A Game of Ghosts

by John Connolly

  ‘It is never too late to repent.’ Mother’s hard eyes dared him to contradict her.

  ‘Unfortunately, barring a message from the next world, you have no way of knowing if Mr. Webb managed to pull off his escape act.’

  ‘Meanwhile,’ added Louis, and Parker knew that he too had been registering Philip’s responses, ‘all those years of effort to carve an empire in the Northeast are being undone in the name of a man who’s already burning, one way or another. It’s like selling shares when the stock price is still going up.’

  ‘We will not be poor,’ said Mother. ‘Mr. Webb ensured that we would be well looked after.’

  Louis shrugged. ‘Not my money.’

  He looked away, indicating that, for him, the subject was closed. They’d learned something about Philip, which was enough.

  ‘What does all this have to do with Eklund?’ asked Parker.

  And Mother explained. Over a period of hours, Eklund had suggested to Webb that a series of unconnected killings and disappearances, spread over more than a century and a half, might be linked to sightings that were both potentially paranormal in nature and strikingly similar in detail. Mr. Webb’s brother experienced such sightings in the weeks before he vanished. Apparently, these ‘hallucinations’ were mentioned in the police report, but only in passing, and as an indication that MacKinnon might have been in a disturbed state of mind before his disappearance. They also found their way into certain newspaper reports, and thence to specialized websites, which was how Eklund picked up on them.

  ‘What did MacKinnon claim to have seen?’ Parker asked.

  ‘Variations on three figures: an older, bearded man, flanked by two younger women. MacKinnon was quite specific about their appearance and apparel. He told his wife that he first saw them as he was pulling into the garage, and almost ran into them, they appeared so suddenly. He braked, they lingered for a couple of seconds, and then were gone.’

  ‘And he continued to see them?’

  ‘Yes, according to his wife. She said they were always open with each other about everything. Her husband was not sleeping well. He would wake to noises downstairs, and strange odors, but no one else in the house heard the sounds, or smelled what he smelled. He had made an appointment to see a psychiatrist shortly before he vanished, but was gone before he could attend the first session.’

  ‘And was Webb aware of these incidents?’

  ‘Mr. Webb was privy to every step of the investigation into his brother’s disappearance. He devoted considerable resources to his own private inquiries, but had no more luck than the police.

  ‘And then Eklund appeared.’

  Parker continued to keep a watchful eye on Philip. He was no longer giving much away, and even appeared bored by the conversation, so it was hard to tell how he felt about all this. Neutral, maybe. At best.

  ‘Mr. Webb was not a skeptic when it came to the paranormal,’ said Mother. ‘He found Mr. Eklund’s theories interesting, to the extent that he was prepared to bankroll him. Mr. Eklund accepted a small amount of financial support, and agreed to inform Mr. Webb if he discovered anything that might shed light on Michael MacKinnon’s fate. One of the stipulations in Mr. Webb’s will was that Mr. Eklund should continue to be assisted in his work, and monitored. A sum of money was set aside for this purpose.’

  ‘But now Eklund has dropped off the radar.’

  ‘Mr. Eklund traveled frequently in the course of his work. We didn’t become concerned about him until very recently. Part of his agreement with us required weekly reports, and Mr. Eklund was very scrupulous about adhering to our terms.’

  So Eklund was taking money from Webb, as well as banking the occasional check from Ross. Those were very different masters to be serving. At the very least, Parker concluded, Eklund was being unwise.

  ‘Did you search his house?’ he asked.

  ‘We entered it to make sure that no harm had befallen him,’ said Mother, ‘but nothing appeared to have been touched or removed. You, on the other hand, had no such reservations.’

  ‘You can have it all if you want it,’ said Parker.

  ‘What about your client?’

  ‘My client won’t be happy, but for him it’s an ongoing existential state. It may take him a while to register the incremental increase.’

  ‘And what will he do then, this client?’

  ‘I suspect he’ll come after whoever has the material in question. You don’t want that.’

  ‘You make him sound like a criminal.’

  ‘He’d be happy in the present company if he was, but he’s not. Just the opposite, in fact.’

  Parker let the words hang. He’d given Mother as much as he was prepared to, but he wasn’t lying. If it came down to it, he was sure Ross would eventually come after what was left of Caspar Webb’s operation in order to secure any information that might lead him to Eklund.

  Mother nodded in understanding.

  ‘Whatever you may think of us, or of the late Mr. Webb,’ she said, ‘his concern for his brother was genuine, and was no less for the well-being of his wife and child. I believe that Michael MacKinnon, like his wife and child, is dead. We who remain have an obligation to them. I’m prepared to offer one hundred thousand dollars to you and your friends if you find those responsible for what occurred and bring them to me to face punishment. I have no interest in the workings of the law. I am concerned only with justice.’

  Parker saw no reason even to consider the deal.

  ‘That’s not going to happen.’

  ‘Is the reward not sufficient?’

  ‘It’s not about money.’

  ‘Nor is it about the law, not for you. As I explained earlier, I know something of your past.’

  ‘I already have a client. I don’t want another. It would lead to conflicts of interest.’

  ‘One does not have to know about the other.’

  ‘Oh, I suspect my client already knows more about you than you might like.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mother, but nothing more.

  Parker stood. Angel and Louis did the same.

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Philip. ‘Mother didn’t give you permission to leave.’

  Parker didn’t even glance in his direction. ‘I think Mother already knows our conversation is at an end.’

  ‘Mr. Parker is right, Philip. Let them go.’

  ‘You trust them?’

  ‘I see no reason not to.’

  ‘But they haven’t agreed to help us!’

  ‘They don’t have to agree. They’re looking for Mr. Eklund anyway. If he is in trouble, and it is linked to what befell the MacKinnons, they will be acting in our interests regardless of any agreement between us. And if Mr. Eklund’s fate is unconnected to the MacKinnon family, then it is no concern of ours, beyond ensuring the return of any documentation removed from his home in case it might aid us at a later date. Have I summarized the situation correctly, Mr. Parker?’

  ‘I think you have.’

  ‘Then Philip will see you out. He will also give you a number to call, should you wish to visit with me again.’

  ‘I don’t believe that will be necessary,’ said Parker.

  ‘Indulge an old woman,’ Mother replied. Her hand stroked her cleavage in a grotesque parody of flirtation, but there was neither lust nor joy in her eyes. ‘After all, I have few pleasures left to me.’

  A log burst in the fire, and the flames cast a shadow on the wall like the legs of a dangling man, the darkness of his form hiding the excoriated ruin.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find something,’ he said, and followed Angel and Louis from the room.

  40

  The Lexus appeared to be as they had left it, but Louis disabled the alarm and checked the trunk. Although to a casual observer it remained untouched, he was in the habit of leaving the faintest strip of clear tape at either side of the trunk’s removable base. He could see that both were no longer attached. He didn’t bother to lift the base itself. While Philip’s men m
ight have succeeded in getting into the car without activating the alarm, the locks on the compartments beneath the lining of the trunk were carefully concealed, and required an electronic code to open. Their contents were safe, although Louis remained annoyed at the trespass.

  Parker joined him.

  ‘All okay?’

  ‘As good as.’

  Louis took in the four men who were watching them from behind Philip.

  ‘At least you didn’t shit in it,’ he said.

  Nobody responded. Louis didn’t care. He just didn’t want them to think he hadn’t registered the intrusion. He was also pretty certain that they’d fitted a tracker somewhere on the vehicle, because that was what he would have done under similar circumstances. It wouldn’t take Angel long to find it. When he’d done so, maybe Louis would have him attach it to a garbage truck or delivery van, let them follow it around in circles for a while.

  ‘You will, of course, inform us if you intend on returning to Providence,’ said Philip.

  ‘Your momma’s calling you,’ replied Louis. ‘Better run now, ’fore she decides to give you a whuppin’.’

  Somebody in Philip’s vicinity snickered, but he didn’t look to see who it might have been.

  ‘She’s old,’ said Philip. ‘She told you so herself. Things are going to change around here soon enough.’

  ‘It didn’t look like it from where we were sitting,’ said Parker. ‘You’d be advised to start saving your nickels and dimes for the rainy day that’s coming. Whatever your daddy left you, it won’t be enough for your tastes.’

  This time, Philip didn’t even try to hide his reaction. His mouth opened, displaying small, white teeth – a child’s dentition – that snapped at the night air. The effect was like watching the deformation of a wax head. And then, in his fury, he spit at the car. Louis took a step forward, and Parker’s hand fell on his right arm.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  Louis took a breath and relaxed.

  ‘I’ll remember you did that, boy,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you call me “boy”, you fucking—’

  The word was about to be spoken. Parker could see Philip’s tongue pressed against his palate to form the ‘n’.

  ‘Go on,’ Louis told him. ‘Say it.’

  But Philip did not. Some vestige of common sense prevailed, for which Parker was grateful. He and Louis were still unarmed. Only Angel, already in the car, had access to a weapon. If guns were produced, it would not end well.

  ‘Get out of my city,’ said Philip.

  Parker climbed in the front passenger seat, and Louis took the wheel. Neither of them bothered to remind Philip that it wasn’t his city – not yet, not ever. The question was: how much damage could Philip do before the reality of his situation was revealed to him?

  A lot, Parker thought. A whole hell of a lot.

  41

  The Collector watched the Lexus drive away. He wished he had been privy to the final exchange between Mother’s son and the three visitors, almost more than the conversation that must have taken place in the rooms above. Words that provoked Philip into a display of unrestrained emotion would be worth hearing, although if anyone were capable of goading someone into revealing himself, it was those three men. Angel and Louis in particular could have catalyzed a coma victim back to consciousness.

  He knew where Parker and the others were going: Parker’s car remained at the motel, and they still had rooms, even if it was unlikely that they would choose to spend the night in them after what had transpired in Providence. They would by now be aware of Philip’s unpredictability – which was a diplomatic way of referring to his obvious madness – and would certainly sleep easier by putting 160 miles between him and them.

  The Collector could, of course, have followed them once again to the motel, and spoken to Parker there, but he was still inclined to avoid Angel and Louis whenever possible. Parker, for better or worse, was prepared to engage with the Collector on a mutually beneficial level, even if he struggled at times to hide his distaste for the arrangement, but Angel and Louis would happily have tried to cut the Collector’s throat if the opportunity presented itself. He didn’t believe they would succeed, but there was no percentage in leaving an opening, and the Collector had no desire to spend time with men so openly hostile to him. He would think about contacting Parker over the next day or two, either by arranging a meeting or simply presenting himself in person at an appropriate moment, yet he had no obligation to do so. Parker believed he had made the Collector his vassal, and this possibility held enough truth to be vexing. The Collector thought that it might be amusing to follow the threads connecting Eklund to Donn Routh, snipping them as he went, leaving Parker to taste failure.

  For now, though, he waited in the shadows, and kept his vigil on Agave Associates. Philip bummed a cigarette from one of his lackeys, and smoked it some distance away while they waited for him to calm down. In the third floor above, one of the shutters opened fractionally, and the Collector caught a glimpse of Mother peering into the dark, searching for her son.

  You were too indulgent of him, thought the Collector, and Caspar Webb was not indulgent enough.

  It was a bad combination, and had contributed to the creation of a lusus naturae, a freak. ‘Women in their uncleanness will bear monsters’ – was that not how Second Esdras put it? The Collector was quite the student of the Apocrypha: after all, it had given him the name by which he sometimes went: Kushiel, the angel of punishment.

  Philip was a bad enemy for Parker to have made. He would need to be monitored, and even dealt with, eventually. But to target him would be to draw down the wrath of Mother, and the Collector was not sure that he could yet justify her murder solely because she was unwilling, or unable, to curb her son’s excesses.

  The Collector turned away. When it was safe to do so he lit his own cigarette, drifting into the night’s darkness until only the burning ember was visible.

  And then that, too, was swallowed by the night.

  42

  Parker felt a sense of relief as Providence receded in the rearview mirror. The encounter with Mother and Philip had been like wandering into the wrong carnival sideshow, the kind that left one feeling sick and slightly soiled.

  ‘That,’ said Angel from the backseat, ‘is not an experience I want to repeat.’

  ‘I liked Philip,’ said Louis. ‘He had character.’

  He raised his right index finger and tapped his ear, then spun the finger in the air in a gesture that encompassed the interior of the vehicle and any listening devices it might now contain.

  ‘Handsome, too,’ said Angel.

  Parker turned on the radio, and they drove without speaking until they reached the motel. Both of their rooms had been tossed in their absence – Philip, or Mother, must have made some calls – but they didn’t think anything was missing. Not that there was much to take: they had traveled light, and everything important was concealed in the compartments of Louis’s car. Parker’s Mustang had also been unlocked and searched but – again – would have provided slim pickings.

  They moved the vehicles to a quiet corner of the motel lot, but one that was lit by an overhead bulb. Angel first searched the Lexus, and then the Mustang. It didn’t take him long to find the GPS trackers: both were concealed in the right rear wheel wells.

  ‘Amateurs,’ said Angel.

  He handed the trackers to Louis, who, in the absence of a garbage truck or an obliging rodent, stuck one on a U-Haul trailer and the other on a rental with Canadian plates. They would have to wait until they got back to Maine before Angel could sweep for any listening bugs. Analog devices were relatively easy to find using a spectrum analyzer to pinpoint RF signals, and a directional antenna to narrow down the location, but digital bugs were more problematic because they used the same frequencies as cell phones and wi-fi. Angel would need a clear space, unpolluted by other signals, to find out if their vehicles had been compromised in that way. For the present, they’d just
have to keep their opinions about Philip and Mother to themselves while driving.

  They moved the material they had taken from Eklund’s house to the trunk of Parker’s car, returned their motel room keys, and headed back to Portland. Parker spent the journey contemplating Webb, Mother, and Philip, and their links to Jaycob Eklund. Another conversation with Ross was already overdue. Parker wondered just how surprised the FBI agent would be by the news that Caspar Webb was casting a posthumous shadow over the case. Ross might already have been aware of Webb’s connection to Eklund, but it seemed unlikely. Even Ross wouldn’t have allowed Parker to venture into that particular nest of vipers without some warning.

  He felt that he was beginning at last to know Eklund better. He now also had two promising avenues of inquiry based on his night’s work: the disappearance of Claudia Sansom, and the subsequent discovery of her body; and the lattice of connections that Eklund had made from what he believed to be a series of hauntings, an investigation that had ultimately brought him to Caspar Webb’s door. The next day’s work would involve finding out what he could about the disappearance of Michael MacKinnon and the killing of his wife and son, but Parker was already troubled by two issues.

  While he had yet to establish if Eklund’s absence was related to either the Sansom case or his stranger interests, he recognized that each might have led someone to seek to put an end to the private investigator’s inquiries. But it was also possible that Eklund’s obsessions could have brought him to May MacKinnon’s door, and Parker didn’t yet know enough about Eklund to rule him out as a murderer.

  43

  Parker stayed behind Louis and Angel for most of the trip back to Maine, turning off only when the Scarborough exit appeared before him. He flashed his lights in farewell, and encountered no other vehicle after leaving Route 1 for the winding road that led to his home. A single lamp burned in the downstairs room he maintained as an office. He kept the lamp lit for Jennifer, his lost daughter, that she might see it from the dark and know he was thinking of her, and use it, if she wished, as a beacon to find her way back to his presence.