Afraid of the Dark - James Grippando [118]
“He did, but Hassan would do anything for Jamal. His brother forwarded me an e-mail that he received: ‘I killed your son,’ it said. I showed it to Hassan, and he took it from there. I told you that the three of us used to live together in London before Jamal was born. Both brothers still have contacts in London—Hassan, especially, at the East End Mosque. As much as he hates his brother, he swallowed their differences and found Jamal’s killer.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t have a name. But it’s someone who used to be part of al-Shabaab with Jamal’s father.”
Jack could hear the strain in her voice. She couldn’t afford to lose Hassan on top of Jamal. “Maryam, everything is going to be okay. I want you to take a minute to collect yourself, and then you and I are going to get on a conference call with Scotland Yard. You need to tell them everything you just told me.”
“No,” said Chuck. “We can’t call the police.”
“Watch me,” said Jack.
“Stop,” said Chuck. “Listen to this for one minute.”
“Listen to what?”
“I was treating it as my business. Now we all have to deal with it.”
“Look,” said Jack, “I agreed to keep the police out of this at first, but that doesn’t make any sense now.”
“Just listen,” said Chuck. “It’s the tail end of a phone call I got about twenty minutes ago.”
The computer screen flickered. The transmission was audio only, and the band on the audio tracker spiked up and down with each voice inflection on the recording.
“Listen up, Mays.”
Even though Jack didn’t recognize the voice, he somehow knew it was the Dark. The recording continued: “I have someone you’ll want to hear from.”
Jack waited, the audio line on the LCD went flat, and suddenly it wobbled again with the beaten-down voice he instantly recognized.
“The Dark is in charge,” said Vince, obviously saying what he had been told to say. “Do not come looking for me, and do not call the police. If you do, he will kill me. I’m afraid of the Dark. You should be, too.”
The recording ended, and the audio line went flat again.
Chapter Sixty-two
Good news, Paulo. The boss says I can take off your blindfold.”
The Dark grabbed him by the hair, then slapped his hostage upside the head, as if Vince were the absentminded one. “Oh, I forgot. You’re not wearing a blindfold.”
He laughed way too hard at his own stupid joke, but Vince said nothing. He was seated in a desk chair, hands tied behind his back, unable to move. The Dark walked to the window and double-checked that the plywood over it was secure. They were in a spacious suite on the third floor of an abandoned hotel that was scheduled to be gutted and converted to flats. The nicest furnishings had been hauled away for auction, and only a wobbly table, a few old chairs, and a beat-up leather couch remained. There was no water or electricity, but the battery-powered lamp on the table was adequate, and when nature called, the toilet in the suite across the hall would suffice, even if it didn’t flush.
“Who’s your boss?” asked Vince.
The Dark pulled up a chair and straddled it backward, his chin resting on his forearms as he stared at Vince. He was close enough for Vince to feel his presence—a technique he’d perfected on blindfolded women.
“Let me explain something to you, Paulo. Your life is in my hands, which means that you will live only as long as you are of use to me. You’re not the hostage negotiator here. You don’t get to ask questions.”
“Why did you kill McKenna?”
“Cute,” he said, scoffing. “Uncle Vince wants to know why. After I tell you, then what are you gonna do? Fly back in your time machine and make it all better?”
The Dark glanced across the room. The device that he’d ripped from Vince’s head in the scuffle outside his flat was on the floor. “This Brainport thing comes with a time-machine function, right?” he said, mocking Vince.
Vince said nothing, but the Dark could read his expression. The sunglasses had been smashed in their struggle, and Vince looked so much weaker without them.