Hell's Horizon tct-2

by Darren Shan

  “Why not?”

  “You’ve got gold clearance — congratulations on the promotion — but a report must be filed, for The Cardinal. It would mean my job if I took your side against his and was subsequently discovered.”

  I nodded understandingly, then asked if he’d heard about my wife. He said he had and offered his condolences.

  “I’d appreciate your assistance more.”

  “You don’t understand,” he retorted. “There are rules and procedures. I can’t—”

  “You can,” I interrupted. “You guys are a law unto yourselves, don’t try telling me otherwise. You take bodies as you please, do with them as you wish, and everyone turns a blind eye.”

  “That’s different. Our superiors grant us a certain amount of leeway to get the best out of us. But that doesn’t run to bucking the chain of command, to falsifying reports or sneaking in body parts.”

  “You could do it if you wanted,” I pressed.

  “Probably, but that’s not the—”

  “You won’t get into trouble,” I said quickly. “All I want you to do is identify who the finger comes from.”

  He shook his head. “Why should I put my neck on the line for you?”

  It was a fair question, for which I had no ready answer.

  “If your wife had been killed—,” I began.

  “—I’d be mad as hell, just like you. But my wife’s alive and well, in no kind of danger whatsoever. I’d like to keep her that way.”

  I thought about threatening him but he’d have gone to The Cardinal if I did.

  “Sorry for disturbing you,” I said and started for the door.

  “That’s it?” he asked, startled. “You’re not going to twist my arm?”

  “No.”

  “Wait.” He held out the bagged finger. “You forgot this.” I reached for the bag but he didn’t hand it over. Instead he turned it around and examined the base. “A clean cut. Either an extremely sharp blade or an electrical implement.” I’d figured as much myself, but said nothing. “The smallest finger of the left hand. This ties in with your wife’s death?” I nodded. “How?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  He hesitated. I could see fear in his eyes but also professional pride. The human side of him wanted nothing to do with this, but his medical half was fascinated. It became a question of which would win out — self-preservation or curiosity.

  “Can you tell me anything about where you think it came from?” he asked.

  “I think it comes from a cop.”

  “That should be simple enough to check. Assuming one was inclined to…” He tossed it about in silence, then said, “A man in his mid-forties was dropped off with us last night, unidentified. I could take a print of his little finger, swap it for this one and run some tests. I don’t make a habit of turning up for work on my day off but it’s not unheard of.”

  He was nervous but excited. “OK. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll run the print of your finger against the police personnel database. If I make a match, fine. If I don’t, I go no further. Is that acceptable?”

  “Great,” I smiled.

  “But if somebody challenges me, I’ll ’fess up.”

  I frowned — that wasn’t so great.

  “It’s my best offer,” Sines warned. “Nobody will inquire unless they’re already suspicious, so if I have to tell the truth, it will be to someone who’s onto you anyway.”

  “That’s reasonable,” I agreed.

  “I’ll go now,” Sines said, pocketing the finger. “You know the abandoned car plant three blocks west of the Fridge? Wait for me in the showroom there. You can get in by the side door. I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours, unless I get detained. If I’m not there by”—he checked his watch—“eleven, go home and I’ll be in contact in the morning.”

  “I can’t tell you how much—,” I started to thank him, but he cut in.

  “Stuff it. I need my head examined, getting mixed up in something like this. If you say anything else, you might snap me around to my senses.”

  I let myself out without a murmur.

  I faced a long wait at the car plant. It was nearly ten past eleven when he turned up. I was getting ready to leave.

  “Caught you,” he gasped. There was no light inside the room, but it was illuminated by the streetlamps. Sines pulled a pristine camp bed out from under a litter of papers and sat.

  “A lot of guys at work use this place for making out,” he explained when I looked at him curiously. “I was here a few times myself in my courting days.”

  “You’re late,” I noted. “Any trouble?”

  “No. Just didn’t want to appear too anxious to leave.”

  “Did you make a match?”

  He nodded and came straight out with it. “Bill Casey.” I lowered my head and sighed. “It’s what you expected?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t look happy.”

  “I hoped I was wrong.”

  “Sorry.” He handed the finger back. It was stained with ink.

  “You didn’t get rid of it?” I asked.

  “You didn’t ask me to.”

  He’d ditched the tray. I tossed Bill’s finger into the air and caught it. “Is it any good now? I mean, could it be sewn back on?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He didn’t bother to repeat himself. “I think I got away with it. Nobody asked any questions. But if The Cardinal or one of his men calls tomorrow and starts quizzing me…”

  “Fine.” I started for the door.

  “If it’s any consolation,” he called after me, “he was alive when the finger was amputated.”

  I halted in the doorway. “No,” I said softly. “That doesn’t console me at all.” Then I went home to tell Priscilla.

  We were awake most of the night. Priscilla thought Bill was dead and sobbed for him at regular intervals, but I was sure he hadn’t been killed. My tormentors hadn’t hesitated to mock me with the bodies of my dearly beloved before, so why stop now? It suited them to keep Bill alive, otherwise they’d have sent more than his finger. Perhaps they thought Bill’s death would drive me deeper into depression, whereas the possibility of being able to rescue him might draw me back into the game. If that was their plan, they knew me at least as well as I knew myself.

  At one stage Priscilla pleaded with me to flee the city with her. She was afraid to be parted from me, sure the killers would come after her. She clung to me, wept and said I couldn’t leave her on her own. I stroked her softly and said I had no choice. She started to argue. Looked into my eyes. Fell silent.

  In the early hours of the morning she asked how I was going to track Bill.

  “By going after Ellen’s killer, like I should have when I finished with Valerie. When I find that bastard, I’ll find Bill.”

  “You sound confident,” she remarked.

  “His kidnapper wants me to find him. Bill would have been killed if the plan was just to hurt me. I’m being lured into a trap.”

  “Then you can’t go after him!”

  “I have to. Bill will be killed for certain if I don’t. At least this way he has a chance.”

  When it was time to leave, she again begged me to stay. I told her gently but firmly that I couldn’t. When she persisted and said she was scared, I said, “Do you know how to use a gun?” She sobered up and nodded. I passed her my.45. “Stay here. Don’t go out. If anybody comes to the door, start firing.”

  “I’ve only shot targets before,” she said, handling the gun nervously. “I don’t know if I could shoot a person.”

  “You’d better hope that you can, or you’ll end up like Nic and Ellen,” I answered grimly, then left her and went hunting.

  The lover was the link. One person connected Nic, Ziegler, Valerie and Ellen. When I found him, I’d have my killer. I could forget about Jinks, Breton Furst and the rest. All I needed was the lover.

  I’d already failed to get to him thro
ugh Nic. And I didn’t think anything would come of investigating Valerie’s or Ziegler’s backgrounds — since they’d been in league with the bastard, they’d have covered their tracks, sly snakes that they were.

  Ellen was the key. She was the only innocent. She’d been coy about revealing her lover’s name, but the chances were that somebody knew who she’d been seeing, a friend she’d spoken to, a colleague who’d overheard her talking on the phone, a waiter who’d seen her with her beau in tow. That person might take a lot of finding, but I had time on my hands and hate in my heart. I’d root them out in the end.

  I began with her family. Called Bob, Deborah and a few others. Discussed the funeral and wake, gradually working the conversation around to Ellen’s last few weeks. I mentioned to each that I thought she’d been seeing someone. A couple said that she’d dropped hints about a new lover, but none knew anything about him. Ellen had been as tight-lipped with her family as she’d been with me.

  Before moving on to her friends, I rang Party Central and asked if I could meet The Cardinal. I thought it would be good to utilize his army of informants. Maybe one of them had seen Bill or knew of his whereabouts. If they didn’t, they could be told to keep their eyes and ears open for signs of him. But The Cardinal couldn’t be reached. His secretary promised to arrange a meeting as soon as possible, but it wouldn’t be today. Possibly tomorrow. I had no choice but to settle for that.

  I called as many of Ellen’s friends as I could think of. Most were no friends of mine — many thought Ellen had married beneath herself when she hitched up with me, and they were right — and normally they wouldn’t have taken my call. But, given the grisly circumstances, they put aside their dislike and spared me a few minutes of their time.

  As with her family, a few were aware that she’d been dating, but nobody knew a thing about him. The phone conversations weren’t an entire washout — her older friends passed on the names of newer acquaintances — but I found no leads of substance.

  The last of her friends to see her alive was a woman called Ama Situwa. I’d never met her — she was somebody Ellen had befriended recently — and I only got her name through one of the others. She sounded nice on the phone. Turned out she was the daughter of the guy who ran Cafran’s restaurant. Small world.

  Ama had run into Ellen in the lounge of the Skylight the night before her murder. She was there for a birthday party, saw Ellen at the bar with another woman and went to say hello. Ellen greeted her warmly and said they were waiting for dates. Ama made a joke about men always being late and invited them to Cafran’s later if they were at a loose end — the birthday gang was moving back there after the Skylight. Ellen said they’d drop by if the men failed to show, and that had been that.

  “Any idea who the other lady was?” I asked.

  “No. I didn’t know many of Ellen’s friends.”

  I’d have to try and find her companion — she might know the name of the guy Ellen was supposed to meet. “Can I come around sometime and discuss this with you?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Ama said. “I’d be happy to help. It was terrible, what happened. Ellen was a lovely person.”

  “Yes,” I said hollowly. “She was.”

  I dropped by the Skylight and questioned the staff, asking if they’d noticed Ellen in the bar that night. Negative answers all around. I paid special attention to the Troops — since the room hadn’t been signed for, Ellen might have been sneaked in, perhaps past a bribed guard — but they swore they knew nothing. More than one told me that they’d been more alert since the Nicola Hornyak fuckup. Frank was coming down hard on shirkers and several soldiers had already been replaced.

  While I was there I asked after Valerie Thomas, on the off chance that I might stumble across a lead. Nobody knew much about her. She’d worked at the Skylight a long time but had never gone out with the girls or attended a staff event.

  “She was creepy,” one workmate opined. “Like Bette Davis in that movie, the one where she feeds her sister a rat?”

  “She worked hard,” an assistant manager assured me. “I was sorry to see her go. Never took anything, not even a sugar cube. Honest, loyal, trustworthy. An ideal employee if you exclude the two dead customers.”

  “Men in her life? She didn’t mention any.”

  “Valerie never seemed keen on men. She hadn’t much time for them. Wouldn’t surprise me if she’d been a lesbo.”

  “Valerie? With a man? I don’t think so!”

  It was late when I finished at the Skylight. I decided to give Ellen’s circle of friends a rest. I still had plenty of names to work through, and more would probably crop up in the course of my inquiries, but they could wait till morning. I called Priscilla to check that she was all right — as I had several times throughout the day — and told her I’d be a while, to go to bed and get some sleep. She agreed, but only if I promised to wake her when I got home.

  Next I rang Paucar Wami.

  My father was surprised to hear from me but agreed to meet, even though I wouldn’t tell him what it was about. He wanted to come to my place but I quickly put paid to that suggestion — I didn’t want him anywhere near Priscilla. I asked if he could meet me at the site of the Manco Capac statue instead. We fixed an hour, I nipped into a burger bar for a bite, then it was rendezvous time.

  The site was deserted apart from a few guards who were easy to dodge. I looked for blind men but there weren’t any on parade. I stopped by the foot of the statue and waited for Wami. I’d been there a few minutes when a small pebble dropped on my head. I scratched my crown and moved aside, but moments later another fell. I glanced up and there was the tattooed face, grinning down at me.

  “You should choose your ground more carefully, Al m’boy. What if I had meant you mischief?”

  I climbed up to join him. I looked for the trapdoor when I made the platform but the foundations had been built upon since I was last here. The entrance to the underworld was now sealed off.

  “The builders have been busy,” Wami noted. He was dressed in black from head to toe. Except for the snakes, he appeared invisible against the dark backdrop of the night sky.

  “They’re not the only ones,” I said, then told him about Valerie’s confession and what had happened since. The snakes on his face appeared to flicker angrily when I mentioned the note with the finger, but he said nothing.

  “And now they have Bill,” I concluded.

  Wami scowled. “I agree with you — they have kept him alive to tempt you back into the game. But can you save him or is he doomed whatever you do?”

  “Probably doomed,” I sighed, “but I have to try. I’m dancing to their tune, but what else can I do? If I give up on Bill, he’s finished. I’ll be getting fingers, toes and other parts in the mail from here till doomsday.”

  “A despicable ploy,” Wami chuckled. “I too have sent a few men home to their loved ones in such a manner. It never fails to elicit mad screams and illogical behavior. You should write off Bill Casey.”

  “I can’t do that,” I said flatly.

  “No,” he agreed with a wry smile. “You lack the detached killer’s instinct which would make life much simpler. So, what can you do?”

  “Go on looking for Ellen’s lover. Keep asking questions. Scour the streets. Raid every den in town.”

  “You will be an old man by the time you are finished.”

  “You know a better way?”

  “Go after the blind men,” he suggested. “Drop your search for your friend and call their bluff. Put out word that if he is not returned immediately, you will quit this city.”

  “You think the villacs have him?”

  “If not, they can get him.”

  I thought about it, then shook my head. “They wouldn’t buy it.”

  “They might. They value you highly, judging by your previous encounter. If you threaten to walk, they might cave in and deliver, if not the answers you seek, at least the friend you wish to save.”

  “And if th
ey don’t? I just leave?” He nodded. “No. I won’t gamble with Bill’s life.”

  “It is your best hope of saving him.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “Very well,” he sniffed. “I have offered my advice. If you ignore it, you must continue as you are, ineffective as your methods have so far proved.”

  He slipped toward the ladder.

  “I need your help,” I said quietly as he was about to drop out of sight. He stared at me curiously. “You know more about this city’s dark heart than anyone. You can go places no other can go. If I fail to get a fix on Ellen’s lover, I’ll have to track down Bill the hard way. I’ll need you for that.”

  “Asking your pappy for help, Al m’boy?” he chortled.

  “I need you,” I said again.

  “But you do not want me.” He shrugged. “Not that it matters. Filial love was never high on my list of priorities.”

  “You’ll help?”

  “I know Bill Casey,” he muttered and his face creased. “There is… history between us.”

  I stared incomprehensively. “He never said he knew you.”

  “It is not the sort of history one readily shares.” His expression cleared. “I would save him if I could. Call me if all else fails and I will help. In the meantime I will keep my ear to the ground and let you know if I hear of anything.”

  “Thanks.” I tried to sound grateful.

  “I hope you realize my aid does not come free,” he said. “My time is precious. I have gone out of my way to assist you. When the day comes for you to repay the debt, I hope you remember.”

  “What do you want?” I asked, an icy chill snaking down my spine.

  “I always dreamed of one of my sons following in my footsteps…”

  “Bullshit,” I laughed.

  “What ungrateful creatures the young can be,” he moaned, but the shine of his grinning teeth betrayed him. “You are right, of course — your actions once I flee this mortal shell matter as much to me as those of a slug. However, it would amuse me to think of you devoting your life to the cause espoused by your demon of a pappy.”