Blood Will Have Blood by Linda Barnes Read Free Book Online Page B

“Apartment 5.”
    She hadn’t left Darien’s side to look it up. Too quick a response for an “older sister”?
    â€œYou take a left out the front door, then a right at the corner,” she said.
    â€œI know where it is.” Spraggue turned and left.
    Does she know about me? he wondered as he walked the few blocks to Eddie’s apartment. Had she suggested to Darien that he send me? Her dark eyes were intelligent, hard to read. She had a way of using them to close people out; her eyes were shields, hard and opaque. Maybe he could break them down during the extra blocking rehearsal. She’d be a good ally. If she wasn’t the joker.
    Whatever he was getting paid, Eddie Lafferty wasn’t squandering it on rent. One hundred forty-one Hemenway was ugly yellow brick, a narrow five stories high, flanked on either side by fragrant alleys. The building to the right was a burned-out hulk. The street-level windows were haphazardly boarded over with plywood.
    The neighborhood wasn’t exactly quiet. Rock blared from an open window across the street. Voices called from the Laundromat on the corner. Usual day-to-day noises. No wailing police sirens. Whatever had happened to Eddie, at least it didn’t rate that. Or, thought Spraggue, maybe it just hadn’t been discovered yet.
    Up three crumbling cements steps. A scrawled yellowed notice advised callers to ring and wait for the buzzer. Spraggue tried the door; it swung open at his touch. Some security.
    Apartment five. He climbed two flights of narrow steps.
    Spraggue wasted three seconds trying Eddie’s door. Considering the ease of entry downstairs, each apartment probably boasted five or six locks—chains, deadbolts, anything to soothe the fear.
    He knocked, expecting no reply. The picklocks were already active in his hands when he heard it: a low moan followed by a sharp crash.
    â€œEddie?” Spraggue called.
    Again the moaning, grunting noise.
    Spraggue made short work of the feeble main lock. There were no chains or bolts. He entered quickly, closing the door behind him.
    The room was dark and stuffy; heavy curtains obscured the windows. Spraggue took a step, kicked something hard but insubstantial. It skittered across the floor. His hands searched the wall to the left of the door, found the light switch, clicked it on.
    Later, he noticed the slit pillows, overturned furniture, tumbled-out drawers. Later, he had time to read the scrawled inscriptions on the walls. At first, all he saw was Eddie.
    A pajama-clad Eddie Lafferty balanced precariously on tiptoe on a chair near the center of the room. His mouth was gagged. His blue eyes stared wildly. His hands were tied behind his back. There was a noose around his neck. The rope stretched up over a pipe running the length of the room. It was tied off taut on a closet handle.
    Lafferty stared at him blankly, then his eyes rolled up and he started to sag. Spraggue opened his pocket knife as he sprang across the room. He cut the rope with one hand, broke Eddie’s fall with the other.
    He eased the limp body down to the floor, removed the gag. He pushed Lafferty over on his side and untied his hands. The rope yielded easily. His hand closed over Lafferty’s wrist. Pulse fast and faint. Spraggue dodged debris and found the tiny kitchen, ran cold water from the tap into two glasses. One he poured over Eddie. He drank half the other then offered it to the still spluttering actor.
    â€œYou’re all right, Eddie,” he said soothingly, seeing the wildness come back into the huge eyes. “It’s all over.”
    â€œMy God.” The boy’s voice was a feeble croak.
    Spraggue grabbed a cushion that had lost its chair and shoved it under Eddie’s head. “Better?”
    Eddie tried a tremulous smile. His lips shook.
    â€œCan you tell me what happened?”
    â€œMore water.”
    Spraggue held the glass for him. A lot of it dribbled to the