On screen, Emily stood in front of the three bandana-masked gang members, waving a kitchen knife. It was the kind used to chop vegetables. A big black handle. A six-inch blade.
In Lock’s mind, pulling a knife on someone, especially when you didn’t know how to use it, was almost as dumb as pulling a gun. A gun, you could pull the trigger and get lucky. A gun gave you a better shot at fending someone off. Pull a knife and you’d better have the physical power and fighting skills to deploy it.
Stabbing someone took a colder heart than shooting them. It was more intimate, more physical. It required a deeper level of rage.
The girl gang member was the first to react. Reaching back, she magicked up her own pistol from where it had been tucked into the waistband under her shirt. She aimed it squarely at Emily, who was shifting her weight from side to side. The girl was perfectly calm. She took a step towards Emily, who retreated.
Lock glanced back at Li. He seemed utterly transfixed by the nightmare unfolding on the screen directly in front of them. The moment had a surreal quality to it. Here they were, standing less than a hundred feet from where two totally different worlds had smashed together, and everything looked like the maid had just been in to tidy up and change the floral arrangements.
“Was there any blood?” Lock said to Li.
The question seemed to snap Li out of his reverie. “What?”
“Outside the garage, or inside. Did you see any blood?” repeated Lock.
“No.”
They watched as Emily crouched down, placing the knife on the ground. The girl stepped towards her. She bent down, picked up the knife and tucked it down her pants, seemingly unworried about the unsheathed blade.
Lock braced himself for Emily to get the same treatment that Charlie had had. It didn’t happen. Instead, the girl reached out and took her hand, as firmly but gently as a kindergarten teacher taking charge of an errant toddler.
One of the gang members flitted past them. Seconds later the Audi reversed out of the garage. Charlie was helped to his feet and, along with Emily, escorted to the Audi. There was some kind of conversation between Emily and the girl, who opened the driver’s door. A gang member got out. Emily took his place behind the wheel.
The girl opened the rear passenger door on the opposite side from the driver. Charlie was pushed in. A gang member climbed in beside him. It took off down the drive, disappearing beyond the reach of the security camera’s lens. They watched as Emily turned the Audi on the motorcourt and followed it down the driveway into the night. Final destination unknown.
Everything remained still, even as Ty hit fast forward. The screens flickered but didn’t change.
Lock didn’t move or say anything. He was thinking.
Cars gone. People gone. No obvious signs of a struggle. Nothing disturbed inside the mansion, save a blade missing from the knife block on the marble counter in the kitchen.
Suddenly, with less than three minutes of moving images, it made sense. For the most part anyway.
Questions remained unanswered. But, as with any investigation, it was better to know what you were dealing with than not.
“I need to make a call,” said Li.
“Who to?” Lock was done with niceties. This situation was critical enough that they had no place now.
“My boss.”
Lock fixed Li with a stare. “That’ll be the second call you make,” he told him. He had already pulled out his own cell phone. He handed it to Li. “First you’re calling the cops.”
Li stared at Lock’s cell phone, like it was a stick of dynamite.
Lock tapped in 911. “Okay, I’ll do it. But it will look better coming from you. First person the cops look at in something like this will be you.”
“What do you mean?” said Li. “I wasn’t in on that,” he said, with a wave at the screen that was still showing the perfectly quiet house.
“You could have set them up,” said Ty, stepping easily into the role of suspicious cop. “They have what you want. Didn’t work for it. That could make any reasonable person a little jealous.”
“Oh, come on,” protested Li.
Ty turned to Lock. “He seem kind of touchy to you?”
“He does,” said Lock, poker-faced.
An operator had come on the line. Lock held the phone to Li’s face. “I need to speak with the Arcadia Police Department,” said Li.