The Chaos Kind (John Rain #11)(85)

Schrader didn’t look mollified. He glanced at the bottle. “How do I know this is what you say it is?”

Livia wanted to say, You don’t. Now fucking drink it. But Carl had a different style, and he was doing fine on his own.

“Why would I lie?” Carl said. “You think we’re trying to poison you? Or knock you out? What would be the point?”

“I guess,” Schrader said. “Could you at least untie me? How am I going to drink it?”

“I’m going to hold it for you,” Carl said. “Now drink up and we’ll have you back at that jail in no time.”

“Couldn’t you just let me go?”

“Andrew,” Diaz said from up front, “where would you go? The marshals would pick you up in a day. It’s much better if you cooperate.”

“I guess,” Schrader said again.

Livia sensed that Diaz meant it. But probably only because she hadn’t thought it through. Schrader knew who Diaz was, and he could describe the rest of them. He could put them at the Lake Tapps house, where five people had been shot to death. He had no reason to keep quiet, and every reason to tell the whole story. Even to embellish it.

She didn’t know what Carl was thinking. But it didn’t matter. Larison was never going to let Schrader walk away.

And the truth was, neither was she.

Dox held the bottle and Schrader drank the contents. “Good job,” Carl said. “How was it?”

Schrader smacked his lips. “Okay. A little menthol taste.”

Carl patted him on the shoulder. “Sounds like Bombay Sapphire has nothing to fear.”

It occurred to Livia that Schrader didn’t understand how dire his position was. Despite everything he had done, he seemed fundamentally a child. Probably the first time he had surreptitiously filmed the men he was blackmailing, he had conceived it as a prank. Or maybe it was something he got off to sexually. Just a “harmless” hobby no one would ever even know about. But over time, as he realized there were other possibilities, it got more sophisticated, and more dangerous. Almost every home-invasion rapist Livia had ever arrested had started out peeping. And there were home invaders who had originally intended only to steal property but who, upon seeing the complete power they had over their bound, terrified victims, wound up escalating to rape.

In some ways, though, Schrader’s fundamentally infantile nature made him worse than the freaks she hunted. Most of the freaks had been horrifically abused as children, their humanity methodically beaten out of them. Livia didn’t care about that, either—most abused children didn’t go on to be abusers themselves, instead transcending their circumstances—but at least there was an explanation. But the ones who ruined lives for money? Or status? Or as some kind of grift? The casual, thoughtless, banal ones. Yeah. They were even worse.

The property was on the south end of the island, in one of the more heavily wooded and secluded enclaves. Once they were off Route 305, with its double yellow line, the streets grew increasingly narrow and overgrown, and soon they were on a single-lane gray-top road. The sun eased out from behind the clouds, and streaks of light lit up the autumn yellow in the trees. “I feel so calm,” Schrader said. “That was awful before, what they did to me. It was like I was drowning. But it’s okay now. What did you give me again?”

“Klonopin and Propranolol,” Carl said.

“When this is over, I’m going to get a prescription.”

“Well, I know a guy who can hook you up. But first things first. Any staff in your house, or anyone else we might want to warn about our arrival?”

“Maybe. The housekeepers, the groundskeepers . . . and the cook. And the helicopter pilot. And my driver.”

“But you’ve been gone for a while now,” Carl said. “What do they all do when you’re not around?”

“The maids . . . they clean when I’m not there. I don’t like to be bothered.”

“And the rest?”

“It depends.”

“Are your people loyal to you?”

“I pay them well.”

“Well, for our purposes, that’s going to have to amount to the same thing. If someone sees you, are they going to call the police?”

“Not if I tell them not to.”

Livia looked at him. “Andrew. Where is the encryption keypad?”

“In my office.”

She glanced at Carl. “We’ll be in and out fast.”

“We better be,” Larison said.

“What about cameras?” Carl said. “I’m guessing you have a security system?”

Schrader nodded. “There’s an alarm. And Nest cameras outside.”

“Are they set to record?” Carl said.

“They’re more for show,” Schrader said.

Livia kept a poker face to conceal her disgust. Schrader had no problem planting cameras in guest rooms to film children being raped. But his own privacy was sacrosanct.

“Give me one of your burners,” Livia said to Carl. “I’ll download the app and confirm nothing is recording.”

“Andrew,” Diaz said, “you’ll have to give us your username and password. Will you do that?”

“I guess so,” Schrader said.

By the time they reached the gate to Schrader’s property, Livia had downloaded the app and accessed Schrader’s system. She confirmed the cameras weren’t recording and turned them off completely.