‘A woman was killed in London,’ I said. ‘Her name was Eleanor Ricks. She was a journalist, investigating the Disciples of Love.’
‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘You didn’t sanction her killing?’
‘No.’
‘Then Kline acted alone.’
Now he looked up at me. ‘You killed her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then answer me a question. Why would Kline need to pay someone to do the job when he had his own hired army?’
It was a good question. So good, in fact, that I didn’t have an answer ...
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘You tell me.’ Provost smiled. ‘I can’t tell you. I can only tell you what Kline told me. He doesn’t know why you’ve been snooping around. He didn’t order any assassination, and he, too, was wondering who did. When you started asking questions, you became a threat.’
‘He’s had journalists killed, hasn’t he? He had Sam Clancy shot.’
‘Kline didn’t have much of a conscience, if that’s what you’re saying.’
‘But what was he trying to protect? Why was he shielding you?’
‘Money, Mr West, what else? Oh, I don’t mean I was paying him. I mean he paid me, and he’s been paying for that mistake ever since.’ He glanced down at Kline’s body. ‘He paid most dearly tonight.’
‘I still don’t get it.’
‘Kline worked for a part of the NSC involved with funding the Nicaraguan Contras. This was back in the mid-80s. He managed to wheedle ten million dollars out of ... I don’t know, the Sultan of somewhere, some Middle Eastern country. At this time, I had a little money. Elderly relatives kept dying. I got bored attending so many funerals. I liked to keep my money my own business, so I held an account in Switzerland.’
‘Go on.’
‘It was quite a coup for Kline, getting so much money for the Contras, but he didn’t exactly know what to do with it. Someone at the NSC, I’m not saying it was Colonel Oliver North, suggested holding it in a bank account until it could be disposed of as intended.’
‘A Swiss bank account?’
‘The NSC held just such an account. Only the gods of fate and irony stepped in. Kline copied the details of the account down wrongly. I can’t recall now exactly why I decided to check the state of my account, but I telephoned Switzerland one Thursday morning their time, and was told the exact amount I had on deposit. It seemed larger than I remembered, about ten million larger. I asked my account manager how much notice I had to make of a large withdrawal.’
Provost stopped there.
‘You took out the whole ten mil?’
‘No, in the end I merely transferred it to a new account.’
‘Christ.’
‘It was Kline’s mistake. He was sent to reason with me — no matter how discreet Swiss banks are, the NSC has ways of tracking people down. We came to a compromise. I handed back half the money. The other half I kept.’
‘And he went along with that?’
‘He didn’t have much choice.’
‘He could have killed you.’
Provost smiled. ‘The NSC weren’t mentioned in my will, Mr West. He still wouldn’t have gotten the money. Besides which, his superiors were furious with him. They couldn’t possibly sanction something so messy.’
‘So they booted him out?’
‘No, they booted him into the shadows. His remit was to make sure no one ever got to learn about the whole thing.’
‘And that meant stopping reporters from snooping too deeply?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Which is why Eleanor Ricks had to be stopped.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve already told you, Kline denied it. And he went on denying it.’
‘Then it doesn’t make sense.’
‘Maybe someone else hired your services.’
‘Yes, but I’ve ...’
He saw what I was thinking. ‘You’ve come all this way and killed all these people, and you’re no further forward?’
I nodded. My mind was reeling. I’d got most of my hearing back, but it didn’t matter, I could hardly take any of it in.
‘Two digits, that’s what did it,’ Provost was saying. ‘Kline wasn’t much of a typist. He transposed two of the digits on the account number. And in doing so, the NSC paid for the Disciples of Love. That, Mr West, is why they had to keep it quiet. They’d funded a religious cult, and the interest on their money is still funding it.’
‘Where’s the proof?’
‘Oh, I have proof.’
‘Where?’ I wasn’t sure I believed him, not completely. There had to be something more. He looked to be having trouble with his memory, so I tickled his chin with the Colt.
‘Remember what I do for a living, Provost.’
‘How can I forget? There are papers in my wall safe, and copies with my lawyer.’
Maybe it was the word ‘lawyer’ that did it. I almost felt something click in my head.
‘You’re going to open your safe for me.’
‘It’s not here, it’s in my home in Seattle.’
‘Fine, we’ll go there.’
‘I want to stay here. The combination’s easy to find. I can never remember it myself, so I keep it written on a pad beside the telephone. It’s marked as an Australian telephone number.’
I knew I had to see it for myself. I had to hold some proof of his story in my hands. Even then, it wouldn’t be enough. I’d come through all this, and dragged Bel and Spike with me, and still there was no answer, not that Provost could provide.
A shot rang out. I spun round with the Colt. The guard had crawled from where Spike must have left him. There was blood all down his front. I didn’t make things much worse by snuffing out what life he had left. I’d robbed him of a few minutes, that was all.
But when I turned back to Provost, I saw that he’d taken a shot to the heart. The guard had been aiming at him, not me. Suicide orders from Kline, no doubt. I eased the body on to the ground. Bel barely glanced up from her work. She’d patched Spike up as best she could.
‘He’s still losing blood,’ she said. After feeling for Provost’s pulse and finding none, I walked over to her. Then I saw the car between the cabins. Its rear windscreen had been shattered, but when I went to look, it had its tyres intact. I felt in Kline’s pockets and drew out the keys, then reversed the car into the clearing.
With Bel’s help we got Spike into the back of the car. He groaned and winced a little, so I repeated my warning to him about gun heaven. Then we got in the car and drove off.
‘What are we going to do?’ Bel asked.
‘Get Spike to hospital.’
‘But after that? I heard what that man said back there. He was telling us we’d come all this way for nothing. He was saying all those people died ... and my father died ... for nothing.’
I looked at her. She was crying. ‘Maybe he was lying. Maybe ... I don’t know.’
We passed a car on the road, hurtling towards Crescent Lake. It was the lookout. They didn’t even give us a second glance. I took a detour back to where we’d left the wardens. They seemed terrified to see us. I pulled them out of the Chrysler and left them propped back to back on the ground.
‘You take Spike to hospital,’ I said.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Provost’s house.’
She looked at me. ‘Do you think you’ll find what you’re looking for?’
‘I don’t know what I’m looking for, Bel. Look after Spike, eh?’ Then I kissed her and got into the Chrysler.
On the road back into Seattle, I managed to put America out of my mind. Instead, I thought back to London, right to the start of this whole thing and to Scotty Shattuck. Why hadn’t I hung around until he’d turned up again? He was the key to the whole thing. My impatience had led me the wrong direction. I’d been going wrong ever since.
Maybe I was still going wrong, but I kept on driving.
28
I was prepared to kick down Provost’s door. But it wasn’t necessary. The door was unlocked. I eased the Smith & Wesson 559 out of my waistband and crept into the house. Someone had been there before me. The place had been turned over in what looked like robbery, except that nothing obvious was missing. The TV, video and hi-fi were still there, as was some women’s jewellery scattered over the floor in the master bedroom. It had to be Alisha’s jewellery. I didn’t feel too guilty about killing her. She’d have killed me. But seeing the jewellery, plus her clothes, plus smelling her perfume ... I had to rest for a moment and control my breathing.
And that’s when he found me.
I felt the cold muzzle of the gun against the back of my neck. It froze my whole body for a moment.
‘Toss the gun over there.’
I did as I was told, and then was frisked from behind.
‘Walk into the living room.’
I did so. I recognised the voice. I knew who was behind me.
‘Now turn around.’
I turned around and was face to face with Leo Hoffer.
‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Take the weight off. You look like you’ve had a heavy night.’
‘It’s been heavy.’ I sat down on the sofa, but I rested on its edge, ready to spring up if I got the chance.
‘Get comfortable,’ he said. ‘Go on, sit right back.’
I sat right back. The sofa was like marshmallow. I knew it was almost as good as restraints. I wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.
‘Yeah, it’s a bitch, isn’t it?’ Hoffer was saying. ‘I sat in it earlier on while I was figuring out what to do. Took me five fucking minutes to get out of it. It’s a regular Venus fly-trap. So, Mr Wesley-Weston-West, what’re you doing here?’
‘The same as you probably.’
‘Well, I hope you’ve got some tools with you, because that safe isn’t budging.’
He was pointing in the direction of the far wall. He’d taken down a large seascape painting to reveal a small wall safe. Even from here I could see he’d had a go at it. The wall all around it was scraped and gouged, and the metal surface of the safe was scratched and dented.
‘I can open it,’ I said.
‘That’s good. Because I want to stick your head in it then push my pistol up your ass.’
‘That’s class, Hoffer.’
‘I’ll tell you what class is, class is leading me on this fucking chase halfway across the world and back. That’s so classy I’m going to blow you away.’
I felt tired suddenly. I mean, dog-tired. There was no steam left in me, no fight. I rubbed at my forehead.
‘I want a drink,’ I said.
‘Provost hasn’t got a damned drop in the house.’ He reached into his jacket and pulled out a half bottle. ‘That’s why I had to go fetch this.’ He tossed the bottle on to the couch beside me. It was Jim Beam, a couple of inches missing from the top. I unscrewed the cap and took a good deep gulp. Afterwards, I didn’t feel quite so tired.
‘How did you find me?’
He came close enough to me to take back the bottle, then retreated again. He took a slug, keeping his eyes and his Smith & Wesson 459 on me. He didn’t bother recapping the bottle, but left it on the mantelpiece.
‘Don’t forget,’ I said, ‘your prints are on that.’
‘And yours,’ he said. ‘I’ll wipe it before I go. You look like you’re ready for another shot already.’
But I shook my head. ‘Any more and I’ll fall asleep, no offence.’
He smiled. ‘None taken. But I don’t want you asleep. I’ve never killed a man while he’s sleeping. In fact, I’ve never killed anyone, period, not even in anger, never mind anyone defenceless. I’m not like you, man. I don’t kill the innocents. You fucked up big when you hit Walkins’s daughter.’
‘I know.’
‘Yeah, and I bet you still lose sleep over it. I bet you lose sleep over all of them, man, all your victims. Well, I’m going to enjoy killing you.’
‘Killing isn’t as easy as you might think. Maybe you should hide me away till your client can come and help. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind firing off a round or two.’
‘You’re probably right, but then he hasn’t worked for that privilege the way I have. How did I find you? I didn’t. You found me. I was waiting outside to see who turned up. I was expecting Provost or Kline.’
‘You know Kline?’
‘I’ve met him.’
‘He’s dead.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. He was about as evil a fuck as has ever given me indigestion. I hate indigestion at breakfast, it stays with me the rest of the day. Heartburn, you know.’
I nodded. ‘Provost’s dead, too.’
‘You’ve been busy. So what the fuck was it all about?’
I shrugged. ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I want to thank you for something.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘What?’
‘Covering up Max’s head the way you did. His daughter found him.’
‘Well, those sick fucks left the head teetering on the body.’
‘I know, and thanks.’
‘Is she still around?’
‘She’s ... she’s still around.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’ve got no grudge with her.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘This is you and me, Mikey, the way it was always supposed to be. Oh hey, your folks say hello.’
It was like a blow to the head. ‘What?’
‘I had this Army guy check haemophilia cases. It was a short list, and one of the names was Michael Weston. I found your mom and dad. They say hello. That’s why I was so long getting here. Sidetracked, you might say. But I know a lot about you now, and that’s nice, seeing how we’re not going to be able to get acquainted the normal way.’ He saw something like disbelief on my face. ‘Your father’s called John, he’s retired now but he’s still Army through and through. Your mother’s called Alexis. They live in Stock-port.’ He smiled. ‘Am I getting warm?’
‘Fuck it, Hoffer, just kill me.’
‘What’s in the safe, Mike? Get me interested.’
‘Huh?’
‘You came here for whatever’s in that safe. I want to know what it is.’
‘Proof,’ I said. ‘This whole shitty deal is down to Kline and a bloody typing error.’
I had his interest now, which was good. It kept me from being killed. I told him the story, taking my time. I decided I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want anyone else to die. Not today, maybe not ever.
‘That sounds,’ Hoffer said, finishing the hooch, ‘like a crock of twenty-carat gold-plated shit.’
‘There are papers in the safe.’
‘And you can open it?’ I nodded. ‘Go on then.’
He followed me to the telephone. There were a lot of scribbles on the message-pad, a lot of numbers and letters. I found what I wanted and tore the top sheet off, taking it with me to the wall-safe.
‘Bullshit,’ Hoffer sneered disbelievingly as I read from the sheet and started turning the dial. I pulled on the handle and opened the safe slowly.
I looked inside, knowing if he wanted to see, he’d have to come right up behind my back. I could feel him behind me. He was close, but was he close enough? If I swung at him, would I connect with anything other than air? Then I saw what was in the safe. There were papers there, and a tidy bundle of banknotes. But there was also a snub-nose revolver, a beautiful little 38. I took my decision, but took it too late. The butt of a gun connected with the back of my head, and my legs collapsed from under me.
I woke up cramped, like I’d been sleeping in a car. I blinked open my eyes and remembered where I was. I looked around. The pain behind my eyes was agony. I wondered if Hoffer had been in there and done some DIY surgery while I’d been out. Maybe a spot of trepanning. I was in a bright white bathroom with a sunken whirlpool bath and gold taps. I was over by the sink, sitting on the cold tiled floor with my arms behind me. My arms were stiff. I looked round and saw
that they were handcuffed round a couple of copper water pipes beneath the sink. My feet had been tied together with a man’s brown leather belt.
Most disconcerting of all, Hoffer was sitting on the toilet not three feet away.
He had his trousers on though. And he’d put the toilet lid down so he’d be more comfortable. He had my money belt slung over one shoulder, and he was leafing through some documents.
‘Well, Mike,’ he said, ‘looks like you were right, huh? Some fucking business, handed five mil by the government. Thank you very much and shalom. Jesus.’ He patted his jacket pocket. ‘Yet the scumbag only kept five thou in his safe. Still, it’ll buy a few lunches. And thanks for your donation.’ He tossed the money-belt towards me. ‘I’ve left you the traveller’s cheques. I don’t want to get into any forgery shit. Not that they accept traveller’s cheques where you’re headed.’
I rattled the handcuffs.
‘Good, aren’t they? New York PD issue. Before they went over to plastic or whatever shit they use now. Look, I’ll leave the key over here, okay?’ He put it on the floor beside him. ‘There you go. It’ll give you something to do while you’re dying. Of course, you may already be dying, huh? I whacked you pretty good. There could be some internal haemorrhaging going on. See, I know about haemophilia, I did some reading. Man, they’re this close to a cure, huh? Genetics and stuff. Fuck all those liberals trying to stop laboratory experiments. Mike, we need more of those lab animals with holes drilled in their scrotums and wires running through them like they’re circuit-boards or something.’
‘Circuit-boards don’t have wires, Leo. At least, not many.’
‘Ooh, pardon me, professor.’ He laughed and rubbed his nose. I knew he’d done some drugs since I’d last been conscious, but I couldn’t tell what. He was feeling pretty good though, I could see that. Good enough to let me live? Well, he hadn’t killed me yet. He stood up and opened the medicine-cabinet.
‘All this organic shit,’ he muttered, picking out bottles and rattling them. He half-turned towards me. ‘I get fucking earache when I fly. And it’s all your fault I’ve been doing so much flying of late.’