The Heaven Trilogy (102 page)

JAN SAW the black Lincoln parked across the street from Ivena's house the moment he entered her block. He jerked the Cadillac's steering wheel and plowed into the curb sixty yards from the house.

“What are you doing?” Helen demanded. “You just drove off—”

She saw the car and froze.

Jan clawed at the handle and shoved the door open. “Stay here.”

“Jan, wait . . .”

But he didn't hear the rest because he was already sprinting for the house. The black Lincoln had been in the Towers' parking garage. It had no business here. He muttered under his breath and veered for Ivena's backyard.

A tall wooden fence bordered Ivena's heavily vegetated yard. Purple hydrangea and white gardenia flowers spilled over the white pickets. Jan slid to a stop at the fence, peered through two slats, and seeing nothing but an empty lawn past the vines, clambered over. He dropped to a crouch, his heart now pounding in his ears. Behind him, a car door thumped shut—Helen was following. Too late to stop her now.

The greenhouse's glass walls were too crowded with vines to see past at this distance. A steady breeze whispered through the leaves overhead, but otherwise the air lay quiet. Jan rushed for the back door.

Images of Ivena's body, crumpled and bleeding, filled his mind. If he was right she would be in the greenhouse with the flowers. It was a preoccupation for her.

Jan grabbed the knob and threw the door open.

Ivena stood there in the middle of the room, her face raised to the ceiling, her eyes closed. The breeze swept her hair back from her neck. If she'd heard him, she did not show any sign of it.

Jan scanned the room. The doorway to the house gaped to a dim interior. The assailant, if there was one, would be in there, waiting.

“Ivena,” he whispered, keeping his eyes on the kitchen doorway.

“Hello, Janjic. You are back, I see,” she said loudly.

He started and snatched his finger to his mouth, but she hadn't moved her head to him.

“Come in, Janjic.”

“Ivena!” he whispered harshly. “Shhh. Quickly! You must come!”

She faced him. “What's wrong?”

“Come now! Shhhh!”

He looked through the door to the house and Ivena followed his gaze. She hurried over to him, wide-eyed. “What is it?”

Jan didn't respond. He grabbed her hand and yanked her through the door. Such a relief swept through his bones at her stumbling safely into the backyard, that he hardly noticed the tall man materialize in the inner door's shadows.

But then he did notice, and his heart lodged firmly in his throat. His muscles locked up. The man stepped from the shadows, a gun leveled. Behind Jan, Ivena crowded his back. “Janjic Jovic, you tell me the meaning of this immediately or I will—”

Jan threw himself backward, into Ivena.

She cried out, but managed to stay upright.

Boom!

The gun's detonation sounded obscenely loud in the small room. Ivena needed no further encouragement. Jan snatched her hand and they ran together nearly step for step toward the back fence.

Helen had one leg draped on each side of the pickets. “Back, Helen!” Jan shouted. “Get back!” He spun around, grabbed Ivena around the waist, and hoisted her the full height of the fence with a grunt. “Pull her over!”

Helen complied and Ivena disappeared. Jan threw himself over without waiting. He glanced back in time to see the black-clad gunman slide to a stop at the corner of the greenhouse. The man was no idiot; he was powerless outside with a noisy gun.

Jan dropped to the ground. Helen had Ivena's hand and they were running for the car already.

Winded and panting like billows in chorus they piled into the Cadillac. Jan fired the engine and threw the car into drive. Jan squealed through a U-turn and sped down the street.

JAN SWERVED through suburban Atlanta a good five minutes before easing his foot from the accelerator and slowing the Cadillac to the posted speed limit. It took a full ten minutes for the flood of questions and explanations to subside into silence. Ivena seemed more horrified with Jan's attack at the Towers than with the fact that a gunman had nearly put a bullet through her skull in her own home.

“It was foolish, Janjic. Now you've endangered yourself.”

“And I wasn't endangered before? He's a beast. I couldn't just stand by while an animal rampages through our lives.”

“And now he will rampage less? I don't think so.”

Jan ground his teeth but didn't respond directly.

“Where are we going?” Helen asked beside him.

“To Joey's cottage,” Jan said.

“The gardener?” Helen asked.

“Yes. He lives in a small house on the property, bordering the gardens.”

“You think it's safe there? What makes you think Glenn's men aren't already there waiting?”

“Glenn may be a monster, but he's not omniscient. No one knows of the place. It's pretty secluded.”

Ivena spoke from the backseat. “My, my, I see we are in a pickle, Janjic. What are you up to now?” This from a woman who'd been kidnapped and beaten not forty-eight hours earlier.

They sped toward Joey's Garden of Eden rehashing their predicament. Ivena was right, Jan thought: They were in a pickle. Jan took a deep breath and breathed a prayer.
I beg you to see us out of this madness, Father. It was your meddling that started it.

But it was not God who'd blown holes through Lutz's hands, was it? No. On the contrary, not so long ago someone had driven holes through
God's
hands. So what did that make Jan? The devil? Now there was a thought.

They approached Joey's cottage unseen as far as Jan could tell. Overgrowth crowded the dirt driveway that snaked along the property's bordering twelve-foot hedge. Tall oaks surrounded the small wooden structure, foreboding in the failing light. A yellow Ford Pinto sat on a gravel bed beside a house shrouded in foliage. The shades were pulled, but light glowed beyond them. It was six o'clock; Joey would be home from his day in the garden.

They climbed from the car, unspeaking. Vines crawled over the red brick. Green vines with large white flowers. They stood still and gazed at the sight. Ivena's flowers covered the side of the house; Jan could not mistake them.

Ivena walked for them without a word. She touched a blossom and turned back, her eyes round. Jan led Helen up the steps. Joey opened the door before their first knock. “Jan? Well, my goodness. I wasn't expecting company.”

“Forgive me, Joey. We—”

“Come in, come in.” The short man swept a thin arm into his home. “I didn't say I didn't
want
company. Only that I wasn't expecting it.”

They walked in and Joey closed the door.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Actually, Joey, this isn't exactly a social visit. I mean it is, but not like you might expect. I'm afraid we're in a bit of trouble.”

“The flowers have done well, I see,” Ivena said.

Joey smiled. “Yes. Yes they have.” They looked at each other but said no more.

Joey turned back to Jan and Helen. “Well, well, please sit down.” He hurried around the small living room, straightening rust-colored cushions on a green rattan couch and a matching chair. A stone fireplace ate up half the floor space, but the decor was surprisingly colorful and cozy. Then again, Joey was a gardener—he would favor beauty.

He sat on the washed stone mantel. “So you are in some trouble. Tell me.”

He listened while they spun their story, hearing it from beginning to end in one sitting, Saying it aloud, Jan was struck by its absurdity. This tale of love and horror, it sounded impossible in this land of peace. And to think, not four miles away construction was already in progress on the castle he was building for his bride. He looked at Helen—at the amber light shining in her glassy eyes—and a hand seemed to squeeze his heart. God's hand, he thought.

Joey kept looking at him as if checking to make sure it was really him, the author he knew. He could only nod. But in the end Joey insisted that they would be safe here. At least for a day while they decided what to do. Although they would have to manage with two bedrooms. Joey would take the couch.

He offered them bowls of a beef stew and they talked over a dozen options, none of which made any sense to Jan. The situation seemed impossible. Walking into a man's place of business and shooting him wasn't exactly self-defense. At the very least Jan needed to contact an attorney. In fact, why not drive to the police station right then and turn himself in? Yes indeed, why not? It seemed their only option.

Jan finally set his bowl on the coffee table and sighed. “I think there's only one thing that makes sense. But it's not Helen who's angered Glenn now. It's me. And he's made a direct threat against you, Ivena. There's only one way to ensure your safety.”

“And what of you?”

“Please hear me out. If I were to contact the police and demand protective custody for you I believe they'd give it. You've already lodged a complaint. They can't ignore you now.”

“So you want them to put
me
in jail?”

“You've done nothing wrong; they wouldn't put you in jail.”

“But you have, Janjic. You have assaulted this man. They will put
you
in jail for that.”

“Maybe. But then a prison may be the safest place for me. Until they unravel the truth.”

“The truth is you shot a man,” Helen said. “Regardless of what Glenn has done, they won't let that slide.”

They looked at each other. “Either way I'll face consequences. If I can bring a detective here to hear our story we'll at least buy protection for Ivena. Do you have any doubt that Glenn will hurt Ivena?”

“No. But you're putting a lot of confidence in the police, aren't you? We're safe from him here.”

“And how long do you think we can stay here? I have business expected of me. By midday tomorrow they'll be scouring the country for my whereabouts. I see no alternative. In the morning I'll call the detective who took Ivena's statement. What was his name?”

“Mr. Wilks,” Ivena said. “Charlie Wilks.”

“I wouldn't trust a soul,” Helen said. “I'm telling you, if you think turning yourself in to the police is the way to go on this, then you don't know Glenn. He's got connections. You should call an attorney.”

“I will. But first I will use my own contacts,” Jan said. He stood and walked to the black telephone that hung on the wall.

“Who?”

He picked up the receiver. “Roald. Perhaps my estranged friend can pull a trick from his hat yet.”

DETECTIVE CHARLIE Wilks was at his office desk at nine o'clock Tuesday morning when the third light on his phone lit to an annoying buzz. He punched the flashing cube. “Wilks.”

“Detective Wilks, this is Jan Jovic.”

Charlie sat up. “Jovic?” He glanced through the open door of his office. A dozen desks filled the gap, occupied by other detectives with lessor seniority.

“Yes. I have something—”

“Hold on. Could you hold on?”

“Yes.”

Charlie rose from his desk, closed the door and returned. “Sorry about that. Where are you, Mr. Jovic?”

“I'm safe, if that's what you mean.”

The man's voice carried a foreign accent.
Safe?
“You do realize that I have a citywide APB on you as we speak. I'm not sure what the laws are like back in your country, but here in America shooting a man's hands off is a crime. Are the others with you?”

The man hesitated a moment. “Others?”

“We have Helen and this Ivena who are also missing. I'm assuming they're with you.”

“Yes. And Ivena reported her complaint to you yesterday, is that right?”

“Of course. But surely you understand that until I've had a chance to examine her claims, my hands are tied. In the meantime, I have seen Mr. Lutz's hands with my own eyes.”

“All in good time, my friend. I want you to guarantee Ivena and Helen protective custody. When you hear their stories you will see that it is Glenn Lutz, not I, you should be searching for.”

“I know where Glenn Lutz is. In fact I spoke to him this morning. You, on the other hand, I do not. You're only making things worse for yourself. Just tell me where you are and I'll hear you out.”

“I will. But not until tomorrow morning. Until then, please do not make more of this than is absolutely necessary. I'm not a man without influence, Mr. Wilks. You may expect a call tomorrow.”

The phone went abruptly dead.

Charlie's pulse spiked. He immediately punched up another line and dialed a string of numbers. Who would've guessed that a man with the backbone to shoot Glenn Lutz would cave so easily. Then again, Jovic had no reason to mistrust the police.

His friend's familiar voice spoke over the receiver. “Yes?”

“Hello, Glenn. I have some news.”

“You do, do you? For your sake, Charlie, it better be good.”

“See now, why are you always so hostile?” Charlie leaned back in his chair, confident. “He called.”

Glenn's heavy breathing cut short. “The preacher called?”

“He wants to meet with me tomorrow morning. Ivena and Helen are with him.”

“Where?”

“He wouldn't tell me. But he will.”

The sound of Lutz's breathing filled the earpiece again. “And you'll tell me, won't you?” A few more loud breaths. “Won't you, Charlie?”

The man was clearly sick. “A hundred grand? That's what you said you'd pay if you need my help, right? I'd call this helping.”

“That's what I said.”

“You'll be my first call,” Charlie said, grinning. “I'll even give you an hour head start.”

“You just call me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THE SKIES boiled black over Atlanta that evening, threatening rain before the traffic ended its rush. Jan parked the Cadillac in an alley two blocks from the ministry and climbed out. He was counting on his call to Detective Wilks buying him some time. If there was a police car watching the building for his return, this visit might backfire.