‘Why didn’t he tell me?’
‘I don’t know. He’s ...he’s been very secretive recently.’
Luckily, he caught himself before he said he’s up to something. The phrase was too inflammatory for the circumstances, even if it was more accurate. Despite his choice of words, she caught something in his tone of voice.
‘What else?’
He went to stroke her hair again and she knocked his hand away.
‘What else, Hugh?’
‘You’re upset. We’ll talk about it later.’
‘Don’t fucking patronize me.’
He stepped away from her. She got up from the chair, the upset of a minute ago a thing of the past.
‘I already told you. You weren’t listening. You thought I was imagining things.’
He waved his left hand angrily in her face, making it throb even more.
‘I didn’t imagine this, did I?’
She shrank away from him, shocked at the outburst.
‘When I told you Vasiliev was getting impatient, you pooh-poohed it, told me not to be so paranoid. You remember that?’
‘Okay, I was wrong. I’m sorry.’
He shook his head, his mouth a tight, hard line.
‘I get a six-inch nail through the hand, and she’s sorry.’
‘Hugh, please,’ she said in an encouraging tone, like she was offering him the last piece of pie. ‘Tell me again, what’s my father been doing?’
‘He went to see the investigator, Buckley. The route he took, it was obvious he didn’t want anybody to know where he was going. It was the same when I followed him to the doctor’s clinic. He didn’t want anyone to know he was going to see Buckley or the doctor.’
‘And now we know he’s been hiding his illness from me.’
‘Exactly. I think it’s fair to say he’s up to something.’
He enjoyed putting the emphasis on the last three words, even if it was childish. It was about time she took what he said seriously.
‘It’s obvious,’ she said. ‘He’s hired Buckley to do something for him before he dies. But what?’
McIntyre shrugged. He stuffed his good hand deep into his front pocket and leaned back on his heels. It didn’t fool her.
‘Hugh. Tell me.’
He hesitated. His vague suspicions seemed stupid now, he didn’t want to put them into words. But she’d never let it go.
‘I’ve been following Buckley. The last couple of days, he’s been as good as living at the Register-Recorder’s office. Either he’s got a crush on one of the clerks there, or he’s doing a hell of a lot of digging.’
‘Into what? Real estate records?’
McIntyre shook his head.
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘What else do they keep there?’
‘I followed him inside one time—’
Momentarily, anxiety and anger tightened up her face.
‘What if he’d seen you? He’s not going to forget you after what you did.’
He shook his head angrily. She must think he was an idiot.
‘He didn’t see me. I didn’t go and sit next to him for Christ’s sake. I just wanted to see what section he went to. BDM. Births, deaths and marriages.’
Lisa’s forehead creased into a frown.
‘But—’
‘Let me think, will you. Just be quiet for two minutes for once in your life.’
He didn’t care how harshly it came out, she could pull that face all she liked. The answer was hovering, just out of reach. He couldn’t concentrate with her interrupting him all the time. He sorted everything he’d learned into two distinct piles in his mind.
In the first pile, the facts:
Frank Hanna was dying.
Lisa was all the family he had, she would inherit everything.
Hanna had refused to bail him out, accused him of being financially irresponsible.
Hanna knew he was still seeing Lisa.
Buckley was spending all his time searching births, deaths or marriages.
Although the second pile was all supposition, the logic flowed perfectly once he’d sorted the facts into order first:
Hanna would never willingly assist him financially.
He would not leave his money to Lisa while they were together.
If not Lisa, then somebody else.
Buckley was searching for a potential heir.
It made perfect sense. Lisa saw the change in his face, the scowl on her own face softening. She put her hand on his arm.
‘What is it?’
His voice failed him for a second, then came out as a whisper, hollow behind the blood in his ears.
‘Buckley’s searching for an heir.’
She looked at him like he was making up words. He ran through his thought process openly, counting off the points on his fingers, her face hardening again as she listened.
‘That’s ridiculous. There isn’t an anyone else. My mother would have told me.’
‘What if she didn’t know.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
He tuned her voice out as she listed the reasons why it couldn’t be true, why she didn’t want it to be true. And the more she put up reasons to refute it, the more positive he became he was right. And if he was, his only chance of satisfying Vasiliev was about to go up in smoke.
‘How old was your father when he met your mother?’
‘Hugh. You haven’t listened to a word I said.’
‘How old?’
She shook her head and shrugged, an aggravated sigh on her lips.
‘I don’t know, twenty, I think.’
‘That would have been 1966. So, sometime before then.’
‘You’re being—’
He thrust his left hand into her face, a faint trace of blood visible through the bandage.
‘Being what, Lisa? Being thorough? Not just telling myself no, no, no, daddy wouldn’t do that to me. Because, if I’m right, and he leaves it all to some stranger ...’
He had to find out if he was right—and put an end to it. He smiled despite the implications, surprising himself. There was one small consolation in the midst of all the shit he was drowning in. What better way to put an end to what Buckley was doing than put an end to Buckley himself.
Chapter 18
‘I HOPE YOU’RE NOT thinking of taking me to dinner in that.’
Evan slid in opposite Guillory and looked out the window at the rental.
‘Something with a small engine so you can’t do too much damage, I hope. I believe those were your exact words.’
She went back to her breakfast. He nabbed a couple of home fries, almost got a fork in the back of his hand.
‘And when was the last time you took any notice of a word I say?’
‘All the time. Fancy another beer, Evan? I always listen up when you say that. Can’t remember the last—’
‘You haven’t trashed the Corvette already, have you?’
‘I told you I was going to leave it at Charlotte’s. It’s too conspicuous.’
He felt a wave of delayed relief pass through him, a sudden coldness on the back of his neck, as he thought back to the incident the previous day.
‘Are you okay?’
She’d stopped eating and was staring at him.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look it.’
So he told her all about the windshield and the sledgehammer, the dead fish and the note. He didn’t mention letting Rodney have the fish. She didn’t take a bite of food the whole time he talked.
‘Like some kind of mafia message,’ she said when he’d finished.
‘Guy obviously watches too much TV in prison.’
‘What did you do with the fish?’
‘Why, you think I should’ve kept it, cooked you dinner at home?’
‘Idiot.’ She went back to eating her breakfast. ‘It’s getting more serious.’
‘There’s still nothing you can do. I worked it out, but that doesn�
�t make it evidence.’
‘Don’t suppose you got any contact details for those guys.’
He shook his head.
‘They’d run a mile the minute they saw you.’
She shrugged like she wouldn’t have expected it any other way, and looked out the window at his car.
‘Maybe you should park it where you can see it at all times in future. I hope you took the insurance this time.’
‘He’s not going to do the same thing again. Like you say, things are escalating. Who knows what he’s going to do next.’
The waitress came over and poured him some coffee. He ordered breakfast with extra bacon, felt he deserved it.
‘How’s the secret case coming along?’
He laughed, a nervous reaction after the subject of Hendricks and Floyd, and told her about his narrow escape from Stella at the Register-Recorder’s office.
‘I’m not surprised she thought she was on to something if you pushed your face into her breasts. I’d think the same thing if somebody did that to me. Although, maybe not if it was you.’
‘Remind me, is jealousy one of the seven deadly sins?’
They stared at each other, a silly half-grin on both their faces. The waitress arrived and put Evan’s breakfast down, shattering the moment, if it was a moment at all.
‘Talking of all things biblical, I did some more digging on the two names you gave me. Jesús and Hector Narvaez.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, really. Is that so strange?’
He shrugged and shook his head.
‘Just that last time we talked you said you were really tied up with work—yours and mine.’
‘Well, there you go then. That’s what I’ve been doing.’
‘You find anything?’
‘Nothing on Hector. What are they, father and son?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘As I say, nothing on the father. Jesús’ name came up.’
Evan nodded and called the waitress over. They both got a refill of coffee, a smile spreading across Guillory’s lips as the waitress poured.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘I told you last time, every time you don’t want to answer a question, or you want to act like you’re not interested, you order coffee.’
‘I get thirsty a lot.’
‘So you say. Well, whether you’re interested or not, there was a complaint made against Jesús Narvaez.’
‘Back in 1966?’
‘Yup.’
‘That must have taken some digging up.’
She let out a burp of a laugh, a shocked croak.
‘Tell me about it. But, hey, what else have I got to do?’
‘What was it about?’
‘Apparently, he was stalking somebody.’
An uncomfortable burning sensation started building strength in his chest. His first reaction was that it must have been either Frank Hanna, his father George or his father’s sidekick, Thompson. After a moment’s reflection, he dismissed all three of them. If he’d stalked Thompson, Thompson wouldn’t have lodged a complaint, he’d have dealt with the problem at source. In his own, brutal way. If Narvaez had stalked George Hanna, George would have sent Thompson after him. Same result. And if it had been Frank Hanna, Guillory would have said so immediately, knowing he was Evan’s client. Not only that, Frank Hanna would have mentioned it when they discussed Narvaez.
‘Who was it?’
Guillory didn’t answer immediately.
‘I can’t remember the name.’
Evan’s coffee cup stalled halfway to his mouth. He put it down again, not sure if she was playing with him or not.
‘Are you serious? Didn’t you write it down?’
She gave him an apologetic smile.
‘I, uh, left my notebook at home. I came out in a rush this morning. Sorry. I remember it was a short name. I’ll let you know.’
‘A short name?’
‘It’s on the tip of my tongue.’
‘You’re not just having a bit of fun with me?’
‘What, because you pretended not to be interested?’ She shook her head. ‘No.’
He wished he knew where she lived. He’d have suggested going back there now. This was why Narvaez was so antagonistic, so obstructive. He’d known there had to be something else happened back then, something Narvaez didn’t want coming to light.
‘Jesus Christ, Evan, if I’d known it was so important, I’d have written it on my forehead.’
‘Your hand would’ve been good enough.’
He leaned back just in time to avoid that same hand connecting with the back of his head.
‘You know how you were asking about the seven deadly sins,’ she said.
He nodded dutifully to pave the way for her next comment.
‘Is ungratefulness one of them? Because if it is, I’ll be seeing you downstairs. C’mon, let’s go. I’ll call you as soon as I get home tonight, okay?’
Chapter 19
MCINTYRE THOUGHT THE CLERK in the BDM section was particularly sullen, even for a government employee. You’d think she was a week away from retirement, the amount of enthusiasm she was demonstrating.
‘My assistant, Evan Buckley, was here the other day—’
‘Oh, him.’
Her mouth turned down even more. She looked as if he’d just told a joke about her mother.
‘You can tell him I don’t think he’s very funny.’
He put on a serious, this-needs-to-be-investigated frown and put his hands on the counter. She stared at his bandaged hand, her face softening as he winced.
‘I’d have come myself, but this makes it very difficult.’
He held up his left hand, forcing a quick spasm across his face.
‘I hope he wasn’t rude or unprofessional in any way’—he peered at her name badge—‘Stella.’
She snorted.
‘Well, not exactly rude, and I don’t want to get him into trouble—’
‘I need to know, nonetheless.’ He leaned in and dropped his voice. ‘There have been complaints about him before.’
‘It’s just I’d already got him the microfilm spools for 1965 and ‘66—’
‘Births?’
‘Yes.’
He nodded mechanically.
‘At least he got that much right.’
‘And then he asked for 1964. I had to go down to the archives again and it always sets off my asthma. When I got back he’d disappeared.’
McIntyre shook his head, his lips compressed.
‘I’m very sorry, Stella. I’m going to take this up with him. I hope your asthma hasn’t been too bad as a result of this.’
‘No, it’s not too bad, thank you.’
McIntyre put his finger to his lips, his brow creasing.
‘I wonder ...’
‘What?’
‘Maybe I should check the records he was supposed to be looking up for me. Except I don’t want to send you down to the archives for no good reason. No, I’m sure he managed to get that right.’
‘I can tell you what he was looking for, if you want.’
‘Really?’
She nodded and smiled. It was a nice smile. He thought she should try it more often, before she lost the ability to do it altogether, the miserable cow.
‘He wanted two birth certificates printed out. I made a note of the names. I can find them for you.’
‘If it’s not too much trouble. I’m sure you’re very busy.’
She gave a no-problem flick of her hand and as good as skipped back to her desk, rummaged through the untidy piles of paper on it. She found what she was looking for and came back to the counter, a satisfied look on her face, put the slip of paper on the counter top.
He read the names and nodded, relief in his face, as if satisfied that his suspicions were unfounded.
‘Good. He got the right names. Thank you, Stella. I can’t tell you how helpful you’ve been.’
Even for him, it was refreshing to say
at least one thing that was true.
She smiled again.
‘Don’t be too hard on him. He was nice, in his own way.’
***
MCINTYRE WAS FEELING VERY pleased with himself as he left the BDM section. It didn’t last long. A black Mercedes SUV parked at the curb, its rear door open, soon wiped the smile off his face. Vasiliev’s enforcers leaned casually against it, arms folded across their over-developed chests, the seams on their cheap suits straining. There was no way he could take them on with his injured hand. Vasiliev himself was in the back seat. McIntyre got in beside him, and one of the men closed the door after him.
‘Not such a nice day for a picnic by the lake today,’ Vasiliev said, peering over the top of his glasses, a smirk on his lips. ‘How’s the hand?’
‘How do you think?’
‘Tsk, tsk. You should watch your manners. Tell me, what is that phrase you people have? When you cannot do two things at once?’
McIntyre stared at him, not knowing what to say.
‘You know, mutual something.’
‘Mutually exclusive.’
Vasiliev beamed at him.
‘That’s it. You remember the choice I gave you the other day?’
McIntyre nodded woodenly, his gut twisting. He knew what was coming next.
‘Of course, you do. I want you to know, what happened to your hand’—his arm shot out and he grabbed McIntyre’s left hand, squeezed it, then held up his own left hand and wiggled his little finger—‘and the other alternative, they are most definitely not mutually exclusive.’
Vasiliev looked very pleased with himself. His mouth was still smiling, his lips curled, teeth on show, but it was a very different expression to a second ago. More like a python flexing its jaw in anticipation of a big stretch as it contemplated a tethered goat.
‘Do you understand what I am saying to you?’
‘I’m not stupid.’
‘But you are, that’s the problem. And your insolence will get you in a lot of trouble if you are not careful.’
Vasiliev was still holding McIntyre’s left hand. He shook it to emphasize each word. McIntyre clamped his mouth shut, sucking a sharp intake of breath through his lips. Vasiliev stuck his face in McIntyre’s, like he was some kind of weird exhibit.
‘What is that building you were in?’
‘The Register-Recorder’s office.’
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