time to sift through it for clues. Six years ago Bainbridge had successfully framed him. Allister couldn’t take any chances. He had to assume that this time, too, the collector had something similar in mind.
But this time it was murder.
He had to get out. If, as he’d always suspected, Bainbridge had connections on the Danby police force, Allister had to get as far away from the warehouse as possible. Until he knew what Bainbridge was up to, he couldn’t risk being placed at the scene. Gary was dead because of the stolen coins. Once the police put the pieces together, with Allister’s record, he was sure to be their prime suspect.
Allister stumbled toward the door. He’d get back in the Explorer and drive to his apartment. He would tell the police that he’d spent the night in front of the TV. It would be easy enough to check the local listings and make up an alibi.
But halfway to the door, Allister stopped.
He couldn’t do it. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, imagining that when he opened them, none of this had happened. But when he did, all he saw was Gary’s blood. On his shirt. On his gloves.
No, he couldn’t just leave his friend lying there on the floor. And what about Barb? What on earth was he going to tell Barb?
Then above his own hammering heart, Allister heard a distant footfall—boots against the concrete of the main floor, slow and assured. As he stood in the middle of the office listening, he could think of only one person who would be lurking in the warehouse this late at night—the man who had killed Gary. Maybe he was searching for the package now, checking the aisles and the bins. Maybe he’d heard Allister come in.
And maybe he was coming back up to the office.
There was no time to think. Allister moved on instinct now, instinct and adrenaline. He scanned the office until he saw the heavy fire extinguisher mounted by the door. Certainly not his weapon of choice, he thought as he grappled with the clips, but it would have to do.
STEVIE WALKED through the warehouse toward the area she’d been shooting in earlier, searching for her bag. The old building creaked and groaned under the force of the storm outside.
In the main loading area, the rough stonework and massive timbers attested to the original function of the structure. The building had serviced Danby for decades as a mill before it had been shut down. Years later, after Gary had bought and converted it, some of its authentic charm remained. And it was that charm that had been the deciding factor in choosing it as the backdrop for the Armatrading shoot.
Luckily, when Stevie had arranged to meet with Gary for coffee only two weeks ago to ask him, he’d been more than willing to grant her access to the building. It had been the first time she and Gary had seen each other in months. She’d apologized for that, and also for the fact that it took a photo shoot to bring them together again.
She’d first met Gary at college when he’d briefly dated her roommate. But for some reason, Stevie had clicked better with him than her roommate had, and they’d been fast friends ever since. After obtaining their respective degrees, Gary had moved upstate to his hometown of Danby. And then, a few months later, Nick, the graduate student Stevie had been dating for the last two years of college, had accepted a position with a Danby-based engineering firm. She’d moved with him and landed a job at a local photography studio.
It seemed so long ago that she’d had the time for socializing with Gary and Barb. That was before Nick had been transferred and Stevie had decided to stay in Danby, before she’d left the studio to start one of her own, before the success of Images put greater demands on her time and energy. She hadn’t sat still since. And, regrettably, she hadn’t seen much of Gary and Barb, either.
Gary had changed over the past couple of years, Stevie had thought earlier this evening when she’d spoken to him in his office after the shoot. He’d aged. He’d looked tired and strung out, almost nervous in a way.
She’d suggested he take a holiday, but he’d attempted to assure her that he was fine. She hadn’t met Gary’s friend Allister, but she knew he’d been helping with the company over the past few months. Gary could have Allister take care of things for a couple of weeks, she’d said. When Gary told her he would consider it, Stevie knew he only said so to placate her.
Maybe she’d try talking to him again, Stevie thought when at last she found the black duffel bag and shouldered it. Bracing herself to face the winter storm, she was about to leave when she saw the light upstairs. Gary’s office door was open, and the overhead fluorescents from inside glared coldly against the subdued night-lighting throughout the rest of the building.
Stevie shook her head as she checked her watch. That was Gary. Almost ten o’clock, and he was still at his desk. She was smiling to herself as she took the stairs to the upper-level catwalk and headed toward the office. Gary had always bragged about being able to outdo even a diehard workaholic like Stevie.
Well, if she had her way tonight, she’d convince him to take some time off. Maybe she’d even speak to his friend Allister herself, get him to side with her.
Stevie’s smile dissolved the moment she reached the office doorway. Gary’s name caught in her throat and the room seemed to tilt in slow motion as shock and disbelief washed over her. She saw the devastation of the office. She saw the smears of blood. And then she saw Gary.
He lay in a crumpled heap amongst blood-soaked files and papers; his face was turned away from her. One tentative step was as far as she got before her peripheral vision caught a sudden flash of red. It came from just inside the door to her right. She gasped and spun around, dropping her bag.
In an instant she registered the man’s bloodied hands, gloved fingers gripping the neck of a fire extinguisher. Gary’s blood, she knew. There was more of it on the man’s shirt, and a crimson streak along one high cheekbone. She saw the dark hair, the tanned face and raging black eyes.
He’d killed Gary. And he was going to kill her, too.
Stevie ran.
He yelled something after her, but she couldn’t make it out over the slamming of her hard-soled boots on the steel grating.
And then she felt the vibrations of the catwalk. He was coming after her.
She couldn’t afford to look back. She had to focus on the stairs. Get to the stairs, then through the main loading area and to the side door. She wouldn’t need the keys; pushing the handrail would unlock it. Then the car, and she’d be home free.
Frantically she slid one hand into her coat pocket and grabbed the Volvo’s keys.
Only another five yards to the stairs. She could make it.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her lungs screamed for air. And all the time, the walkway shook beneath her feet.
He had to be right behind her now.
Without slowing, Stevie readied her keys between her fingers. She’d be prepared if she couldn’t outrun him.
But the thought had barely formed in her mind when she felt his hand on her shoulder. The vicelike grip stopped her dead in her tracks.
She heard him say something. It sounded like “Wait,” but she couldn’t be sure. It was now or never. She had to defend herself. She had to swing at him before
