“What’s the passcode?”

“2665.”

I punched it in, touched the New York City area code and the first three digits of Mom’s number, then changed my mind and made a different call.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“I’m in a house with two dead people,” I said. “One was murdered and the other one fell down the stairs.”

“Is this a joke, son?”

“I wish it was. The woman who fell down the stairs kidnapped me and brought me here.”

“What is your location?” Now the woman on the other end sounded engaged.

“It’s at the end of a private road outside of Renfield, ma’am. I don’t know how many miles or if there’s a street number.” Then I thought of what I should have said right away. “It’s Donald Marsden’s house. He’s the man the woman murdered. She’s the one who fell down the stairs. Her name is Liz Dutton. Elizabeth.”

She asked me if I was okay, then told me to sit tight, officers were on the way. I sat tight and called my mother. That was a much longer conversation, and not always too clear because both of us were blubbering. I told her everything except about the deadlight thing. She would have believed me, but one of us having nightmares was enough. I just said Liz tripped chasing me and fell and broke her neck.

During our conversation, Donald Marsden came down the stairs and stood by the wall. One dead with the top of his head gone, the other dead with her head on sideways. Quite the pair they made. I told you this was a horror story, you were warned about that, but I was able to look at them without too much distress, because the worst horror was gone. Unless I wanted it back, that was. If I did, it would come.

All I had to do was whistle.

After fifteen very long minutes, I began to hear whooping sirens in the distance. After twenty-five, red and blue lights filled the windows. There were at least half a dozen cops, a regular posse. At first they were only dark shapes filling the door, blotting out any last traces of daylight, assuming there were any left. One of them asked where the goddam light switches were. Another one said “Got ’em,” then swore when nothing happened.

“Who’s here?” another called. “Any persons here, identify yourselves!”

I stood up and raised my hands, although I doubted if they could see anything but a dark shape moving around. “I’m here! My hands are up! The lights went out! I’m the kid who called!”

Flashlights came on, conflicting beams that strobed around and then centered on me. One of the cops came forward. A woman. She swerved around Liz, surely without knowing why she was doing it. At first her hand was on the butt of her holstered gun, but when she saw me she let go of it. Which was a relief.

She took a knee. “Are you alone in the house, son?”

I looked at Liz. I looked at Marsden, standing well away from the woman who had killed him. Even Teddy had arrived. He stood in the doorway the cops had vacated, perhaps drawn by the commotion, maybe just on a whim. The Three Undead Stooges.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m the only one here.”

65

The lady cop put an arm around my shoulders and led me outside. I started shivering. She probably thought it was from the night air but of course it wasn’t. She slipped off her jacket and put it over my shoulders, but that wasn’t good enough. I put my arms down the too-long sleeves and hugged it against me. It was heavy with cop-things in the pockets, but that was okay with me. The weight felt good.

There were three cruisers in the courtyard, two flanking Liz’s little car and one behind it. As we stood there, another car pulled in, this one an SUV with RENFIELD CHIEF OF POLICE on the side. I guessed it would be a holiday for drunks and speeders downtown, because most of the town’s force had to be right here.

Another cop came out the door and joined the lady cop. “What happened in there, kid?”

Before I could answer, the lady cop put a finger over my lips. I didn’t mind; it actually felt sort of good. “No questions, Dwight. This boy’s in shock. He needs medical attention.”

A burly man in a white shirt with a badge hung around his neck—the Chief, I assumed—had gotten out of the SUV and was in time to hear this last. “You take him, Caroline. Get him looked at. Are there confirmed dead?”

“There’s a body at the foot of the stairs. Looks like a woman. I can’t confirm she’s deceased, but from the way her head’s turned—”

“Oh, she’s dead, all right,” I told them, then started crying.

“Go on, Caro,” the Chief said. “Don’t bother going all the way to County, either. Take him to MedNow. No questions until I get there. Also until we’ve got an adult who’s responsible for him. Get his name?”

“Not yet,” Officer Caroline said. “It’s been crazy. There are no lights in there.”

The Chief bent toward me, hands on his upper thighs, making me feel like I was five again. “What’s your handle, son?”

So much for no questions, I thought. “Jamie Conklin, and it’s my mother who’s coming. Her name is Tia Conklin. I already called her.”

“Uh-huh.” He turned to Dwight. “Why are there no lights? All the houses on the way up here had power.”

“Don’t know, Chief.”

I said, “They went out when she was running down the stairs after me. I think it’s why she fell.”

I could see he wanted to ask me more, but he just told Officer Caroline to get rolling. As she eased her way out of the courtyard and started down the curving driveway, I felt in my pants pockets and found Liz’s phone, although I didn’t remember putting it there. “Can I call my mom again and tell her we’re going to the doc-in-the-box?”

“Sure.”

As I made the call, I realized that if Officer Caroline found out I was using Liz’s phone, I could be in trouble. She might well ask how come I knew the dead woman’s passcode, and I wouldn’t be able to give a good answer. In any case, she didn’t ask.

Mom said she was in an Uber (which would probably cost a small fortune, so it was good the agency was back on a profitable basis) and they were making excellent time. She asked if I was really all right. I told her I really was, and that Officer Caroline was taking me to MedNow in Renfield, but just to get checked out. She told me not to answer any questions until she got there, and I said I wouldn’t.

“I’m going to call Monty Grisham,” she said. “He doesn’t do this kind of legal work, but he’ll know someone who does.”

“I don’t need a lawyer, Mom.” Officer Caroline gave me a quick sideways glance when I said that. “I didn’t do anything.”

“If Liz murdered someone and you were there, you need one. There’ll be an inquest…press…I don’t know what-all. This is my fault. I brought that bitch into our house.” Then she spat: “Fucking Liz!”

“She was good at first.” This was true, but all at once I felt very, very tired. “I’ll see you when you get here.”

I ended the call and asked Officer Caroline how long it would take us to get to the doc-in-the-box. She said twenty minutes. I looked over my shoulder, through the mesh blocking off the back seat, suddenly sure that Liz would be there. Or—so much worse—Therriault. But it was empty.