I’M HOLDING BANDO down on the kitchen table. Lamont is dabbing at the clotted blood on his belly.
“Why would they take her?” I ask Lamont. “Grandma is the most law-abiding citizen ever.”
“They were looking for me,” says Lamont. “The police, one night, they saw me with Bando. Maybe they made a connection. If they didn’t kill her, it means they want her for leverage. I’m the one they want.”
“We have to find her!” I say.
“First,” says Lamont, “I need to get some answers.”
“What answers?” I ask. “From who? Where?”
Lamont has been quiet since the incident in the park. I can see his brain working. And now he thinks he has an answer.
“We’re going back where you found me,” he says. “The warehouse. That’s where it all started. I think Fletcher knows about Margo.”
I can feel myself losing it. How am I supposed to care about some mystery woman I’ve never met when my grandmother just got dragged away?
“Lamont!” I yell. “They took Grandma! She needs to come first!”
“You don’t understand,” says Lamont. “It’s all connected. Margo. Your grandmother. Me. You. Once we find Margo, we’ll go find Jessica. I promise.”
An hour later, Lamont is banging on the door of the warehouse. I can’t believe I’m down here again. At four in the morning, the place is even creepier. The fires are still burning, but there’s nothing moving but us.
“Open up, dammit!” Lamont is out of patience. He picks up a big rock and gets ready to heave it against the door. Then the door opens. Just a crack.
I can see Fletcher’s frizzy head peeking out. He squints at Lamont, then at me.
“I’m impressed,” says Fletcher. “He’s still alive.”
“I’m better than ever,” says Lamont. “Let’s talk.”
“Look,” says Fletcher. “I did what I was paid to do. I brought you back. You left. I’m done.”
I step up and nudge Lamont aside.
“Dr. Fletcher,” I say. “Open the door. Right now.”
So he does. Lamont gives me an approving look.
“Well done,” he says.
“I’ve been practicing,” I say.
Once we’re inside, Lamont goes into full exploration mode. His eyes are darting everywhere. I’m noticing things I missed the last time I was here. Like the scruffy little cot in the corner where Fletcher’s been sleeping.
“Anybody else here?” Lamont asks.
“Just me,” says Fletcher, scratching his head. “And by the way, it’s four in the morning.”
Lamont points down the dark corridor that leads off the main lab. “What’s down there?” he asks.
“Storage,” says Fletcher.
But when Lamont starts to move in that direction, Fletcher tries to block his way. Lamont has had enough. He points to Fletcher’s battered chair.
“Go,” says Lamont. “Sit.”
Fletcher obeys.
Lamont feels for a light switch at the entrance of the hallway. A small ceiling bulb pops on. It casts about as much light as a match. But it’s enough for us to see that the corridor branches off in two directions, left and right.
“You go that way,” says Lamont, pointing down the left passage. “Be careful.” He heads right.
After about ten yards, it looks like my route is pretty much a bust, just brick walls and a dusty wood floor. The light from behind me is almost running out. I keep my hand on the wall and look down toward the end of the corridor. I think I see a staircase.
“Maddy! Back here!” It’s Lamont.
When I find him, he’s standing in a little alcove with three doors leading off it. He’s tried them all. All locked.
“Get Fletcher!” he says. “And tell him to bring his keys.”
On my way back to the main lab, I have a better idea. I know Lamont is the professional detective here, but I decide to just cut to the chase.
Fletcher is slumped in his chair, his head in his hands. He looks up.
“What?” he says. He’s tired. He’s nervous. Maybe scared.
“Julian,” I say. “Take me to the lady.”
Fletcher gets up from his chair and walks to his desk. He pulls out a fat ring of keys. No cards or pass codes in this place. He looks like an old-time jailer.
When we get to the alcove, Lamont is still tugging on the door handles, one after the other. The doors are solid. They don’t even budge.
“Open these doors!” Lamont shouts at Fletcher. “All of them!”
“We only need one,” I say.
Fletcher walks to the center door. He inserts the key. Pushes the door open. A light inside pops on automatically. We’re in a room identical to the one where I found Lamont. Same walls. Same floor. Same hatch.
Lamont is angry now.
“Is she here?” he shouts. Everything echoes.
Fletcher is silent, looking down at his feet.
“I said, is she here?”
I walk over to the hatch. I look at Fletcher.
“Open it,” I tell him.
Fletcher reaches up and pulls down on the lever. The hatch door drops down. My heart is pounding. I look at Lamont. He’s barely breathing. His hands are balled into fists.
Fletcher grabs the drawer handle and leans back. The drawer eases out.
In one glance, I know it’s her. It’s Margo Lane.
As pretty as her picture.