sleep-heavy and gruff. “Parker is fine, Lawson.”
“Wow,” I said, pushing the button on the elevator. “You knew it was me. You are a good detective.”
“Good enough to have caller ID. Did your new houseguest take a bite out of you or is there another reason for this?” I heard him pause; then I heard the groan of a mattress, “One A.M. phone call?”
“Maybe.” I bit my lip, glancing once more over my shoulder at Mr. Sampson’s office. “I think my boss is missing.”
“Your boss? You mean Mr. Sampson? Missing? How do you know that? Where are you?”
“At the office. I’m about to get in the elevator. I came down here because Nina told me that she didn’t chain up Pete—Mr. Sampson—tonight. I was worried so I came to do it myself.”
“It’s not a full moon, right?” Hayes let out an inelegant, bored yawn. “Maybe he just went home.”
“His den.”
“What?”
“His den. He has a den, not a home … exactly. And no, I don’t think so. The office—something happened here. Everything is broken, shattered and … and one of the chains was broken. It had been torn from the wall.”
“So what does that mean? I thought you said that Nina didn’t chain him up. Why would the chains have been broken if Mr. Sampson never got chained up?”
“Mr. Sampson knows that he needs to be chained up. Always—full moon, or not.” I slumped, waiting for the damn elevator. “So, sometimes if we’re busy, Mr. Sampson will start chaining himself. If he does it early enough, it’s not a problem. But if he starts to change … if he starts to change before he’s completely secured—”
“He can do things like tear chains straight out of cement.”
“Yeah.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, to my immense relief. I rushed inside, mashing my fingers against the CLOSE DOOR button.
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” All the sleep was gone from Parker’s voice now.
“No,” I said, annoyed, “I think he’s in danger.”
The elevator doors slid shut, the phone still pressed against my ear. “There is a murderer on the loose and frankly, a task force of police officers who are out looking for a giant dog to shoot. I think someone may have gone after Sampson. Parker?” I frowned into the mouthpiece. “Parker, are you listening to me?” My cell phone went silent, the frowny little call dropped! icon on the screen.
“Stupid cell phone,” I muttered, riding the elevator to the ground floor of the police department.
I half ran, half walked through the bustling police department offices, my heart thundering in my throat. When I pushed through the back door into the department parking lot, one of the overhead lights was buzzing and blinking annoyingly. I stepped into the outside darkness and hurried through the lot that had emptied considerably, and when I approached my car down the block, the behemoth SUV and paper-stacked station wagon were gone, too. I was about to push my key into the lock when I heard the rustle of feet on gravel, and the unmistakable metallic smell of blood wafting on the air. I resisted the bad-horror-movie urge to yell out Hello? Is anybody there? into the darkness, and instead focused on getting my car door open and me behind the wheel before I wet my pants.
I yanked open my car door and was halfway through it when I felt the moist breath against my neck, then the viselike grip on my shoulder, yanking me out of the car. I yelped as fire roared from my shoulder to my chest and I was pulled, my forehead crashing against the hard metal door frame, the skin above my left eye splitting and immediately starting to ooze blood. I couldn’t make out the face in the darkness, but I knew that it was coming toward me, teeth bared, fingers gripping. Blood stung my eye and so I clenched my eyes shut, ready for the toothpicklike snapping of my bones. I opened my mouth to scream, but my voice was gone, strangled, lost in my own throat.
And that was the last thing I
“Wow,” I said, pushing the button on the elevator. “You knew it was me. You are a good detective.”
“Good enough to have caller ID. Did your new houseguest take a bite out of you or is there another reason for this?” I heard him pause; then I heard the groan of a mattress, “One A.M. phone call?”
“Maybe.” I bit my lip, glancing once more over my shoulder at Mr. Sampson’s office. “I think my boss is missing.”
“Your boss? You mean Mr. Sampson? Missing? How do you know that? Where are you?”
“At the office. I’m about to get in the elevator. I came down here because Nina told me that she didn’t chain up Pete—Mr. Sampson—tonight. I was worried so I came to do it myself.”
“It’s not a full moon, right?” Hayes let out an inelegant, bored yawn. “Maybe he just went home.”
“His den.”
“What?”
“His den. He has a den, not a home … exactly. And no, I don’t think so. The office—something happened here. Everything is broken, shattered and … and one of the chains was broken. It had been torn from the wall.”
“So what does that mean? I thought you said that Nina didn’t chain him up. Why would the chains have been broken if Mr. Sampson never got chained up?”
“Mr. Sampson knows that he needs to be chained up. Always—full moon, or not.” I slumped, waiting for the damn elevator. “So, sometimes if we’re busy, Mr. Sampson will start chaining himself. If he does it early enough, it’s not a problem. But if he starts to change … if he starts to change before he’s completely secured—”
“He can do things like tear chains straight out of cement.”
“Yeah.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, to my immense relief. I rushed inside, mashing my fingers against the CLOSE DOOR button.
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” All the sleep was gone from Parker’s voice now.
“No,” I said, annoyed, “I think he’s in danger.”
The elevator doors slid shut, the phone still pressed against my ear. “There is a murderer on the loose and frankly, a task force of police officers who are out looking for a giant dog to shoot. I think someone may have gone after Sampson. Parker?” I frowned into the mouthpiece. “Parker, are you listening to me?” My cell phone went silent, the frowny little call dropped! icon on the screen.
“Stupid cell phone,” I muttered, riding the elevator to the ground floor of the police department.
I half ran, half walked through the bustling police department offices, my heart thundering in my throat. When I pushed through the back door into the department parking lot, one of the overhead lights was buzzing and blinking annoyingly. I stepped into the outside darkness and hurried through the lot that had emptied considerably, and when I approached my car down the block, the behemoth SUV and paper-stacked station wagon were gone, too. I was about to push my key into the lock when I heard the rustle of feet on gravel, and the unmistakable metallic smell of blood wafting on the air. I resisted the bad-horror-movie urge to yell out Hello? Is anybody there? into the darkness, and instead focused on getting my car door open and me behind the wheel before I wet my pants.
I yanked open my car door and was halfway through it when I felt the moist breath against my neck, then the viselike grip on my shoulder, yanking me out of the car. I yelped as fire roared from my shoulder to my chest and I was pulled, my forehead crashing against the hard metal door frame, the skin above my left eye splitting and immediately starting to ooze blood. I couldn’t make out the face in the darkness, but I knew that it was coming toward me, teeth bared, fingers gripping. Blood stung my eye and so I clenched my eyes shut, ready for the toothpicklike snapping of my bones. I opened my mouth to scream, but my voice was gone, strangled, lost in my own throat.
And that was the last thing I
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