“How do you know they haven’t?”
The woman sighed. “Fair enough. I haven’t seen the papers yet…”
“You knew what happened.” Jamie couldn’t keep the hostility out of his voice. “Why didn’t you call them?”
“I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Great. Well now you’ve talked to me. How long did you say I’ve been here? Eleven hours. That means you’ve given them eleven hours to get away with Scott. I don’t even know your name but you’re nothing to do with me. I just want to go home.”
“I’m not stopping you!” The woman raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “You want to go home? That’s fine! In fact I’ll drive you there myself. OK?”
Jamie nodded.
“Then let’s go.”
The woman went over to the door and the two of them stepped outside. Jamie screwed up his eyes as the sun hit him. The door opened onto a parking lot and he could feel the heat bouncing off the tarmac, roasting his forehead and cheeks. The air smelled of burning rubber and gasoline. The Bluebird Inn was an old-fashioned building, two storeys high, mainly white-painted wood. It had been named after the state bird of Nevada but if anything with wings came close to the place it was more likely to be a plane. The motel had been constructed exactly opposite the runway and even as Jamie stood there, he heard the roar of a jet – though whether it was taking off or landing he couldn’t see.
“You always stay here?” he asked.
The woman glanced at him. “I always stay near airports,” she replied. Why? What did she mean? But Jamie didn’t ask her. Whatever her problems were, they had nothing to do with him.
She had rented a car, a silver four-door Ford Focus, and Jamie saw that she had called someone out early that morning. The window had been repaired. But one of the wing mirrors was missing. That would cost her plenty when she took the car back. He got into the front seat and closed the door.
“Alicia McGuire,” the woman said.
“I’m sorry?”
“You didn’t ask me my name, but I thought you’d like to know it anyway.” She started the engine. “So where are we heading?”
“It’s just off the 80. I can show you.”
They drove together in silence. Jamie looked out of the window as the offices and hotels of Reno slipped past. He knew them all. They had become as familiar to him as the features on his own face. And yet now, somehow, they seemed a long way away. As they drove up the ramp and onto the freeway heading east, he felt a sense of dislocation. It was as if someone had taken a giant pair of scissors the night before and cut a straight line through his life.
The air-conditioning was on full and he let the air current wash over him, separating his clothes from his skin. He hoped it would wake him up. He was still groggy, perhaps from the drug, perhaps from the shock of what had happened. He tried to make sense of the events at the theatre but he couldn’t. At least four men, perhaps more, had come for him and Scott. Two of them had been in the audience. The others had appeared from nowhere. But the whole thing had been carefully planned. That much was obvious. And if it hadn’t been for Jagger, the two of them wouldn’t even have made it out of the theatre.
Frank Kirby’s dog. Jamie remembered the struggle and hoped the animal was all right. Frank was always worrying about the dog … it was old and had a weak heart. Jamie knew that the men in the theatre would have quite happily killed Jagger without so much as a second thought, and these were the same people who had taken Scott. Well Jamie would find them, with or without his uncle’s help. They didn’t know him. They didn’t know what they were up against.
“It’s the next exit,” he said.
Don White and his wife had rented a house in Sparks, a suburb of Reno, just a few miles to the east. Alicia turned off and they descended into a grid system of pretty, tree-lined streets that seemed a world apart from the main city. And yet the poker tables and slot machines had spread out even here. Two huge towers, bookends that didn’t quite match, rose up on the other side of the freeway. This was the Nugget, another enormous casino and hotel complex. Many of the people who lived in Sparks worked there as waiters, croupiers, cleaners or security guards. There was no escaping it. It seemed to look down and sneer at the little community as if to say, I am your master. You owe your livelihood to me.
Every house in Sparks was different and each one stood on its own little plot of land. There were cottages made of brick, wooden bungalows with painted shutters and verandas, villas built in the Spanish style with wrought-iron gates and white stucco walls. Some of the houses had been decorated with wind chimes, dolls and flowerpots. Others had been allowed to fall into disrepair. It just depended who was living there – and it seemed that all sorts of people had chosen this neighbourhood for their home.
Number 402 Tenth Street was at the top end, close to the casino. It stood out at once because it was the most dilapidated building in the street, with a garden that had been allowed to run wild and a rusting barbecue on its side in the grass. It had a porch with a net screen running all the way round, but it was full of holes, as if it had been stabbed. The paint was flaking. The window frames were rusting. A single air-conditioning unit clung to one wall as if by its fingernails. The house was two storeys high with a garage to one side. There was a caravan parked in the driveway and from the look of it, it hadn’t been moved in a long time.
“This is it,” Jamie said.
“I sort of guessed.” Alicia didn’t stop outside. She drove a few doors further down and pulled up beneath an acacia tree. “Park in the shade,” she explained.
Jamie nodded. “Thanks,” he said. He reached for the door handle.
“Wait a minute!” Alicia stared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“It’s OK. This is where I live. You don’t need to come in.”
“It’s not OK! I can’t just leave you here. I want to see you’re safe.”
“Then wait in the car–”
“No!” Alicia turned off the engine. “I’m coming in with you.” Jamie opened his mouth to argue but she stopped him. “You’ve been away all night,” she went on. “Maybe it would help you if you had someone to explain what happened – to back up your story.”
Jamie thought for a moment, then nodded. The two of them got out of the car and walked back along the pavement, passing the house next to the one where he lived. It belonged to a family with two children – girls – about ten and twelve years old. Jamie often saw them playing on the front lawn and their bicycles were there now, parked next to a swing. But he had never spoken to them, not in all the time he had been at Sparks. The girls had probably been told to avoid him and Scott. Nobody ever went near number 402. It was as if the whole neighbourhood knew that these weren’t people you wanted to meet.
He climbed three concrete steps and crossed the porch to the front door. He was glad now that this woman was with him. There was no way that Don or Marcie could blame him for what had happened the night before, but the trouble was that the two of them were likely to strike out first and ask questions later. He had disappeared for more than twelve hours. At least Alicia would give him time to explain why. They wouldn’t dare hurt him while she was there.
At the last minute he stopped and rang the doorbell. It had suddenly occurred to him that he couldn’t just walk in, not with a complete stranger. It wasn’t midday yet. Marcie probably wouldn’t be dressed. He listened for any sound of life, a door slamming open or the tramp of feet coming down the stairs, but there was nothing. As usual, the television was turned on in the front room. That didn’t mean anything. Marcie switched it on first thing in the morning and sometimes left it on all day, even when she was playing music on the radio in the same room. He could hear a man’s voice reading a news bulletin. He rang a second time. There was no answer.
“They’re not in,” Jamie said.
“Do you want to wait for them?”
“Yes.” Jamie nodded. “You don’t have to worry about
me. You can leave me here if you want to.”
“No. I’ll come in too.”
She was determined. Jamie shrugged and opened the door. He had known it wouldn’t be locked. It never was. There was nothing worth stealing in the house and none of the furniture belonged to them anyway. Don had rented the place through an agency. The owners were in another state, and whoever they were, they certainly hadn’t been house-proud. The carpets were thin, the wallpaper peeling and the light bulbs hung without any shades. The two boys had mattresses on the floor in one of the rooms upstairs. Don and Marcie had a sagging bed next door. In the kitchen, there was a table and four chairs. That was about it. The house was little more than a shell. If it had been abandoned altogether, nobody would have noticed any difference.
“…with less than five months until election day and still no lead opening up between the two candidates, the pressure is most definitely on. Who will be the next president of the United States? It seems that only time will tell. This is Ed Radway reporting from Phoenix, Arizona…”
There was no audience in the room for the television presenter who chatted on regardless, searching for eye contact with two empty seats.
“This is where you live?” Alicia couldn’t keep the dismay out of her voice.
“We just rent it,” Jamie explained. He was feeling ashamed although he had no reason to. “You don’t have to stay,” he added.
“Excuse me! Are you still trying to get rid of me?”
“No.”
But he was. He didn’t like anyone seeing him here. He didn’t like admitting that this was where he lived. Alicia was looking at him and Jamie realized that he had barely spoken to her since they had left Reno – and when he had, it was only to be rude. And yet what she had said back at the hotel was true. She had rescued him. She had risked her life, driving through gunfire. And he hadn’t even thanked her. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Forget it.” Alicia looked around her. “You’re right. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone at home,” she said. “What does this woman – Marcie – do for a living?”
“She doesn’t really do anything.”
“So how did you–”
But Alicia never finished the question. They both saw it at the same time. The image on the television had changed. A thin boy with long, dark hair and pale skin was facing them. With a strange jolt, a sense of unreality, Jamie realized he was looking at himself.
“…wanted in connection with the murder of his legal guardian, Don White,” the reporter was saying.
The picture divided into two. Jamie and Scott side by side. They were obviously twins, but on the television screen they didn’t look so identical.
“Scott and Jamie Tyler are identical twins. Although they are only fourteen years old, they are said to be armed and dangerous. The public is urged not to approach them.”
“This is crazy…” Jamie whispered.
“Sssh!” Alicia was staring at the screen.
The picture changed to the Reno Playhouse. There must have been four or five reporters standing outside, each one with their own personal microphone and cameraman, clamouring for attention. Their voices could be heard in the background as the local reporter – a blonde, excited-looking woman – told the story.
“Scott and Jamie Tyler were performing here, at this theatre in downtown Reno,” she was saying. “They were part of a so-called mind-reading act that used simple trickery to fool their audience. According to witnesses, both boys were heavily involved in substance abuse and last night it seems they lost control, stealing the gun from their guardian, Don White, and turning it against him…”
“It’s all lies!” Jamie exclaimed. He turned to Alicia, suddenly afraid that she wouldn’t believe him. “What she’s saying. None of it’s true!”
“Jamie…”
“He didn’t even have a gun!”
“Listen to me, Jamie–”
But at that moment there was a blast of sirens outside the house that could mean only one thing. The police had arrived.
As far as Jamie was concerned, it was all just another bad dream, worse even than the one he’d had the night before. It seemed to him that one impossibility after another was piling up on him and he almost expected the grey cowboy from his dream to jump out at him from behind the sofa, just for good measure. He heard the screech of tyres, the sound of cars pulling up in the street. At the same time, the squawk of radio transmitters filled the air. Doors opened and slammed shut. Somebody somewhere called out an order. “This way!”
It was Alicia who took control of the situation. As Jamie stood, rooted to the spot, she grabbed hold of him and suddenly she was very close.
“We have to move,” she said urgently. “You can’t be found here.”
“But…”
“You heard what they said on the news. That’s what they all think. You’ve been set up! If the police get you, you’re finished. We have to go.”
“Go where?”
Jamie turned towards the front door but it was already far too late. He heard footsteps coming up the drive. The front patio had been laid with gravel and the boots crunched against it. Alicia understood. That way was blocked. “Into the kitchen!” she commanded.
Jamie was angry with himself. The situation was completely out of control. If Scott had been here, he would have known what to do. Once again Jamie was weak and helpless, allowing himself to be pushed around … this time by a woman he had only met a few hours before. Fortunately Alicia had taken charge. A door led into the kitchen. She pulled it open and they went through. And that was when they realized that they hadn’t been on their own in the house after all.
Marcie was lying on the floor and it was obvious – even without the pool of blood – that she was dead. Her arms and legs were spread-eagled almost comically and her cheek was pressed against the linoleum as if she was trying to listen to something in the cellar below. In life, she had been a short, stocky woman. Death had somehow compressed her even more so that she didn’t look quite human. A fat, stuffed doll. But somebody had shot her twice and let the stuffing out.
Jamie tried to say something but the words wouldn’t come. He heard the front door open on the other side of the living room and realized that the police were already in the house. They hadn’t bothered to ring the bell. Somebody muttered something but it was impossible to make out the words against the noise of the TV. Meanwhile, Alicia was looking around. A pair of French windows led into the back garden but she didn’t know if they were locked or not and she didn’t have time to find out. There was another door right next to her. Grabbing Jamie, she pulled him out of the kitchen and into a narrow utility room. There was a washing machine, a drier, a couple of shelves of canned food. She stopped and held up a hand, warning Jamie not to move. At the same moment, the police entered the kitchen.
“Oh, Jesus!” Jamie heard one of the policeman gagging.
“That sure is a beauty.” A second voice.
“Looks like the kids came home last night.”
There was a way out of the utility room. Another door at the far end. Alicia signalled and she and Jamie tiptoed over to it. There had to be at least three policemen in the kitchen, separated from them only by a thin partition wall. The door was locked but the key was there. She reached out and turned it…
Just as a policeman walked into the room behind them. He stood, staring at them, like something straight out of a Hollywood film, with his black, short-sleeved shirt and black shades that completely hid his eyes. He was young and white and he worked out. The ugly tools of his trade dangled from his belt: gun, CS gas canister, handcuffs and baton. For a moment he didn’t say anything. Then his hand dropped down to the gun.
Jamie had been standing behind Alicia. Suddenly he stepped forward so that he stood directly opposite the policeman. She saw him look up and there was something in the boy’s face that she couldn’t recognize, a sort of intensity that seemed almost unworldly.
“There’s nob
ody here,” he said quietly. “The room’s empty.”
The policeman stared at him, as if puzzled by what he had just been told. Alicia waited for him to say something. But he didn’t. His eyes were vacant. He nodded slowly and walked out again.
Jamie and Alicia heard voices in the kitchen as the officer rejoined the other men.
“Anything?”
“No. There’s nobody there. It’s just an empty room.”
“Hey – Josh. Why don’t you tell the paramedics to get in here? They can start clearing up.”
Jamie glanced at Alicia, as if challenging her to ask questions. But this wasn’t the time. Alicia opened the back door and the two of them passed through into the garage. It was empty apart from a rusty lawnmower and a deep-freeze cabinet. Don had taken his car to the Reno Playhouse and, of course, it had never been driven back. The two doors were closed but there was a window at the back. Jamie opened it and they climbed out. Now the garage was between them and any police officers who might be standing guard at the front. Jamie made sure there was nobody around, then slipped behind the neighbouring house, making his way through the garden where the two girls had played. Only when he was on the other side of the house did he cut back to the street. Alicia’s car was parked right in front of him.
He took one last look at the house where he had lived for the past six months. The entrance was already taped off. There were police officers everywhere: in the porch, on the front lawn, carrying equipment in and out. Three police cars were parked in the street. Distant sirens announced that more were on the way.
Nobody noticed as Jamie and Alicia crossed the pavement and got into the car. And if anyone had turned round, they would assume that the two of them were neighbours. It was only when they were inside the car – and before she had started the engine – that Alicia turned to him.
“What was that?” she demanded. “What did you do to that policeman? How did you make him… ?” Her voice trailed away.
“I can’t tell you,” Jamie replied. “I don’t know what I did. And it doesn’t matter. Because I’m never going to do it again.”