Double Take

“Look, as I told you, the police have only a whole lot of coincidences, bits and pieces, conjecture, but nothing to stick. If Makepeace kills Julia, he kills her. It won’t matter, not in the long run. They still won’t have anything on us.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but she stopped her pacing and crossed her arms over her breasts, hugging herself.

“What about the alarm system?”

“The guy at Berenger Security said they’d get the system up again, said they’d do a thorough investigation since it was most of the building this time. They got hold of three of our neighbors, two others weren’t home, but none of them had even noticed. They said they couldn’t understand how it happened.”

“It’s going on midnight, Thomas. You’re tired, come to bed. There’s nothing more to be done tonight.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Dix heard the computer click off.

The lights went out. Their footsteps receded. Dix waited, listening, for another ten minutes. He’d heard enough, seen enough.

Dix heard no sound at all. The Pallacks were upstairs in the bedroom. And he was alone downstairs.

Dix eased out from behind the curtain and felt his way slowly around chairs, lamps, and a sofa until he got to the door. He looked out at empty darkness. He took several more steps, paused, listened intently again. He saw the red blink of the alarm system on the hallway wall. The security company had gotten the system running again. Thank the good Lord they didn’t suspect a burglar yet. Maybe they would, once they investigated. All he had to do was disarm it and leave. He stepped down the hallway. “Stop right there or I’ll shoot you!”

Dix froze. Thomas Pallack stood not more than three feet behind him. Dix knew he couldn’t see him clearly, didn’t know who he was. He pictured Pallack, about four inches shorter than he was, pictured him holding the gun in his right hand, about chest high, straight out. It was either run like mad and pray he didn’t get shot in the back, or—

Dix whirled around, kicked out with his right foot, and clipped the gun in Pallack’s hand. He heard it land hard on the oak floor and slide, until it finally hit the baseboard with a hard thud.

Dix was on him in the next instant, one clean shot to his jaw and Pallack was out. He leaped up, and stared down at the shadowy form of the old man who’d murdered his wife, and was fiercely glad he hadn’t run. He heard Charlotte yell from the upstairs landing, “Thomas, what’s wrong?”

An upstairs light came on. There was no time to deal with the alarm—Dix was out the door in a couple of seconds, the alarm ringing wildly in his ears. He knew that with the alarm system blaring, the cops would be there fast. He bolted down the stairs and out the front door.

He ran, hugging the trees and shadows. He heard a cop car. Not more than two minutes had passed. Yep, the cops were fast to a 911 from an upscale neighborhood.

He waited, listening to the doors of the cop car open and slam shut. He heard men’s voices, running feet. He waited another minute. Just as he was ready to run again to his car, he heard a deep voice say close to his ear, “I don’t think you want to move at all. I don’t know who you are, but I’ll find out soon enough, won’t I?”

A cop, Dix thought, and relaxed a bit. This guy was good, moved as silent as the moon climbing up the sky. Without turning, he said, “Look, I can explain this. Call Captain Frank Paulette of the SFPD. He’ll vouch for me.” He started to turn, to face the cop, let him see he wasn’t a threat to him, but the man said, “Move again and you’ll get a bullet through your ear, you got me?”

“Okay, I’m not about to move. I’m Dixon Noble, a sheriff from Virginia. I’m working with the local police. My wallet is in my jacket pocket. If you pull it out you can see my driver’s license.”

“I have a feeling if I go hunting for your wallet you’re going to come at me. You figure you’re a big guy, strong, ready to go, ready to tune me up. With my luck lately, you just might manage it.”

Dix felt the gun muzzle press harder against the back of his neck. “That surprises you, doesn’t it, that I can tell what you’d do by only looking at you? I don’t have a silencer on my gun and I really don’t want to risk the noise, not that you’d be around to hear it, of course.”

There was something in his voice, something faintly British, and Dix knew in that instant who it was.

The man behind him laughed. Dix felt the flutter of his breath in his ear.

“Imagine a cop breaking into a private citizen’s house—and it’s not just any house, is it? It’s a penthouse owned by that distinguished gentleman Thomas Pallack. Now that doesn’t look too good, does it, Sheriff?”