The Wolf in Winter (27 page)

When they separated again, she was gone.

Ronald removed his eye from the scope and blinked. It wasn’t possible. He scanned the ground, but there was no sign of the girl in the white nightgown. Even had it somehow been stripped from her, her naked body would have been visible on the ground, but Ronald could see nothing.

Now the group was dispersing. Warraner was heading back to his house, while the man who had come with him joined the others as they returned to their cars. Within minutes, the gates were locked once again, and the vehicles were making their way back down the road to the highway, still driving without lights.

Ronald waited for fifteen minutes, then headed for the cemetery. He climbed the railing, heedless now of any hidden sensors, and approached the spot where he had last seen the girl. He knelt, and dis
cerned signs of disturbance. Clumps of earth had been dislodged from the dry ground, and there were marks in the dirt where something had briefly been dragged through it. They ended where the hole once lay, but it had now collapsed, leaving only a slight depression in the ground.

Ronald put his rifle aside and started to scrabble at the dirt with his bare hands. He dug until one of his fingernails cracked, but there was no trace of the girl, only earth and thick roots, although Ronald couldn’t tell their origin, for there were no trees in the cemetery. He sat back on the ground, breathing heavily. Above him, the old church loomed.

A fragment of something pale caught his eye. Lodged against a small stone in the dirt was a piece of pale cloth about half an inch square. Ronald held it between his finger and thumb.

I am not mad, he thought. I am not mad.

He picked up his rifle and, using his boots, tried to hide his efforts at digging. When he felt that he had done all he could, he returned to his hiding place, gathered his belongings, and prepared to leave. He checked to make sure that he had not left behind any trash or possessions, even though he knew himself to be more careful than that. Still, it paid to take the time to be sure. When he was done, he started walking. It was not yet 11
P.M
., and by traveling carefully he made it to the town of Dearden shortly before midnight, where he huddled down at the outskirts and made himself as comfortable as possible against a tree. He called just one number along the way, but it was not 911. He used a cup of coffee to warm himself, but it didn’t stop his shivering, and his whole body was aching by the time the truck arrived. The Fulci brothers helped him inside, and drove him back to Scarborough.

CHAPTER

XLV

Angel and Louis were parked close to the intersection of Amity and Henry, about four blocks south of Hunts Lane. They spoke as they walked, heads down against the rain.

“So?” said Angel.

“He’s not telling us all he knows,” said Louis.

“But you believed what he did tell us?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because there was a percentage in keeping information back from us, but none in lying, and he’s a man who works the percentages. He wasn’t the middleman on the hit, but he has more information about who was responsible than he’s shared with us.”

“You could tell that just by looking in his eyes?”

“I understand him. And I know that he’s scared of me.”

“It’s not a very exclusive club.”

“No, but not everyone in it has the resources to make a move against one of my friends. Cambion does, but he’s smart enough to know that if he involved himself he’d have to take me out as well, and that didn’t happen.”

“Which means that the shooters either don’t know about you or don’t care.”

“And you just know that it can’t be the latter.”

“God forbid. You’d have no reason left to live.”

“Exactly.”

“So what’s Cambion holding back on the shooters?”

“Their names. Cambion doesn’t trade in rumors. Maybe they crossed his path once. He might even have tried to recruit them.”

“And, like you, they turned him down.”

“But, unlike me, they sound like religious zealots.”

“True. Nobody could ever accuse you of darkening church doors, not unless you were planning to shoot somebody from the shadows. So Cambion is waiting for you to get the contract voided, and then he’ll give you more?”

“That would be my guess, theoretically.”

“Can you do it? Can you burn the contract?”

“No. It’s gone too far. There are too many people with an interest in seeing Cambion dead, either for what he’s done or for what he knows.”

“But if Cambion is as clever as you say, he must realize that.”

“Probably.”

“Then what’s the game?”

“He’s trying to buy time. Like I told you, he works the percentages. I think he knows exactly who we’re looking for, so right now he’s trying to figure if the people who were sent after Parker are more dangerous than I am. If they are, then he can sell me out to them in return for whatever it is he needs—money, a hiding place, or most likely the heads of some of those who are hunting him. If Cambion doesn’t believe the shooters are good enough to take me out he’ll feed them to us, but he’ll wait until we have more to offer him. I don’t think he was lying when he said he wanted to live out the rest of his days in peace. He wants a guarantee of protection, but he knows that’s more than I alone can give him.”

Angel considered this.

“Feds,” he said, after a time. “He wants a government screen.”

“Feds,” confirmed Louis.

“But we only know one Fed.”

“That’s right.”

“And he doesn’t like you and me.”

“No, but right now I’d say he’s real interested in us.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I reckon that’s who’s been following us for the last two blocks.”

“The big blue Ford? I was wondering about that. Maybe he figures he’s undercover.”

“I don’t think he cares.”

Louis stepped out into the street in front of the creeping car, put his fingers to his lips, and gave a piercing whistle as it braked within feet of him.

“Yo, taxi!” he said.

Through the wipers and the rain, Special Agent Ross, of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, grimaced at him. His lips moved soundlessly as Angel joined Louis. Angel cupped a hand to his ear.

“Sorry, ‘mother-what?’ ” said Angel.

The second time, Ross shouted the word, just to make sure.

THEY SAT TOGETHER IN
Henry Public, at 329 Henry. Each ordered a Brooklyn Brown Ale. It seemed only right, given the neighborhood. They were almost alone in the bar, given the hour.

“I’ll pay,” said Ross, as the beers were brought to their table. “It’s bad enough that I’m sitting with you. I don’t want to be accused of corruption as well.”

“Hey, wasn’t this how that Fed in Boston got caught, the one who was tight with Whitey Bulger?” said Angel. “One minute you’re just enjoying a drink with friends in Southie, the next you’re doing forty years.”

“To begin with, we’re not friends,” said Ross.

“I’m hurt,” said Angel. “Now how am I going to get my parking violations fixed?”

“That’s the fucking NYPD, knucklehead,” said Ross.

“Ah, right,” said Angel. He took a sip of his beer. “But suppose I get ticketed in DC?”

“Fuck you.”

“You know, you swear more than the Feds on TV.”

“I only swear under stress.”

“You must be stressed a lot.”

Ross turned to Louis.

“Is he always like this?” said Ross.

“Pretty much.”

“I never thought I’d say it, but you must be a fucking saint.”

“I believe so,” said Louis. “He also has his uses.”

“I don’t even want to know,” said Ross.

He took a long draft from his bottle.

“You been to see him?”

“Parker?” said Louis.

“No, the new pope. Who the fuck else would I be talking about?”

A look passed between Angel and Louis. Angel wanted to go up to Maine, but Louis had demurred. He believed they could be of more use to Parker in New York. He was right, of course, but it still sat uneasily with Angel. He was deeply fond of the detective. If Parker wasn’t going to pull through, Angel wanted to be able to say his goodbye.

“No,” said Louis. “They say he’s dying.”

“That’s what I hear.”

“Is it true?”

“He’s like a cat: he has nine lives. I just don’t know how many of them he’s used up by now.”

They let that one sink in while they drank.

“What do you want, Agent Ross?” said Louis.

“My understanding is that you’re turning the town upside down trying to find out who shot him. I was wondering how far you’d got.”

“Is this an attempt at an information exchange?” said Louis. “If so, you’re about to be gravely disappointed.”

“I know who you were seeing in Hunts Lane,” said Ross.

Louis’s left eye flickered. For him, it was an expression of extreme surprise, the equivalent of someone else fainting. Ross caught it.

“How fucking inefficient do you think we are?” he said.

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“You want to see my file on you?”

Louis let that one pass.

“How long have you been watching him?” said Angel.

“Ever since he got back into town,” said Ross. “How’s he looking? We haven’t been able to get a clear shot of him. The last pictures we had of him, he wasn’t doing so good.”

“He’s probably still having a little trouble dating,” said Angel.

“Was he involved?”

Ross watched them both, and waited. He was very patient. A full minute went by, but he didn’t seem perturbed.

“No,” said Louis, eventually. “Or not directly.”

“Were you planning on bringing him in?” said Angel.

“We’ve got nothing but stories. We do hear there’s money for whoever pushes the button on him, though.” His gaze flicked back to Louis. “I thought you might be looking to cash in.”

“You got the wrong guy,” said Louis.

“Clearly.”

“Were you listening?”

“I wish. He hasn’t left that old store since he took up residence. There’s no landline. If he’s using cell phones, they’re throwaways. He conducts all his business away from the windows, which means we can’t pick up vibrations, especially with all those drapes.”

“So?” said Louis.

“My understanding is that he’s been making informal approaches, looking to have the contract lifted. Is it true?”

Again Louis waited awhile before answering. Angel remained silent. If this was to be an exchange, it was for Louis to decide how much to give and what he wanted in return.

“That’s true,” said Louis. “You considering offering him a deal?”

“Our understanding is that he holds a lot of secrets.”

“He’ll bleed you for every one he reveals, and you’ll never get him to testify.”

“Maybe we don’t want testimony,” said Ross. “Maybe we just want details. It’s not just about putting people behind bars. It’s about knowledge.”

Angel thought of the list of names now in Louis’s possession. It might be worth something. Then again, it might be worth nothing at all. The truth, in all likelihood, lay somewhere in between.

Ross finished his first beer and held up the bottle, signaling the waitress for another round, even though Louis had barely touched his first drink.

“I heard he tried to bring you into his fold,” Ross said to Louis. “Way back in the day.”

“Not so far back,” said Louis.

“You didn’t bite?”

“Like you, he seemed to be confused about what I did for a living.”

“And you didn’t like him.”

“There wasn’t a great deal to like. Even less now, seeing as so much of him has rotted away.”

The second beers arrived, but no one reached for them. Angel sensed that they had reached a crucial point in whatever negotiation was unfolding, although, as far as he could tell, there didn’t seem to have been much obvious progress of any kind. Angel wasn’t built for negotiation. That U.N. job just got further out of reach every day.

“I’ll ask you again,” said Louis. “What is it you want from me, Agent Ross?”

He fixed Ross with his gaze, like a snake mesmerizing an animal before striking. Ross didn’t blink. He’d taken the “three guys having a beer approach,” and that hadn’t worked. He must have known that it wouldn’t, but it never hurt to try. As Angel watched, he transformed himself, sitting up straighter in his seat, his face tightening, the years seeming to fall away from him. In that moment, Angel understood why Parker had always been so careful around Ross. Like Cambion, he was a creature of concealment, a repository of secrets.

“I came to warn you that I won’t tolerate a campaign of vengeance, even for your friend. I won’t tolerate it because I’m concerned that it might interfere with my own work, with the bigger picture. For every man or woman you kill, a potential avenue of inquiry closes. That’s not how this thing works.”

“And what is the ‘bigger picture,’ Agent Ross?” asked Angel. “What is ‘this thing’?”

“The hunt for something that’s been hidden away since before the appearance of life on earth,” said Ross. “An entity, long buried. Is that big enough for you?”

Angel picked up his beer.

“You know,” he said, “maybe I will have this second one after all.”

He drained half the bottle.

“And you believe in the existence of this ‘entity’?” said Louis.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters are the beliefs of those who are looking for it, and the havoc they’ve created, and will continue to create, until they’re stopped.”

“So you want us to step back and do nothing?” said Louis.

“I’m not a fool,” said Ross. “Doing nothing isn’t an option where you’re concerned. I want cooperation. You share what you find.”

“And then you tell us if we can act on it?” said Louis. “That sounds like the worst fucking deal since the Indians got screwed for Manhattan.”

“It also sounds like a good way to end up in jail,” said Angel. “We might as well just sign a confession in advance. We tell you what we’d like to do, you say, ‘Hey, that sounds like a fucking great idea. Be my guest!’ and next thing we’re all staring awkwardly at one another in front of a judge.”

“He has a point,” said Louis. “No deal.”

To his credit, Ross didn’t appear particularly surprised or disappointed. Instead, he reached into his pocket and removed a manila envelope. From it he slid a single photograph and placed it on the table before them. It showed the symbol of a pitchfork, crudely carved into a piece of wood. Louis and Angel knew it immediately for what it was: the sign of the Believers. Parker had crossed paths with them in the past, Angel and Louis too. The Believers hadn’t enjoyed the encounters.

“Where was it taken?” said Angel.

“At Parker’s house, immediately after the attack. Now do you understand why I’m asking you to tread carefully?”

Louis used the edge of his bottle to turn the photograph so that he could see it more clearly.

“Yes,” he said. “I understand.”

It was Louis’s turn to produce an envelope from his pocket. He handed it to Ross without comment. Ross opened it and glanced at a typewritten list of names, places, and dates. He didn’t need Louis to tell him what it meant.

“From Cambion?” said Ross.

“Yes.”

“Why did he give it to you?”

“He thought I could act as the go-between in his contract difficulties.”

“What did you get in return?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Ross folded the list and returned it to the envelope.

“Why are you giving this to me?”

“It’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yes.”

“Now you don’t need to cut a deal with him, and you can call off your surveillance.”

“Leaving him at your mercy.”

“I don’t have any mercy for him.”

“Should that concern me?”

“I don’t see why.”

Ross balanced the envelope on the palm of his right hand, as though judging its weight against the cost to his soul.

“You went to Cambion because you thought he knew something about the hit on Parker,” said Ross. “I’ll bet a shiny new quarter that he gave you a taste of what he had, but you believe there may be more. Negotiating on his behalf was part of the deal. Don’t bother telling me if I’m warm. I wouldn’t want you to feel compromised.”

“I’m a long way from feeling compromised, Agent Ross,” said Louis.

“But now you’ve got nothing,” said Ross.

“Except a clear run at Cambion, if I need it, right?”

The envelope stayed on Ross’s palm for a few seconds longer, then vanished into his pocket.

“Right,” he said. “And Parker?”

“If it leads us to the Believers, I’ll let you know through the rabbi, Epstein. Otherwise, you stay out of our affairs.”

“You’re an arrogant sonofabitch, you know that?”