Earthbound : A gripping crime thriller full of twists and supernatural suspense Fynn Perry (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

“A ten-point locking mechanism with no keyhole or handle on the other side. Once in here, only you can open the door from this side. Nobody else, not the police or the fire department, can enter. Turn the top knob below the handle.”

As she did so, the door locked into place with the sound of sliding bolts.

“The apartment used to belong to a Russian businessman. He has a room like this in his apartment in Moscow. It seems nobody now wants to slum it, even when under siege,” he said, smiling. “Behind some of those doors are a TV, bar and refrigerator.” John paused. “But that’s not all! Turn the knob below the handle counter-clockwise.”

She did. There was the sound of bolts retracting, and a panel within the door, almost as big as the door itself and containing the door handle and locking knobs, tilted slightly outward about a central, vertical axis.

“What the hell is that?” David remarked, almost simultaneously with Jennifer.

“It’s easier to just show you,” John said. “Push against the panel, just above the handle.”

As she did so, it swung out, perfectly balanced, and settled at an angle roughly perpendicular to the rest of the door, creating an opening on either side of its axis.

“Step through one of the openings into the bedroom,” He paused as they all stepped through the gap between the open panel and the rest of the door. “Now pull on the handle to swing the panel round, so the locking knobs and handle now face onto the bedroom. It should click into place in the frame.”

A solid click confirmed it was secured.

“That locks the panel in place but now the locking knobs and handle are on this side. Lock it all down with the first knob.” He waited until another click confirmed it was locked. “To stop anybody else from opening it from this side, you need to enter the six-figure code on the keypad next to the light switch. The code is 7-4-5-6–8-9. “

She keyed it in, making a mental note of the number, hoping that her life and that of her father’s would not depend on her remembering it.

She and David stood dumbfounded. “I’m confused. John, why would your father have––” Jennifer didn’t finish.

“It works as a safe room and a prison!” David interrupted, suddenly realizing how useful the combination could be.

“It seems the previous owner wanted the option to hide from, or to imprison, intruders. It’s kind of creepy,” John explained. “Don’t worry—he never lived here.”

Jennifer didn’t have time to respond.

Moving back toward the living area, David suggested they go through the checklist that they had drawn up back at home. He had already called the office and said he had been taken ill. The same excuse had been given for Jennifer at her school. They had burnt their SIM cards, and Jennifer had closed all her social media accounts. They were now off-grid and would only buy groceries with cash, visiting stores by rotation.

All Jennifer and David could do was hope, now, that the raids planned by Lazlo on El Gordito’s businesses would divert Santiago’s attention from the two of them. However, John had no intention of sitting around waiting. He would now shadow Lazlo to make sure he was doing everything possible to close down El Gordito’s operations, and he was determined to take matters into his own hands if required.

After they had made sure they were all on the same page with the plans, John reluctantly said good-bye, not knowing when he would see them again.

When John caught up with Lazlo at the precinct, the detective was finishing the last report of the day. The mobile phone on his desk rang and John, hovering behind him, caught a glimpse of the name Frank Mathers on the screen. He listened in. The conversation was short.

“It’s done,” Mathers said.

“Frank, I owe you one.”

“Damn right! Check your email in ten.”

Lazlo continued writing the report until the email came in from Mathers.

John could hardly believe the subject line. It read: CLOSURE OF DNA AND MAYHEM NIGHTCLUBS.

A smile rapidly spread across Lazlo’s face as he opened the message. John noticed that according to the message footer, Frank Mathers was a team leader in the New York City Department of Health and Mental Hygiene or, simply, NYC Health, according to its logo. The message was addressed to a lengthy list of people, most with the police department’s @nypd.org endings to their email addresses, and it stated that an unannounced inspection by the health department of the restaurants in both clubs had taken place. Both had received a Grade C and had been forced to close due to scoring over twenty-eight points for sanitary violations. Attached were photos of Grade C cards posted in the windows and entrance doors to the clubs.

“Think you can mess with me, asshole?” Lazlo muttered, looking at the hairy hog’s head on the office wall that had been christened after the drug lord.

John considered the timing perfect. It had just turned 6:00 p.m. Closure this early on a Friday evening would make El Gordito lose the entire weekend’s takings and also make it difficult for his lawyer to challenge the hygiene ruling until Monday. It wouldn’t be a major annoyance to him, in itself, but it was a start, and together with other raids it could put pressure on his businesses. Pressure that could lead him to making a mistake large enough for the NYPD to hang him with.

John headed back to Lazlo’s brownstone to rest. He thought about going to see Jennifer but decided against it. If Santiago’s spirit or, more likely, one of his spirit henchmen were on the lookout for him, John could inadvertently lead them to her and her father.

Lazlo had decided to go out for a celebratory drink with colleagues. John didn’t want to listen to cops ranting, and a bar didn’t seem the safest place