Zilla Daund fnished giving her opinion on Cleopatra's ruthlessness, which apparently extended to slaughtering her own relatives when the situation required it. 'She lived in an age of murder and betrayal,' Daund told her friends. 'I don't believe that she killed because she liked it. She killed because it was the most effective solution to the problems that she faced.'
The other women laughed – that was their Zilla, always following the shortest route between two points, no matter who or what happened to be in the way – and Louis watched as Daund laughed along with them. The group broke up. Louis returned his attention to Maxwell Perkins. In a letter dated November 17, 1936, Perkins was trying to come to terms with the fact that Wolfe was severing ties with him. 'I know you would not ever do an insincere thing,' wrote Perkins to Wolfe, 'or anything you did not think was right.'
Louis had to admire Perkins's faith, even if he adjudged it to have ultimately been misplaced.
'He ruined Thomas Wolfe, you know.'
Louis looked up. Zilla Daund was standing before him, her copy of Cleopatra cradled beneath her left arm, her right hidden in a pocket of her coat.
'He did good by Hemingway and Fitzgerald,' said Louis. 'Can't win 'em all.'
He didn't allow his eyes to drift to her right hand. He held her gaze.
'No,' she said, 'maybe you can't. Enjoy your wine – and your book.'
She walked away, and Louis thought: she's made me, or thinks she has. It didn't matter. If she and her husband were as smart as Cambion and the Collector seemed to think, they must have learned quickly that the private detective they'd tried to kill was different, and the perpetrators of the attack on him were being hunted not only by the police, but by men who were not unlike themselves. Perhaps they had simply not expected to be found so quickly, if they were found at all. Louis wondered if Cambion had already warned them.
He called Angel as he watched her walk across the street to the parking garage.
'Where is he?'
'In his offce,' said Angel. 'He's been in tutorials since this morning, and he's about to give a class until four.'
'If he cancels, call me.'
'Why?'
'I think the woman is spooked. If I'm right, she'll contact him. You know where he's parked?'
'Yes.'
'Watch the car.'
'What about you?'
'I'll take the house. Stay with the husband. And, hey?'
'What?'
'You ever read Look Homeward, Angel?'
'Fuck, no. It must be a thousand pages long. Why would I want to do that?'
'I knew there was a reason why I liked you,' said Louis.
'Yeah?' said Angel. 'Well, if I think of one in return, I'll let you know.'
Louis was ahead of the woman all the way. He had parked at a meter, just outside the store, so as soon as she was out of sight he left cash for his wine and returned to his car. Angel had already taken care of the house alarm earlier in the day, once he was certain that William Daund was committed to his tutorials. It meant that when Zilla Daund entered the house, Louis was waiting for her. She said only one word as she set her bag down, Louis's suppressed .22 inches from her head.
'Fuck.'
'I prefer "fucked",' said Louis. 'And just for the record, you're wrong about Maxwell Perkins.'
He closed the front door with his foot, and took a step back from her.
'You know what this is about?' he asked.
'The hit in Maine.'
'Someone told you to expect trouble?'
'We knew from the aftershock, but we got a call.'
'Cambion?'
She didn't respond.
'Not that it's any consolation, but he told us about you as well,' said Louis. 'Not everything, but a start.'
'Like you say, we got fucked.'
'Yes, you did. Drop the bag.'
A big purse hung from her left shoulder. He'd watched her as she drank her wine earlier, so he knew that she was righthanded, even before she'd spoken to him with that hand concealed, probably holding a weapon aimed at him. He fgured she had at least one gun on her person, and maybe another in the purse.
'If you're armed, you better tell me now.'
'In my purse.'
'But not your right coat pocket?'
'Oops.'
Louis stepped back and told her to let the coat fall from body. It landed with a heavy thud on the wood foor.
'You got anything else?'
'You're welcome to frisk me.'
'We're below the Mason–Dixon line. Us colored folks got to be careful with the white women down here. I'd prefer it if you just told me.'
'Left side, on the belt.'
'You expecting war to break out?'
'We live in a dangerous world.'
She was wearing a loose-ftting cardigan under a light jacket, the kind that would easily cover a gun.
'Use your left hand,' Louis said. 'Thumb and index fnger only. Slowly.'
Zilla Daund lowered her left hand, pushed aside her jacket with her forearm, and used the palm of her hand to raise the cardigan, exposing the gun. It looked like a little hammerless S&W 642 in a .38 Special.
'This is awkward,' she said. 'The holster's tight.'
He saw her tense, and was a second ahead of her. She was fast, twisting her body at the same time as she raised her right hand to lash out at him, but by then Louis was already bringing the butt of his gun down on her right temple. He followed her to the foor, wrenching the .38 from its holster and tossing it aside. She was stunned, but conscious. He kept the gun at the base of her neck while he pulled her jacket and cardigan to her elbows, trapping her arms, then patted her down. Her jeans were skintight, but he still checked them for a blade. He released her when he was done, and watched as she rearranged her clothing. He found her phone and handed it to her.
'Call your husband,' he said.
'Why?'
She looked dazed, but he thought that she might have been exaggerating for his beneft. He allowed her to sit up with her back against the wall, although he insisted that she keep her legs outstretched and her hands away from her body. It would make it harder for her to raise herself up if she tried to attack him again. Louis was under no illusions about how dangerous this woman was.
'Because I know that you called your husband after you spoke to me at the bookstore. My guess is that he's expecting the all-clear.'
Angel had called Louis when he was within sight of the house to tell him that William Daund was on the move. 'Let him come,' had been Louis's instruction.
Louis waited while she went to her 'Recent Calls' and found 'Bill'. He let the gun touch her left temple as her fnger hovered over the call button.
'If I was aware that your husband was coming, then you understand I'm not working alone. Your husband is being followed. If you say anything to alert him, we'll know. This doesn't have to end badly for you.'
She stared at him. Any after effects, real or feigned, of the blow to her head were now almost entirely gone.
'We both know that's not true,' she said. 'I've seen your face.'
'Ma'am,' said Louis, 'right now you have no idea just how much worse this could get for you and your family.'
It was the mention of her family that did it. This wasn't just about her and her husband.
'Fuck,' she said again, softly.
'You were that concerned about the safety of your boys, maybe you should have picked another line of work,' said Louis. 'Make the call. Raise the volume, but don't put it on speaker.'
She did as she was told. Louis listened.
'Zill?' said her husband.
'I'm home,' she said. 'But we still need to talk.'
'I'm on my way. No more over the phone.'
'Okay. Just be quick.'
The call ended.
'Zill and Bill,' said Louis. 'Cute.'
She didn't reply. He could see her calculating, trying to fgure out what moves were open to her. Seconds later, Louis's phone buzzed.
&n
bsp; 'Angel.'
'He's about fve minutes from you.'
'Stay as close as you can.'
'Got it.'
Louis continued to point the gun at Zilla Daund.
'Crawl into the kitchen on your belly,' he said. 'Do it.'
'What?'
'If you try to get to your feet I'll kill you.'
'You're an animal.'
'Now you're just being hurtful,' said Louis. 'Kitchen.'
He stayed behind her as she crawled, keeping the gun on her all the way. The kitchen was mostly walnut, with a matching table and four chairs at the center. When Zilla Daund reached the table, Louis told her to get up slowly and take a seat facing the door. He removed a cup from a shelf and placed it in front of her. The kitchen extended the width of the house, with a connecting door leading to a big living room with a dining area at one end. Between the table and the connecting door was a refrigerator and a glass-fronted cabinet flled with canned goods. It was there that Louis took up position. He couldn't see the front door, but he could see the woman.
The sound of a car pulling up came from the front of the house. About a minute later there was the sound of a key in the door. This was the moment. This was when Zilla Daund would warn her husband.
The door opened. Three things happened almost simultaneously.
Zilla Daund screamed her husband's name and threw herself to the kitchen foor.
William Daund raised the gun that was already in his hand and prepared to fre.
And Angel appeared behind William Daund and killed him with a single suppressed shot to the back of the head. Angel then proceeded into the house and closed the door behind him. He didn't look at Daund's body as he stepped over it. It was not callousness. He just didn't want to see what he had done. He checked the street from the living room window, but there was no indication that anyone had witnessed what had occurred. Then again, they wouldn't know for sure unless the cops arrived on the doorstep. This had to be quick.
When he joined Louis in the kitchen, Zilla Daund was standing by the utility room. She was under Louis's gun, but she had a big kitchen knife in her hand. On whom she intended to try to use it wasn't clear, but turning it on anyone in that room, including herself, wouldn't be a positive turn of events.
'You were only ever going to let one of us live,' she said.
'No,' said Louis. 'Neither of you was ever going to live. The frst one into the house was just going to live longer.'
Zilla Daund turned the knife in her hand, and placed the tip of it against her throat.
'You'll leave with nothing,' she said.
'Before you do that,' said Louis, 'you ought to call your son.'
He placed a cell phone on the kitchen table and slid it carefully to the end nearest Zilla. He lowered his gun. Angel did the same. Zilla Daund approached the table. She picked up the phone. There was one name on the display: Kerr, her younger boy.
She called his number. He answered.
'Kerr?' she said.
'Mom? Mom?'
'Kerr, are you okay?'
'I don't know where I am, Mom. I got jumped by some men, and they've been driving me around for hours. Mom, I'm scared. What's happening?'
'You're going to be fne, honey. It's a big mistake. Those men are about to let you go. I love you.'
'Mom? What—'
Zilla Daund killed the connection. She placed the knife
back in its block. She bit her lower lip and shook her head. Her eyes were elsewhere. A tear trickled down one cheek, but whether it was for her son, her husband, or herself could not be known.
'Your word?' she said.
'He'll be released unharmed,' said Angel.
He didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. Threatening kids was not in his nature. It was necessary, but that didn't make it right.
'How can I trust you?' said Zilla Daund.
'Without overstating the obvious,' said Louis, 'you don't have much choice. But I fgure Cambion told you enough about us, and you've maybe learned a little more in the meantime.'
'We made some calls,' she admitted.
'And?'
'If we'd known about you, we'd have killed you before we went after the detective.'
'Ambitious.'
'And careful.'
'No. If you were careful, you'd have done your homework frst.'
Zilla Daund conceded the point.
'Who told you to kill the detective?' said Louis.
'Hayley Conyer.'
'Who's Hayley Conyer?'
'The chief selectman of the town of Prosperous, Maine.'
'Why?'
'I didn't ask, but everything Hayley does is for the good of the town.'
'You kill for anyone else?'
'No, just her.'
'For money?'
'She pays, but we'd have helped her for nothing if we had to. We're of the town from generations past.'
'Who else knew?'
'Morland, the chief of police. Pastor Warraner. The rest of the board of selectmen.'
'Did you kill a homeless man named Jude in Portland and make it look like suicide?'
'Yes.'
'And his daughter?'
'No.'
'What's so special about Prosperous?' asked Angel.
Zilla Daund's mouth settled into the odd grimace of determination that Louis had identifed back at the bookstore, her teeth gritted, her lips slightly parted.
'That's all you get,' she said.
'You sold out your town pretty easily,' said Louis.
'I didn't sell it out at all,' said Zilla Daund. 'Prosperous will eat you alive.'
Louis shot her twice. She shuddered on the kitchen foor for a time before she died. Louis walked to the front window of the house and looked out. It was already getting dark. The houses in this modern dormitory community all sat on large lots divided by hedges and trees. Lights burned in some of the homes, but there was nobody on the streets. Louis wondered how anyone could live in a development like this, with its near-identical houses on clearly delineated lots, the tiny differences in detail or aspect designed to give a false impression of individuality. Maybe killing people was the only way the Daunds could keep from going crazy.
Given more time, they would have searched the house, but Angel was uneasy. From his jacket pocket he produced two fasks of carbolic acid, or liquefed phenol. He and Louis retraced their steps through the house, spraying the carbolic acid as they went. Phenol was a useful contaminant of DNA samples. Once they were done, they left the house and returned to their cars. Each had a false adhesive number plate attached to the original. They took only seconds to remove, and melted in open fame. Louis made the call to Kerr Daund's captors, but they were instructed not to release him until the following morning, by which time Angel and Louis would be far away from Asheville, North Carolina but considerably closer to Prosperous, Maine.
52
They did not immediately descend on Prosperous. Instead
Louis and Angel waited, and they planned.
An apartment on Eastern Promenade in Portland was rented in the name of one of Louis's shelf companies. At the Great Lost Bear, Dave Evans turned a blind eye as a succession of meetings took place in his offce, until eventually he resigned himself to doing his paperwork in a booth by the bar. Prosperous was visited by a pair of Japanese businessmen and their wives, who endeared themselves to everyone they met with their courtesy and enthusiasm. They took a lot of photographs, but then that was to be expected of tourists from the Far East. They even accepted it in good spirits when they were prevented from entering the cemetery that surrounded the old church. The ground was unsafe, they were told, but plans were being put in place to mark a route through the gravestones to the chapel itself. Perhaps next time, if they returned.
And one evening, shortly after Angel and Louis's arrival in Portland, Ronald Straydeer came to the Great Lost Bear. Ronald had rarely frequented the city's bars when he did drink, and now that he had given up he had no cause to visit
them at all, but Angel and Louis preferred to conduct their business away from their apartment, for the fewer people who knew about it, the better. The meeting with Ronald had been arranged through Rachel Wolfe, as Ronald did not know of any other way to contact the two men whom he sought. He had left a message for her at the hospital where the detective still lay in his coma. Ronald's short note requested simply that Rachel call him. Rachel had met Ronald on a couple of occasions while she was still living in Scarborough, so she knew who he was, and was aware of the mutual respect that existed between him and her former lover. She asked no questions when he told her that he wanted to be put in touch with Angel and Louis, but simply passed the message on to them. When Angel eventually called, Ronald had said only this: 'I saw something happen in Prosperous, something bad.'
The Wolf in Winter Page 35
