Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

“You bloody sod. For one night, I said.” The man looks at Caitlin, eyes glinting through the slanted eyeholes cut in the balaclava. “Has he touched you?”

Caitlin is certain that the man in the black balaclava is Jonathan Sands, but given the circumstances, letting him know that could be fatal. “Only to put this collar on me,” she says. “He’s raped her for

two days straight, though. She has some serious infections, her leg and her urinary tract. She needs an emergency room right away.”

Quinn laughs, then cuts off the sound with a cough.

The man in the black balaclava takes two steps toward Quinn and leans forward as though to speak, but then his right hand lashes out and cracks the bridge of Quinn’s nose. Blood erupts from the Irishman’s face, and he topples backward, holding his nose with both hands.

The third man watches without reaction.

Quinn gets to his knees but remains doubled over, blood pouring through his hands. Sands extends his arm to help him up, but when Quinn takes the hand, Sands snaps his boot into Quinn’s rib cage with a crunch. The force of the blow lifts Quinn bodily from the cement. He drops flat on his belly, gasping for air.

“Get up, you piece of shite.”

Quinn gets slowly to his knees, covering his belly like a beaten dog preparing for another kick, then slides up the wall behind him until he’s erect.

Sands jerks his head toward Caitlin. “Where’s her clothes?”

“Over there. In the cabinet.”

“Get ’em. And take that fuckin’ collar off her.”

“Why? Are you trading her?”

“Get her bloody clothes. And keep your mouth shut while you’re about it. Jaysus.”

Quinn goes to the cabinet and retrieves Caitlin’s jeans and T-shirt. “You broke my ribs,” he grunts, as he hands them to her.

“I ought to give you a proper digging,” Sands mutters. “You ignore another order and I'’ll have Liam kneecap you. I’'ve half a mind to do it here and now. Got a drill in the lorry.”

Quinn holds up both hands, silently pleading for mercy.

“What about it, ladies?” Sands asks. “You want to hear this bastard scream?”

“We just want to go home,” Caitlin says. “We don'’t care about you or him or whatever you’re doing.”

A toothy smile flashes through the mouth of the balaclava. “That'’s what you say now. But you’ll feel different later.”

“What are you going to do with us?”

Sands sniffs and keeps looking at her, but says nothing. Slowly, his eyes travel from her breasts to her ankles, then back to her eyes. As this happens, she realizes that there is no “us” for Sands or Quinn. In their minds, Linda is already dead.

“You’ll be home in twenty-four hours, good as new,” Sands says. “That'’s a promise.”

“I don'’t believe you.”

“You don'’t have to. It’s the truth.”

“What about Linda?”

Sands glances to his right, where Linda remains bent over the table, sobbing through her nose, covering the duct tape with glistening mucus.

“She’ll be looked after. She can’t go back home, though. Not right away. She’ll have to start over somewhere else. We’ll either give her a job on one of our other boats or see she has the money to start somewhere else. Money’s no problem.”

Caitlin knows he’s lying, but there’s nothing to be done. She wishes Linda believed what he was saying, but who knows better than Linda Church how worthless Sands’s promises are?

Quinn takes a key from atop the cabinet, then comes over and unlocks the thick leather collar from Caitlin’s neck. He’s still naked from the waist down, but his erection’s gone, his penis shrunk to a nub.

“Go ahead,” Sands says to Caitlin.

“What?”

“Kick him. Right in the bollocks. He deserves it for being so bloody stupid.”

As Quinn darts out of reach of her feet, Caitlin recalls what he asked Sands:

Are you trading her?

Penn must be trying to negotiate her release by trading something for her. What? Could he be onto Ben Li’s private insurance policy? During the night, Linda told her that Quinn had several times asked her what “The birds know” might mean. Apparently Ben Li had screamed this phrase several times as he was being interrogated belowdecks on the

Magnolia Queen.

Maybe Penn has cracked this mysterious code—

“Put her back in the office,” Sands says to Quinn, who’s pulling on his pants.

“What about the other one?”

“Wherever you had her before. And get her some fucking medicine. Human medicine. You know where to get it.”

Quinn looks puzzled by this order, but he signals his willingness to obey with a nod.

“I'’ll take Masters,” Sands says, motioning Caitlin toward the storeroom door.

Her door is the first outside the storeroom, the only other room with four walls. Now she can see the rest of the kennel, and it’s just as Linda described it, two rows of Cyclone-fence stalls, the cats housed in the one nearest the main door.

Sands pauses outside her room, waiting for her to enter first. Caitlin looks through the eyeholes of the balaclava. “Will you give Linda her clothes back? Please?”

Sands stares into her eyes for a long time. Then he shouts, “Give Linda her clothes!” and prods Caitlin into her cell.

Caitlin goes to the corner and squats over her bloody footprints, but not in time. Sands grabs her wrist and pulls her across the floor. Staring down at the prints, he looks around the walls, then up at the roof. An appreciative smile shows through the mouth hole.

“Seamus?” he calls.

“Yeah?”

“Get those fucking cats out of here.”

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

“What am I supposed to do with them?”

“What do I care? Just get ’em outside the fence, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Sands takes a strand of Caitlin’s hair between his fingers, rubs it softly. “Very fine,” he says in the tone of a man judging an animal pelt.

She pulls away but makes a point of not jerking back, so as not to appear afraid.

Sands smiles again, then looks back at the bent tin of the roof.

“Smart girl,” he says. “Cage is a lucky man.”

CHAPTER

55

When I come out of the district attorney’s office, I find Kelly sitting on the concrete wall by the courthouse, beneath the shade of a gnarled oak. His rented 4Runner is parked in front of him, but when he points at it, I shake my head and sit beside him on the wall.

“What’s the deal?” he asks.

“Shad has the thumb drive, but he’s not giving it up unless I get more leverage.”

“He admitted having it?”

“No. But he’s got it. I’d like to take you back in there and sweat it out of him, but he is the DA. Two minutes after we left him, we’d be in there.”

Kelly looks to where I'm pointing, a tall pile of red brick with slit windows above the sheriff’s department across the street. He nods. “Okay, what’s plan B?”

“While Shad’s at work, I want you to search his house. If you don'’t find it there, come back to his office after work and search that. Can you get his safe open?”

“No problem.”

“Okay. We need to check Ben Li’s place too. They burned it down, but we should check the yard, anything. I’'ve got Chief Logan looking into any other property he might have had. Storage units, safe-deposit boxes, like that. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“You trust Logan?” Kelly asks, as two women come down the courthouse steps and turn our way.

“As much as anyone in this town.” One of the women waves. I do the same, acting as if I recognize her.

“What about you? What are you going to do?”

“Run the bluff of my life.”

“What’s your play?”

“The only way to increase the odds of Caitlin living through the night is to make Hull think I'm willing to blow his case wide-open if they hurt her. That they’ve pushed me so far I no longer give a shit about Po or anything else.”

“That shouldn’t be a tough sell. If the time limit Labry gave you is right—thirty-six hours—and he was supposed to tell you that this morning, the Po sting must be set up for tomorrow. Tomorrow night at the latest. Hull will be sweating bullets until then.”

“Exactly. But I have to be careful. I can’t demand that they trade Caitlin for something I don'’t have, and I don'’t want Sands to panic. He could kill her and split.”

“He’ll figure the moment Caitlin’s loose, she’ll go public anyway.”

“Right. What I want is to know Caitlin’s alive.”

Kelly scratches his chin. “Proof of life. It’s like you’re keeping your cool, but you know better than to trust Sands and Quinn. Do you think Hull knew they were going to take her?”

I shake my head. “He would have tried to stop that. I think they panicked and did it, then presented him a fait accompli—if they’ve told him at all.”

“So what will you ask for? A phone call from her?”

“They won'’t do that. We could backtrack with the cell company and figure out where she called from.”

“A photo with today’s newspaper is standard. They could text it to you.”

“I'm thinking of something even faster and simpler.”

“What?”

“A question only she would know the answer to.”

Kelly gives me a thumbs-up. “Do it.”

I speed-dial Hull, but he doesn’'t answer. There’s a click that I think is his voice mail, but suddenly his voice comes from the phone.

“Yes? Who is this?”

“Penn Cage.”

“I'm in a meeting. What is it?”

“You’d better take a bathroom break if you want Edward Po’s scalp on your wall.”

“Don’t use that name on an open line.”

“Buddy, I'm sixty seconds from calling the FBI and telling it to their kidnap squad.”

“Kidnap squad?” Hull sounds genuinely shocked.

“Is that news to you?”

“I don'’t know what you’re talking about,” he says under his breath. “But I told you, the FBI is part of my task force.”

“

Part

of the FBI is part of your task force. The National Security Branch, I'm guessing. And the Money Laundering Task Force. But I know how the FBI works kidnappings, Hull. Five minutes after I call the New Orleans and Jackson field offices, they’ll call the Puzzle Palace, and you’ll have a world-class clusterfuck on your hands.”

“Give me just a minute,” Hull says softly. “I'’ll be right back.”

I hear shuffling, then a closing door. “Cage, I don'’t know what the hell you’re up to, but we’re into endgame on this. You’re begging for an obstruction-of-justice charge.”

I laugh out loud. “Last night Caitlin Masters was kidnapped from her home. A sworn officer of the law was almost killed protecting her. I don'’t know how much you know about this, and I don'’t give a shit. I want proof that she’s alive.”

“How can I—”

“Do you have any idea who that girl’s father is? Clinton Masters owns twentysome newspapers across the Southeast. He’s got Rupert Murdoch on speed dial. If I pick up the phone and tell him what’s happened, you can kiss Edward Po smack on the ass as he flutters out of your net.

Capisce?

”

Kelly’s smiling and nodding encouragement.

“Let’s just calm down,” Hull temporizes. “If there has been a kidnapping, you should know this: Going public sometimes results in the death of the hostage. The Bureau can tell you that.”