No reason to wait any longer.

I started to calculate the distance and figure an angle of attack—go low, take out the legs—when I heard a voice behind us.

“What the—?”

Someone was coming down via the trapdoor in the garage. I thought maybe I recognized the voice.

“Kasselton police! Everybody freeze!”

It was Chief Taylor, Troy’s father. He hurried down the ladder. I glanced for a second, no more. I kept my eyes on Luther’s. He kept his eyes on me. But I turned away just for a second.

“For the love of . . .” Chief Taylor’s mouth dropped open as he looked around in disbelief at the tunnel. “What is this place?”

Another officer was coming down the ladder behind him. I quickly turned back to Luther.

Luther started to run the other way.

“No!” I shouted.

“Freeze!” It was Chief Taylor again. The beam of his flashlight was on me. “Mickey Bolitar! Freeze right now!”

I didn’t listen. I sprinted toward the end of the tunnel. When I veered right, I saw the door—the steel-reinforced one in the basement, maybe?—slam closed.

Luther had run through it.

I ran toward it. I put my hand on the knob.

“Okay, Mickey,” Chief Taylor said, standing side by side with another officer, “that’s far enough.”

They were there. I had my hand on the knob and tried to calculate how long it would take to open the door and run through it. Too long. Taylor and the other officer would be on me.

That was when we all heard the scream.

The two police officers turned toward it.

“Help! Oh, help!”

Suddenly I got it. The scream and call for help had come from Ema, but I could tell, from the exaggerated tone, she wasn’t in real danger.

Genius that she was, Ema was intentionally diverting their attention from me!

I didn’t wait. I pulled open the door and ran through it. I was back in the basement. It was darker now. I heard a crunching noise above me. I used my flashlight app and shone it upward.

I saw Luther’s leg on the top step.

I ran and leapt toward it. I grabbed the ankle and hung on for all I was worth. I was actually suspended in the air, my grip on his ankle loosening, when I felt his other foot stomp on my arm. I didn’t care. I hung on.

“Let go of me!” Luther shouted.

“Where’s my father?”

“He’s dead!”

I didn’t believe him. And I had a plan.

If I could just swing my legs to the stairs, I would have enough leverage to pull Luther down to the concrete basement floor.

“Let go of me!”

“No!”

I pulled and arched my back, aiming my legs for the stairs. Behind me I heard the door open.

“Freeze!”

It was Chief Taylor again.

“He’s getting away!” I shouted.