Chapters (73)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Part IAnnie
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Part IIHarry
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Part IIIAnnie
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Part IVHarry
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Part VAnnie
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Also by Linwood Barclay
- About the Publisher
Gavin kept blinking, struggling to focus. The world around him was blurry, as though he were looking at it through a dirty window.
“What’s going on?” he asked sleepily.
“You nodded off,” Edwin said. “You were under a little longer than I expected.”
“What did you . . . I can’t . . . I can’t move my arms. Mr. Choo . . . Edwin, what’s going on?”
Gavin looked down, saw that he was secured to a wooden chair by countless loops of duct tape. His arms, hanging straight down, were tight to his body, and his calves were held to the chair legs with more tape.
His vision began to clear, allowing him to make out what was in Edwin’s hand. Electric hair clippers, like a barber would use.
“You’re scaring me,” Gavin said. “Come on, let me go. Get this goddamn tape off me.”
Edwin smiled, put the clippers on a nearby workbench, pulled over a second wooden chair, and sat in front of Gavin.
“I take no pleasure in this,” he said. “You seem like a nice enough fellow, Gavin. Down on your luck but a decent guy, in my estimation. I don’t usually take time to chat in circumstances such as this, but it’s so rare that I talk about my work. It’s not as if I’m in an office somewhere and can shoot the shit for a while with someone at the water cooler. It’s simply not the nature of my vocation, and if there’s a downside to what I do, I guess it would have to be that.”
A tear was running down Gavin’s cheek. “Please. Just . . . I just want to go home.”
“Home? What home?” Edwin chuckled. “Your truck? A park bench? What is this home you speak of?”
“Whatever it is . . . whatever it was you wanted me for, I’m not interested.”
“Gavin, I really do need you. I hope you’ll give me a chance to make my case.”
Gavin said nothing.
Edwin sighed. “Here I am blathering on when there’s work to be done.” He stood, flipped a switch on the hair trimmer, and approached.
“Hey! Don’t!” Gavin writhed about in the chair, struggling against the tape.
“Stop jumping about or you’re going to hurt yourself,” Edwin said. He came around behind Gavin, brought the cutting edge of the trimmer to the base of his neck, and cut a path upward. “You really do have excellent hair. It was one of the first things I noticed about you.”
“You some kind of fucking serial killer pervert?” Gavin asked, spitting the words out.