The God Hunter (15 page)

 

CHAPTER 33

ASSAULT

S
hailer had a ground-­floor place in Brooklyn, near the Heights. Nice neighborhood. Nice-­looking apartment. I bet he'd had somebody in to clean while he was gone. Someone to make it all look nice for him. I bet he didn't have his ex-­wife wash his clothes or anything like that.

I'd spent the morning being fingerprinted, photographed, and generally entered in the annals of the NYPD. I had a number to call every time I went anywhere.

A life of law-­abiding peace and quiet, and in just a few days I'd found myself treated as a suspect in not one but two countries—­and yes, I
was
a suspect, regardless of the assurances Fantino gave me. Suspect for wasting police time, at the very best. Suspect for a lot worse, otherwise. A fact that fuelled my eagerness to have another little meet with Shailer, as soon as possible.

There was a café on the corner. New York's blessed with them. We settled in to wait. “He'll get a taxi,” I told Anna. “Keep a look out.”

I said to her, “You're coming in with me?”

She nodded.

“Do me a favor, then. Forget you're a cop. Just for a while, OK?”

I said, “He knows what's going on. Or he knows something, anyway. More than we do.”

But we didn't talk much. She kept going out for cigarettes. I drank all the coffee I'd the stomach for, then kept buying more to keep our seats. A pastry lay there on the tabletop in front of me. I'd taken one bite. I daresay it was good, but I couldn't face the rest.

I ordered milk, I ordered sandwiches.

He didn't take a cab.

He took a limousine.

It looked ridiculous, nosing around the corner, edging down a street it almost filled. Ridiculous, but wonderfully smooth, pulling up so gently that it hardly seemed to stop; more like a freeze-­frame in an ongoing journey. A uniformed chauffeur pulled the bags out of the trunk, piled them on the sidewalk, then ferried them to Shailer's front door. Shailer, meanwhile, slid out of the backseat like he'd just come back from Hollywood rather than a lecture tour: dark glasses and a suit of pastel blue.

“All right,” I said.

He tipped the chauffeur; didn't want him in the house, clearly. I let the man get back into the car and drive away while Shailer was still sorting out his keys. Then I was on the street, Anna behind me. Shailer hadn't seen. He got the door open; took the first of three big suitcases inside. I started running.

I reached the door as he was coming out again.

“Give you a hand with that?”

I picked his suitcase up—­it must have weighed a good fifty pounds—­and shoved it, full force, straight at him.

His glasses went askew. His mouth dropped open. And he fell back,
crump,
onto what looked to be a very pricey Oriental carpet spread across the hardwood floor.

That must have hurt,
I thought. Or at least, I hoped it had.

“Oh dear. Bit unsteady, are we? Long-­haul flights can do that to you, I believe.”

His hand was reaching for his pocket.

“Phone?” I said. “Give here. We want this nice and cozy. Just the three of us, OK? Hand it over.”

It was a classic play: make your demands while they're in shock, before they even get a chance to think things through.

He handed me the phone, meek as a lamb.

“I
f this is some kind of a joke—­”

Anna brought the final suitcase in. She shut the door. She pulled the blinds.

Nobody laughed.

“I don't know what this is about.”

He was perched on the edge of the sofa, palms out, helpless.

I said, “I think you do. You know a lot more than you're telling, anyway.”

“Hey! I'm being straight with you!” He gave that wonderful, disarming grin.

I smacked him in the head.

You learn some useful tricks in European jails.

“That—­that—­” He looked like somebody'd just snatched the rug from under him. “That's an assault!”

“No,” I told him. “That was just a tap. And not the first I've had to give you, either, come to that. Though I bet it's the first you've had in quite a while.”

His jaws made chewing motions, but no words.

“Remember the first? In Esztergom? Remember that? You were a right little prick. I didn't want you with me then, and you turned out even worse than I expected. And now we're all bearing the consequences. Jesus.”

“That was—­it was six years back! It was an accident! You can't blame me—­”

“Oh, but I can, see. And so can the widows and loved ones of the three guys you got killed this morning. Not to mention several others back in Budapest. Which makes this not just an issue between you and me, which it so clearly is, but also a police matter, see? Hence the presence of Detective Ganz, whose name you may recall.”

“Anna,” he said. “You know this is all nonsense. You know that!”

It was a great face she gave him, like she was looking down at something wriggling on a petri dish a long, long way beneath her.

To me, he said, “We need to talk about this. Like civilized ­people. It's obvious you think that something happened, and if you tell me just exactly what it was, what you think I've done, then I think that'd give us a good starting point, OK? Don't you?”

“No,” I told him. “No, I don't.

“See, we've got a problem with this ‘civilized behavior' bit. Because I have heard from you and certain other parties that if this doesn't get cleared up, chances are I'll be the company's official fall guy, a prospect I find less than amicable. You think that leaves me feeling civilized? Even one tiny, tiny little bit?”

I was standing right above him. He had to crane his neck right back to look at me.

“There's no need,” he said, “no need—­”

“There's every need!”

It was instinct; it was rage. And it was bloody good theatrics, too. I grabbed him by his collar, and I threw him forward. He hadn't been expecting it; he moved like a rag doll, sprawling headlong on the carpet. I glanced at Anna. She nodded. So I swung my leg back and I booted him, right in the ribs.

It wasn't really hard. But I liked the effect; he rolled around, back and forth, for several minutes, clutching at himself and groaning.

“Now,” I said. “That's ‘civilized.' You understand?”

He was lying on his back, and I stuck my hand into his top pocket and dragged him upright. I heard the stitches rip.

“Shame,” said Anna. “Is good suit.”

“Worth more than the bastard wearing it, I'll say that much.”

I let him pull himself into a sitting position. He shuffled till his back was up against the sofa.

“You won't—­”

“Get away with this? Hardly matters really, does it, since you're so intent on shafting me. I can do what I like to you, and what's the difference? Eh? See—­here's a really bad idea, Shailer. Giving me nothing to lose. You understand?”

“It's not like that.”

“Oh no?”

“No! Look—­I thought—­I thought maybe it was. But now—­we play it right and this'll all blow over in a few days. But you've—­you've got to keep cool, chill out a bit, you know? You'll see—­”

“No. I don't think so.”

Anna lit a cigarette. She was very studied about it. She put it to her lips, lit the lighter, sucked her cheeks in. Her cheekbones stood out as if she were some carved exotic idol.

Shailer flapped his hand at her, face twisting up in pain. “Don't—­don't smoke in here, please.”

She blew three neat smoke rings, one after another, each one aimed right at him: three white crowns of shame.

“Nice trick,” I said. To him, “Now. Since we've established the parameters, let's get to this ‘civilized' part, shall we? Whether it lasts is up to you, of course. Got any scotch?”

He pointed to a cabinet across the room.

“You,” I said, “do not move. And I will fix us drinks.”

 

CHAPTER 34

NO ONE'S RESPONSIBLE

H
e was better with a glass in his hands. He gulped the liquid down like medicine. I pulled a chair over. There was a lot of nice stuff in the room: some long flute vases, shading from turquoise to a deep vermillion; a big, wall-­mounted TV; ornaments and statuettes and paintings by, I'd guess, the latest up-­and-­comers from the city's art world. In other words, there was an awful lot to smash up if he chose not to cooperate.

I said, “This thing. This killer. You knew what it looked like, didn't you? That's why you wanted me in on it. Not because I was the expert, not even because you thought I'd want a cover-­up as much as you. But because if I couldn't solve the problem, you could always blame me. Right?”

“You've got this all wrong.”

“You'd have had me framed for murder, wouldn't you?”

“Chris! Anna! You are so wrong about me, you really don't—­”

“Lighter,” I said.

She passed me the lighter. I looked around. There was a beautiful wooden coffee table just in reach. Unusual design. Sweeping curves, all very elegant.

“Nice table,” I said. “But I think I could improve it.”

I clicked a flame, held it to the table edge. Let the wood begin to blacken, that faint, charred smell mingling with the scent of Anna's cigarettes.

“No—­don't. Look—­”

“At what, Shailer?”

“That's a very valuable item—­”

“Smells like it. Rug looks pretty pricey, too. I could do some work on that next, I suppose. Go up like a bonfire, that would.”

“All right, all right!” He smacked his fists against his thighs, over and over, like a small boy in a tantrum.

I tossed the lighter back to Anna. She lit another cigarette. This time, he didn't say a word.

“You knew,” I said.

“If I tell you, is that it? I mean, we're done?”

“Depends on what you tell me.”

He digested this. Then, in a small voice, not quite his own, said, “There was a photo. A still from a security camera. That was early on. I recognized it. At least, I saw the resemblance. My first thought—­sorry Chris—­was that you were the killer. There's some weird guys in field—­you know that. And I thought, well, he's cracked up. See? He's—­well.”

“And your second thought was, you'd screwed up, but at least you'd found someone to take the blame.”

“No! No, no. I checked your whereabouts, obviously, at the time of the murders. Now, that was something I didn't have to do, you know? I could have just gone straight to HR, told them what I saw—­”

“Hang on,” I said. “Backtrack here. How come you're looking at this picture anyway? What the hell leads you to that?”

“Well, I know a lot of ­people. That's my job, see? I've got friends, a lot of friends, and some of them are very, very powerful. Some are in the legal system in your country, Anna. Could be useful to you, hey? Could come in handy?” He nodded fervently to her. I reached out one foot and dug him in the ribs with my boot-­toe.

“You were watching for it.”

“Not—­not specifically. But, you know, we look out for anything that could be a manifestation. Anything at all. So, the murders got flagged up. The ‘Budapest Bloodsucker.' I took a look, and—­well, I was surprised.” He gave me a long, would-­be sincere look. “I had the pic removed from evidence, you'll be glad to know. And then I called you in.”

Anna sucked a breath so loud we turned to look at her.

“
Removed,
” she said.

“It'd only cause confusion. I knew that. I wanted Chris to have a free hand. Thought he'd work better that way. Understand?”

“Let's go back,” I said. “You started this. You started it when you unplugged that cable, six years back.”

“Me? I—­what?”

“Cut the bullshit.” I glanced around for something else to damage. The vases looked particularly good. Nice and splinterable.

He stopped me. “Wait, wait. We need to get this sorted out, once and for all. I can see you're blaming me for something, and that's got to be cleared up, you know? Yeah, I mean, I know there was an accident. Things didn't work right, and it happens, and it's why we're in this, you know, tricky situation now. But—­well, the word is
accident,
OK? Ac-­ci-­dent. It's no one's
fault
. No one's
responsible
. It's just a
thing,
a shit-­happens kind of thing. You can accept that, right?”

“You,” I said, “unplugged a cable in the circuit. You did it because you were pissed off with me, and you're still pissed off with me, probably because I know what you did and therefore you presume I have the power to put a dent in your career. Which, believe me, I am now tempted to do.”

“Chris, Chris! Jesus! I mean, this is oversensitive. You pride yourself on your work, sure, so do I, and you're good, no question, but, believe me, there was an error, there was—­”

I got up. Swung around, casually. The smallest of the vases smacked onto the floor. It was heavier than it looked. It broke with a nice, clean diagonal fracture and lay there in two quite separate pieces, each rather delightful in itself. And it shut Shailer up completely. His hands kept trying to make some gesture, like he was trying to stuff a football in his mouth. I quite liked that.

“First one down,” I said.

“That, that, that—­”

He moved to collect the pieces the way you'd move to help a hurt child. I blocked him with my knee.

“That's a genuine Calabri. You know what that's worth?”

“Like the suit. More than you are.”

“Jesus Christ, you can't just come in here, do this, we've got laws, it's the United fucking States, right, not some backwoods European shithole! I am warning you, I—­”

I tapped the next vase in the line. It wobbled, rocking on its base. I genuinely didn't know if it was going to fall or not.

“Truth,” I said.

The vase settled; I made to hit it again.

“All right! All right!” He was almost shrieking. I'm not normally inclined to a sadistic bent, but this was pleasing to me. Strange, the things you learn about yourself. I took my hand back from the vase. “All right,” he said again, sucking air. His chest swelled; he puffed his cheeks up, blew out, trying to calm himself. “I—­look. I admit, I may have—­I dunno, it's a long time ago—­I may have maybe tripped over something, I don't really remember. You know? There's a lot happened since then. You think I can remember everything—­” I took a swipe at the vase. “Christ, OK! OK! Look—­I tripped, and, yeah, maybe disconnected something, I admit it, and I know, I mean I
know
I should have gone back, checked it out. And if I'd had even the first idea of what was going to happen—­how important it was going to be—­I—­well, of
course
I'd have fixed it.” He shook his head. “I was ignorant, that's all. Is that a crime? I was fucking ignorant. Don't you forgive me that? Come on!”

“You knew enough. And enough to think you'd get away with it.”

“How do I convince you? How?”

“I tell you: try giving me money, I will tear this place apart.”

Anna sniffed. “Me,” she said, “you can give money. But it will not help.”

“This is the deal,” I told him. “You are in it right up to your neck, on more counts than I can even list. First, you tried to get me killed six years ago—­”

“No—­”

“And in doing so, not only screwed the operation but now we've got a loose incarnate running round. Who takes it in his head, all of a sudden, to come to New York, where you happen to live. Now, since most ­people who meet him seem to end up dead, I'd say you've got a lot more than just me to worry about, don't you think? If you intend to stay alive. So I am here to do you the very big favor of saving your arse. At least till official discipline procedures can take over. You understand?”

Shailer said something. I didn't catch it, so I kicked him again. It was becoming something of a reflex. “Say again.”

“You're wrong,” he said.

“I think not.”

“You've got no proof.”

This, of course, was the flaw in the scheme, but I didn't think I needed to inform him about that. I just said, “Wrong.”

“It isn't here for me.”

“The evidence suggests it is.”

“
The evidence
. You don't know anything about what's going on here. And as for discipline—­the Registry'll back me to the
hilt,
you know? Because what's happening—­this is big. You're seeing one small part—­one little fly in the ointment. But this is huge. It's so big, I just can't, can't even
tell
you what it is. Know that? Can't say a word, but I know, I know I'm protected, and—­”

“Can't tell?” I said.

He shook his head.

“Well. Better try. Or this place could look very, very messy. Are we clear?”