

"Phil murdered Irazarian?" asked Bram.

Chris nodded. "He told me he hadn't decided what to do with me yet. That he'd be back. I knew he couldn't keep me around, not after telling me everything he'd done. But it was like . . . like he was proud of it. Like he needed to crow about it. And the only person he could safely tell was somebody who wasn't going to be around long."

Sophie put her arm around Chris's shoulder. "It's over now."

"Is it?" asked Chris. She shook her head. "I wish that were true. But until they find Phil and put him behind bars, my life isn't worth two cents. And even then, I have a feeling Phil's reach is a long one."

33.

On Friday morning, Andy was informed he was no longer under arrest. As he was being processed out, he noticed that there were a number of reporters milling around outside in the hallway. Some he recognized. Others just had that lean and hungry look. The clerk on the other side of the counter shoved a bag of Andy's belongings across to him and asked him to check to make sure everything was there. Cell phone. Car keys. Wallet. Watch. Wedding ring. He signed the receipt.

Nobody was waiting for him and that was probably for the best. Ray Lawless had left a message saying that he'd be in touch later in the day to discuss Andy's questions. Andy didn't have any questions- at least, none that a lawyer could answer.

Once out on the street, he hoofed it to the Times Register Tower. It was only a short walk, a matter of a few minutes. It felt good to breathe fresh air after being locked in a cell all night. The secretary in his office looked surprised to see him when he sailed through the door. He nodded to her, but didn't stop to talk. He had business to take care of and didn't have a lot of time.

For the next few hours, a steady stream of staff entered and left his office. Everyone congratulated him, insisting they knew all along that his arrest had been a mistake. The men slapped him on the back; the women smiled. A few wanted to shake his hand. Andy was an officially innocent man. And with that innocence came the realization that he was now the true owner of the paper. All power resided in him. Under other circumstances, Andy might have enjoyed the chorus of cleverly camouflaged sucking sounds that emanated from his staff. Everyone wanted to have a drink with him, or coffee-or invite him to dinner. By noon, he'd seen everyone he needed to see. Arrangements had been made.

On the way out the door, he told his secretary to take the rest of the day off. Next week would be exceptionally busy and he needed her to be well rested.

Hailing a taxi out on the street, he headed home. Thankfully, the driver wasn't the talkative type. Andy leaned his head back and closed his eyes, but after only a few seconds, he opened them again and looked down at the wedding ring on his hand. When the clerk had given him his belongings, he'd wondered if he should just put it in his pocket. But that had seemed so wrong. His hand felt naked without it.

After paying the cabdriver, Andy stood for a moment in front of Bob's house. He'd realized now that he'd been wrong to insist on moving here. The place was too big, too Bob in every sense. The furnishings were sleek and modern, and looked as if they had been selected by an interior designer for a power life. The house was in perfect shape. Every window opened with ease. All the caulking was exact, every room clean and tidy. Andy was more comfortable with flaws and human disorder.

Once the front door was closed and locked behind him, the silence in the house pressed hard against him, making him almost gasp for air. He tossed his suit coat over a chair, loosened his tie, and proceeded into the living room. Snapping on the radio, he listened for a moment as some government official talked about the war in Iraq. But it was too far away from what was going on here and now. Andy turned up the sound, but zoned out the words. He had his own war to fight, and to win it, he needed total concentration.