wouldn’t cause any problems. The bartender, an overweight but strong-looking man with greasy hair and acne scars, alerted and squared himself defensively once he saw Vail enter with the shotgun. Vail could read his streetwise eyes—he knew that Vail was some sort of cop and this was not a robbery. But for him, cops were usually as much trouble as criminals. Vail walked up to him. “You have four rooms facing the street.” Vail took a wet mug shot out his pocket and dropped it on the bar.
The bartender prided himself on not cooperating with the police, but something in Vail’s eyes told him not to push it too far.
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
“I’m going to need to see a badge.”
With his left hand, Vail held up the shotgun by the cocking grip and gave it a quick up-and-down jerk, jacking a round into the chamber convincingly. “Which room?”
“Three C. There’s only two rented on that side; the other one’s a Korean family on the second floor.”
“The key.” The bartender went to a drawer below the cash register and took out a ring of keys. He started to take one off when Vail said, “The master, the one that opens the door to the street.” The bartender took a small ring from his pocket and pulled a key off of it.
Vail turned to go. “You’d better call the police.”
“And tell them what?”
“There’s been a murder.”
Vail slid the key into the front door of the hotel, and it turned with a worn ease. He closed it slowly behind him to keep from making any noise and started up the stairs two at a time. The rain was still coming down hard and he hoped that it would muffle his movement up the stairs. The narrow hallway on the third floor didn’t have any windows. A single low-wattage bulb cast the corridor in a dusty yellow light. Vail walked along the wall trying not to step on any squeaky floorboards, but there were too many of them. Hopefully they couldn’t be heard inside the room.
When he got to 3C, he stood outside listening. When he didn’t hear anything, he leaned his ear against the door and listened again. Still nothing. Standing to the side, he worked the master key into the lock slowly and started to turn it. A half-dozen shots exploded through the door.
From the way the window was positioned in the video, Vail knew Tye had to be in a different room. Without getting in front of the door, he extended the shotgun to arm’s length and fired three rounds back through the door, slightly altering the direction of each. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor. He tried the key again, but something had hit the lock and jammed it, probably one of the bullets fired at him. Moving in front of the door, he jumped up and toward it, using his momentum and weight as he kicked at the lock. The door broke open but only a foot or so. Vail could see a man’s motionless hand on the floor through the narrow opening, his body now blocking the door. Vail pushed in far enough to squeeze through. Victor Radek had taken one of the shotgun blasts in the chest, a black automatic still in his hand.
“Tye!” Vail yelled.
In response, he heard a cry. He went into the bedroom and found her still chained to the radiator, her PDA in her hand. When she saw him, tears from the eye that was not taped began streaming down her cheek. She was completely naked and curled up to hide herself as best she could. Vail ripped a sheet off the bed and wrapped her in it. As he started to take the tape off of her, they could hear sirens in the distance.
Vail checked the handcuffs. “Do you know where the key is?”
“I never saw one. But after he taped my mouth and eyes, he jingled a key ring in front of my face, and asked, ‘Do you know what that sound is? It’s the sound of freedom.’ It’s got to be on him.”
“I’ll be right back. You’ll be all right—he’s dead.” She nodded, trying not to cry. He tucked the sheet around her a little more tightly to make sure it wouldn’t come off. “I’ll just be a second.” In the other room, he rolled the body over and searched the pockets. Aside from a wad of hundred-dollar bills, the only