“Did you see anything?”
“I saw it all. Whitman and some longhaired creepazoid punk.”
“Did he admit that he killed Barrett’s family?”
“Not in so many words. But there’s no doubt about it—Whitman sent the kid out to Barrett’s neighborhood. And he’s got cheap hit man written all over his face.”
“But can we prove it?”
Loving lowered his head, obviously ridden with guilt and shame. “Not by me. I lost the camera. And the film. Whoever knocked me over the head ran off with it.”
Christina put her arm around him. “You never mind about that. We’re just glad you’re alive.”
Loving shrugged. “I’ll take the stand if you want, Skipper, but—”
“But who would believe a guy who’s working for the defense attorney.” Ben agreed—it wasn’t a very promising prospect. Especially since he knew Bullock would run rings around poor Loving. “You just rest and try to get better. We’ll figure out what to do later.”
“There’s something else, Boss.” There was a tremor in Jones’s voice that wasn’t normally there. A tremor he hadn’t heard since … “This came in the morning mail.”
Ben hesitantly took the overstuffed envelope from Jones and withdrew a black videotape. “I gather this isn’t the latest episode of Melrose Place.”
Jones shook his head. “I borrowed a VCR from Burris’s pawnshop next door. It’s on Christina’s desk.”
Ben walked over to the machine, turned it on, and inserted the tape. After a few moments of snow, the picture came to life. The camera was focused on a barren wall, a corner. Nothing was there. But there was a rhythmic sound in the background.
Ben turned up the volume. It was a ticking sound. A clock? No, each tick was more of a double beat. Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.
It was a heartbeat.
On top of the heartbeat, there was the sound of a bell ringing, followed by some sort of clicking noise, like a lever of some sort being tripped. About a second later, they heard a humming noise, like a small engine being activated.
A shrill cry emerged, electrifying the room. The cry went on and on. It was the sound of something in terrible pain, something in more misery than it could possibly bear. A hideous, chilling shrieking.
“My God,” Loving murmured. “What is that?”
Christina was holding her hands against her face. “Is that … human?”
Jones shook his head. “Sounds more like an animal to me. An animal being tortured.”
The shrill, agonized cry continued to peal out from the television. “But what is it?”
A voice suddenly erupted from the tape. It was a deep, dark voice, speaking unnaturally slowly. “What’s … wrong … with … Kitty?” There was a pause, then bone-chilling laughter. “Kitty … has … a … sick … heart!” There was more laughter, then a sudden crashing noise.
The picture went to black, but the tape wasn’t over. They heard a clock ticking, ticktock, ticktock, and a few seconds after that, the sound of a tremendous explosion.
After the rumble of the explosion had finally faded, the deep voice returned and spoke two more words: “You’re next.”
Ben turned off the VCR. This time his hand was shaking. “I think it’s fair to say that our correspondent has progressed from harassment to intimidation.”
Christina looked stricken. “But who could it be?”
“Who couldn’t it be?” Jones said. “Everyone on God’s green earth has heard about this case.”
Christina’s face did not relax. “Who is he after? Who is he threatening?”
Ben turned slowly. “Do you know if Barrett has a cat?”
“No,” Christina replied. “He doesn’t.”
Ben slowly turned his head. “I do.”
Chapter 30
BEN SPED BACK TO his apartment as fast as his well-worn Honda could get him there. The front left headlight was beginning to dangle out of its socket, and his muffler scraped the pavement every time he hit a bump, but he ignored both. He had called first, but there was no answer, which could mean one of two things—and one of them made his heart stop just to think about it.
He parked his car on the street and bolted at top speed toward Mrs. Marmelstein’s boardinghouse. Just as he hit the front lawn, he saw Joni coming from the opposite direction. To his relief, he saw she was cradling Joey in her arms.
“Thank God,” Ben gasped as he ran up to them. “Where have you been?”
One glance at his face told Joni that he was not inquiring out of idle curiosity. “We went to the mall. Baby Gap. Clothes shopping, remember?”
Ben tried to calm himself down. “How long have you been gone?”
“Pretty much all morning. Why? Should we have stayed home?”
“No. It’s just as well you didn’t.”
“What? Ben, what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. But I think we may have had company.” He glanced over at the front window to his apartment. “Doesn’t Giselle normally sleep on the windowsill this time of day?”
Joni glanced at the house. “You know, come to think of it, she does. That’s funny, she was there when we—”
There was no point in finishing her sentence, because Ben was already gone. He tore up the front wooden steps, barely missing Mrs. Marmelstein’s garden. He ran up the stairs, forced the key in the lock, and ran inside.
“Giselle!” he cried out, but who was he kidding? She didn’t come when he called even under normal circumstances. More drastic measures were required. He bolted into the kitchen and opened a can of Feline’s Fancy, Giselle’s favorite food. He held the can up in the air, letting the sweet aroma (well, he assumed cats liked it) waft its way through the apartment. Normally, ten seconds would be sufficient to draw her out of the farthest corner of the apartment.
Nothing happened. No cat.
“Giselle!” He set the can down on the floor and began a search. He felt a profound aching in his chest. He had to search, but he was bitterly afraid of what he might find.
“Giselle!” He pushed open his bedroom door and looked all around. Could she be caught in the closet, in a dresser drawer, under the bed? Each possible place turned up empty.
He tried the bathroom. No luck. Then the front living area—under the sofa, inside the end table. Even inside the piano, for God’s sake. But she wasn’t there.
The sick feeling expanded and rose up Ben’s throat. This just wasn’t like Giselle. If she were here, she’d have come to him by now.
If she could.
Joni and Joey came through the front door. “Found her yet?” Joni asked.
“No,” Ben said. “Why don’t you take a look?” But even as he said it, he knew she was no more likely to find Giselle than he had been.
Think, he told himself. Assume that this person did want to hurt him. The point of the videotape was to prolong the pain, to drag out the twisted suspense. And to tell him … what?
Ben tried to recall what he had seen and heard on the tape. That was definitely a cat he had heard shrieking. But what were the other sounds? There was a bell, followed by a clicking, followed by a whirring noise. Some kind of engine running. What was this sicko trying to tell him?
Ben ran it over and over in his mind as his eyes scanned the apartment. Click. Bell. Hum. Click. Bell. Hum.
It hit him the instant his eyes moved to the kitchen.
It was a microwave.
You click the door closed, the bell rings, and the microwave hums into action.
A cat in a microwave? The demented mind behind this was probably just the type who would enjoy seeing a sick urban legend brought to life.
His eyes barely open, barely willing to be open, Ben reentered the kitchen. This time he checked the microwave. It was dark inside, but—something was in there.