Lockdown is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Laurie R. King
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
BANTAM BOOKS and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Some material in Lockdown has been adapted from short stories, including: “Paleta Man” (Irreconcilable Differences, ed. Lia Matera, HarperCollins, 2001); “The Salt Pond” (Wild Crimes, ed. Dana Stabenow, Signet, 2004); “The Fool” (The Blue Religion, ed. Michael Connelly, Little, Brown & Co, 2008); and “The House” (Unusual Suspects, ed. Dana Stabenow, Ace Trade, 2008).
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Names: King, Laurie R., author.
Title: Lockdown : a novel of suspense / Laurie R. King.
Description: New York : Bantam, 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017004125| ISBN 9780804177931 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780804177948 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Psychological fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Historical. | FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Traditional British. | FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. | GSAFD: Suspense fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3561.I4813 L64 2017 | DDC 813/.54—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017004125
Ebook ISBN 9780804177948
randomhousebooks.com
Book design by Caroline Cunningham, adapted for ebook
Title page image: freeimage.com/loaf
Cover design: Carlos Beltrán
Cover photograph: EyeEm
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
From the notes of Dr. Cassandra Henry
Career Day: Guadalupe Middle School: The Dark Hours
12:13 A.M: Brendan
12:14 A.M: Thomas
12:31 A.M: Linda
12:40 A.M: Sofia
2:21 A.M: Brendan
2:23 A.M: Thomas
2:45 A.M: Chaco
5:17 A.M: Gordon
5:34 A.M: Olivia
5:45 A.M: Linda
5:50 A.M: Chaco
5:52 A.M: Tío
6:02 A.M: #speakforbee
6:55 A.M: Guadalupe Middle School
Career Day: Before the Beginning
107 Days Ago October 31: Olivia
Career Day: Dawn to First Bell
6:58: Linda
Thirty Years Ago: Gordon: his story (1)
7:00: Brendan
7:02: Olivia
7:03: Mina
7:03: Nick
7:04: Tío
7:08: Linda
Thirty Years Ago: Gordon: his story (2)
7:14: Linda
7:15
7:15: Mina
7:16: Tío
7:18: Chaco
Thirty Years Ago: Gordon: his story (3)
7:20: Brendan
7:20: Coach Gilbert
January: Nick: his story (1)
7:20
7:20: Olivia
7:20: Chaco
7:21: Linda
7:31: Chaco
7:35: Linda
7:37: Coach Gilbert
7:38: Linda
7:40: Brendan
Eleven Months Ago: Olivia: her story
7:51: Mina
7:52: Olivia
7:59: Linda
Career Day: Dream Time
8:00
8:01: Gordon
8:03: Mina
8:03: Brendan
8:03: Linda
8:03: Tío
8:03: Olivia
8:10: Gordon
8:19: Chaco
8:23: Nick
January: Nick: his story (2)
8:35: Nick
8:40: Linda
Career Day: Cold Reality
8:55: Linda
8:56: Mina
9:00
9:01: Chaco
9:02: Linda
9:06: Nick: his story (3)
9:07: Gordon
9:08: Brendan
9:15: Chaco
9:42: Linda
9:57: Dr. Henry
9:59: Olivia
Career Day: Threads Join
10:03: Linda
10:03: Gordon
10:03: Olivia
10:03: Brendan
10:03: Mina
10:03: Nick
10:03: Tío
10:03: Chaco
10:03
10:50: Olivia
10:50: Linda
11:18: Linda
11:19
11:20: Olivia
11:50
11:52: Brendan
11:54: Linda
11:54: Gordon
11:55
11:58: Mina
11:59: Coach Gilbert
12:04: Dr. Henry
12:19: Brendan
12:20: Mina
12:21: Olivia
12:22
12:30: Gordon
12:37: Linda
12:38: Nick
12:38: Mina
12:39: Chaco
12:40: Linda
12:41: Mina
12:41
12:41: Brendan
12:42: Linda
12:42: Olivia
12:42
Career Day: Lockdown
12:44: Olivia
12:44: Nick
12:45: Olivia
12:45: Mina
12:45: Brendan
12:45: Olivia
12:45: Linda
12:46: Olivia
12:47: Linda
12:47
12:47: Gordon
12:47
12:48: Gordon
Two Years Ago: Tío: his story
12:48: Gordon
12:48: Linda
12:49: Gordon
12:50: Linda
12:50: Gordon
That Morning: Tom Atcheson: his story
12:51: Gordon
12:51: Linda
12:51: Tom
12:52: Brendan
12:52: Nick
12:52: Linda
12:52: Brendan
12:52: Gordon
12:53: Brendan
12:53: Chaco
12:53: Sofia
12:53: Brendan
12:53: Gordon
Career Day: After the End
Thirty-two Minutes Later (1:25): Gordon
Four Months Later (June 10, Graduation Day, 6:40 P.M.): Linda
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Novels by Laurie R. King
About the Author
From the notes of Dr. Cassandra Henry, school psychologist, turned over to the San Felipe Police Department following the Guadalupe Middle School incident.
LIVES COMING TOGETHER
SUM OF ITS PARTS
A COMMUNITY BUILT OF PIECES
GUADALUPE STAFF:
Linda McDonald—principal, caring, smart. Listens.
(Gordon Kendrick, Linda’s husband—school volunteer. British, 70s.)
“Tío” (Jaime Rivera Cruz)—school janitor, hired October. What was he before??
“Coach” (Joseph) Gilbert—Nick Clarkson’s granddad, coach & math teacher. Retired—temp position since January.
STUDENTS:
Nick Clarkson (6th grade)—client.
Brendan Atcheson (8th grade)—basketball, v. good-looking. Chip on his shoulder?
“Mina” (Yasmina) Santos (8th grade)—friend of many esp. Sofia. Not Mexican-American.
Sofia
Rivas (8th grade)—basketball last year, not since sister Gloria Rivas was killed.
“Chaco” (Santiago) Cabrera (7th grade)—cousin to Taco Alvarez. Tries hard to live up to it.
(Bee Cuomo—was 6th-grader. Friends: Nick, others??)
CAREER DAY GUEST SPEAKERS:
Thomas Atcheson—Brendan’s father, biggest Name in San Felipe: problem for B?
12:13 A.M.
Brendan
Brendan dropped to one knee in the dim alley, watching for motion at the far end. He’d already been hit once. Plus that, he was low on ammo—but his pulse was racing so fast his finger wanted to jerk down on the trigger, spraying the filthy bricks and Dumpsters with his last bullets. (And that would be the end of everything.)
The Enemy darted from left to right, bringing a compulsive twitch that wasted a couple of rounds, but Brendan forced his finger to pull back. The guy’d have to come out to fire, and when he did, crimson splatter would fill the—
“Brendan? Brendan James Atcheson, if you’re still playing that goddamn game…”
The alley vanished into black screen as Brendan leapt in the direction of bed. But as he moved, his foot brushed the basketball sitting on the floor. He nearly went back for it—the thing was rolling directly toward the door—but he couldn’t risk it, just dove under the covers and jerked them to his ear like a child. As if blankets could be armor against the approaching threat.
He forced his face to go slack, struggled to control his breathing. When the light from the doorway spilled against his eyelids, his heart beat faster than when he’d been facing death in the alleyway. He waited: for Sir to step inside, lay his hand on the warm game console, spot the basketball in motion. For Sir to…
12:14 A.M.
Thomas
Tom closed his son’s door quietly. He knew perfectly well Brendan wasn’t asleep. He probably should have gone in and forced a confrontation, in spite of the hour. But if Tom had to deal with the boy’s attitude on top of everything else—well, even a reasonable man had his limits. And that “goddamn” he’d let slip just now…
Only the desperate swore.
Yes, a confrontation with Brendan was necessary—and soon: the boy was getting way too full of himself. Just not tonight.
Tonight he simply needed Brendan to go the hell to sleep, so he could focus on tomorrow. Conquering adversity was what Thomas Atcheson did, the thing that had carved him a place at the top of a cutthroat industry. Give him a locked door, he’d find another way. Show him a dead end, he’d chisel a path through it. Present him with strikes, incompetence, and a Byzantine permit process, and he’d still manage to build a campus that won awards.
His competitors had learned that, to their detriment; his former partner, even his ex-wife. The current situation was no different, no matter how high the stakes. There was sure to be a loose end in this maddening tangle of emergencies, threats, and frustrations. Absolutely had to be. All he needed was to find the end of that thread, and it would lead him to the solution.
The boy didn’t know how good he had it, being able to sleep.
12:31 A.M.
Linda
Sleep was proving every bit as elusive as Linda had feared. She’d thought about the pills—but the previous three months had taught her that on a day like tomorrow, chemical grogginess would be worse than mere fatigue. At least there was a mix of lacerations keeping her awake tonight, in place of the usual haunting regrets. It was almost a relief to stare at the dim ceiling and anticipate the things that could go wrong, letting her thoughts toss and turn instead of her body.
Paper cups will be fine, right? Nobody expects proper cups and glasses—and lunch itself will be off real plates. Wait: did I warn the speakers against wearing gang colors? Like that substitute who’d turned up in a blouse made of red bandanas and—oh, yes: that made it into the letter, after talking to Mrs. Hopkins about the Taco Alvarez trial.
What about the typo in the flyer—had she corrected that? Her leg twitched with the impulse to get up and check—but no. Mrs. Hopkins had caught it, too.
Praise the heavens for school secretaries! And for the teachers (most of them) and the volunteers that Señora Rodriguez (I do wish I could like that woman more) had commandeered to help with Career Day. And the Social Studies department for the grant they’d got, and the old hippie who’d finished restoring the mural just in time—and not to forget “Tío” (was he actually anyone’s “uncle”?) because, oh, what a difference a good janitor made in a school’s life. (Ridiculous to be suspicious of the man: he lived to keep Guadalupe running smoothl—)
Dear God, had she been about to use the word smoothly about Guadalupe Middle School? A school bubbling with hormones and suppressed rage, with threats all around it and a huge, suppurating wound at its—
Linda snatched desperately at the downward spiral of her thoughts before the name Bee Cuomo could surface, and forced her mind back onto minutiae.
That loose button on her blouse! The blessed thing was sure to pop off at the worst possible moment. Like during school assembly, fifty minutes that was already filling her with dread—and not only because she’d have to give a speech. The gym would be packed to the rafters with seven hundred–plus adolescents on the brink of boiling over, into impatience, mockery, even the violence that was never far away. A pressure cooker waiting for a perceived insult or a slip of the tongue…or a display of their principal’s bra.
Do not forget to wear the blue blouse tomorrow!
Linda would bet that Olivia Mendez never went to work with a loose button. Ever-competent Sergeant Mendez of the San Felipe Police Department, watching Gordon walk across the distant playing field the other day, that too-intelligent, endlessly speculative gaze of hers…
As if she’d said it aloud, Gordon shifted on his pillow. “You’re not sleeping.”
“Oh hon, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll go make myself some tea.”
“Worried about tomorrow?”
“You could say that. I can’t help thinking I’ve set us all up for a…a catastrophe.” She didn’t even like to say the word aloud. “There must be something I’m overlooking.”
“Linda, I cannot imagine you’ve overlooked anything.”
Her laugh was forced. “Compulsive, right? When I was small, I’d lie awake and invent horrible scenarios. My parents dying, the neighbor’s dog biting me. I must’ve heard someone say it’s always the unexpected that creeps up on you, and figured if I could imagine a thing…” Her voice faded away.
“Dear heart, you have it all under control. You’re prepared to the hilt, with good help, competent volunteers, a responsible team of guests. There’s nothing to worry about. Tomorrow will go fine.”
His calm voice almost made Linda…believe. There’s no restlessness in him, is there? You’ve been imagining problems, like you always do. This is Gordon, the most trustworthy man you know. There’s no reason whatsoever to think—
His arm came out then, to stroke warm fingers up and down her arm. Up, and down. Wordless, and hypnotic. Before long, her nerves ceased their rattling. Paper cups and loose buttons, vanished children and gang rivalries, bulldog police sergeants and too-efficient janitors and all the rest gathered together in a narrow stream, circled around a hole, and poured away into the darkness.
12:40 A.M.
Sofia
This little time between taking the pill and falling into it was the best. A melting time, warm and dark and comforting.
At school, Sofia stuck to half pills. They softened the edges without making her groggy. But at night, after everyone went to bed, she could let go. Here, in these slow minutes as the pill worked its way into her, there was no murdered sister, no Alvarez brothers looking hate at her, no pressures for grades or looks from Mina or missing sixth-graders or boys or…nothing.
Just the melting, rich and warm and delicious, tingling along the ends of your nerves, making the world soft and deep.
Some nights—not always—she was aware
of a last, juddering breath, sucked into her chest just before she tipped into the dreams. Like a relieved infant settling into its mother’s arms.