A Game of Ghosts

by John Connolly

  ‘You recognize them?’ asked Louis.

  ‘No,’ said Thayer, ‘but they’re Brethren. Trust me on it.’

  Louis saw no reason not to. It was possible they were the same ones responsible for killing Michelle Souliere. If so, they were engaged in a serious clean-up operation. He cursed himself for not removing Thayer and his wife from their home earlier. He had allowed Thayer’s wife to call the police, but only reluctantly. Police meant questions, and Louis didn’t like answering questions, especially not the kind asked by law enforcement. He had already instructed Angel to hand over his weapon: the New York hearing wasn’t for another week, and Louis didn’t want to complicate matters with another gun. He, by contrast, had never been convicted of a crime, despite having committed enough of them to land him in prison for ten lifetimes. The weapon in his hand was registered, and all his paperwork was in order. However, that didn’t make the prospect of police attention any more inviting.

  ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ Thayer said, ‘but which side of the law are you on?’

  ‘That depends, but mostly the other side.’

  ‘I thought as much, when you asked your friend there for his gun.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Louis. ‘This is what we do.’

  ‘Not in my home it isn’t.’

  ‘I don’t think those men are going to give us a whole lot of choice.’

  ‘You’re wrong. I can choose. You stay here with my wife. You keep her safe for me.’

  ‘Mr. Thayer—’

  ‘Sir, this really isn’t open for discussion.’

  Louis looked at the gun in Thayer’s right hand. The earlier shaking had ceased entirely.

  ‘We’ll compromise,’ said Louis. ‘I’ll back you up, but you call it.’

  Thayer acquiesced, but Louis knew this could end only one of two ways: with the men outside captured, or dead. His priority was to ensure that Thayer came through it all unscathed.

  Because Parker would want to speak with him.

  ‘Hey,’ said Sumner.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think that guy we saw was black.’

  Richard paused. He hadn’t managed to get a good look at the man who had passed through the hall, only registering his presence at the last moment. Richard spotted that he was tall, but so was Thayer.

  ‘You certain?’

  Now Sumner started to doubt himself.

  ‘Not certain, but—’

  A woman’s voice shouted to them from somewhere above their heads.

  ‘You need to get out of here now,’ it said. ‘We’ve called the police.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Sumner, but the warning only served to spur Richard into action. If the police were coming, then it was all the more reason to deal with the Thayers. Alive, the Thayers would be able to identify him and Richard, and give details of their vehicle, assuming they hadn’t done so already.

  Richard was halfway down the hall when a male voice said ‘Fuck this.’ Sumner heard a shot, and Richard stumbled against the wall to his left. Sumner’s ears were still ringing as he watched Richard raise his weapon and fire, and suddenly the house was filled with a barrage of noise – gunfire, shattering glass – that only ended when a shard of Richard’s skull detached itself from the whole and landed close to the kitchen trash can.

  By then, Sumner was running.

  Louis stared across the hall at Thayer, who was standing in the doorway of the dining room with the smoking Taurus in his hand. The plan, for what it was worth, and mainly at Laurie Thayer’s insistence, had been to see if the intruders could first be warned off. If not, Louis had given them just enough sight of himself to draw them toward the den, which would put them under his gun, and Thayer’s. Instead, Thayer decided to take matters into his own hands, with the result that one of the men now lay dead in the hall while the other was getting away.

  ‘Stay there!’ Louis ordered, although Thayer showed no signs of moving. He seemed mesmerized by the corpse, his face ashen, and Louis was certain that Thayer would soon end up back on his ass. He called to Angel to come down, and headed to the front door in order to intercept the fleeing man, but it had been double-locked with the deadbolt in place, and it took Louis precious seconds to get it open. He emerged just as the Blazer was accelerating down the drive, but he didn’t fire. Already he could hear the sound of approaching sirens. He went back to the hall where, as predicted, Thayer was sitting on the floor again, with Angel beside him. To avoid any awkwardness, Louis placed their weapons in the hidden compartment of the Lexus. The sirens were louder now. The police would be here in moments. He returned to the house just in time to hear Angel’s cell phone ring, and Laurie Thayer start to scream.

  83

  Parker got most of the story from Angel, but the tale was abruptly cut short when it became clear that Thayer hadn’t just slumped to the floor from shock, and was suffering what might well be a heart attack. Parker had just enough time to advise Angel that, in case of any awkward police questions, they were working on behalf of Moxie Castin, and all inquiries should be directed to him, before the call ended. Thankfully, neither Angel nor Louis appeared to have broken any laws that day – what was seldom was wonderful – and so Parker didn’t anticipate too many difficulties. With luck, he thought, the police would apprehend the second gunman, which might enable everyone to find out just what was going on.

  Angel hung up and immediately dialed 911 to inform the authorities that an ambulance would be required in addition to the imminent police presence, and that the car in which the two attackers had arrived was now back on the road, minus fifty percent of its original occupants. Laurie Thayer had stopped screaming at the sight of the corpse bleeding all over her carpet, or at her semiconscious husband – Angel wasn’t sure which of the two stimuli had set her off – and was concentrating on keeping Thayer comfortable. Through the open front door, Angel could see the first of the police cars pulling into the drive.

  He looked around him. The floor was a mess of broken glass, shards of china, pieces of plaster, and wood splinters. The wall above his head was pockmarked with bullet holes, and a dead man lay in a spreading stain of red.

  ‘You see?’ he said to Louis. ‘This is why we can’t have nice things.’

  Sumner, through good luck alone, initially managed to head in the opposite direction from the approaching police vehicles. He fought his instinct to put his foot to the floor and get away as fast as possible, just in case, by some small miracle, the police didn’t yet have the make and license plate number of the Blazer. For now, it was all he could do to hold himself together: it was as though he could still hear the echo of the gunshots, and see the wound that had appeared in Richard’s back as the first of the bullets exited. He wondered what he was going to tell Sophia. Richard said she’d been on Valium since the affair. Sumner hoped she still had some left.

  He forced himself to take deep breaths, and considered his situation. He was driving Richard’s Blazer, but he was hopeful that no one at the Thayer house had managed to get a good look at him, so there was nothing beyond the vehicle itself to connect him to what had just gone down. The risk of discovery, therefore, was greater behind the wheel than it was on foot. If he could just get close enough to the next town, he could ditch the vehicle, walk in on foot, and maybe catch a bus or a cab somewhere else. That still left the problem of DNA and fingerprints inside and outside the Blazer. He could wipe it down, although it might be better to burn it, but then the sight of rising smoke would inevitably—

  The road ahead inclined gently. Two police cars now appeared at its apex. Sumner couldn’t continue in that direction, and he couldn’t go back the way he’d come. To his left was thick woodland, but he saw a service road ahead about halfway between him and the approaching cops. He accelerated, turned sharply, and drove as far as he could along the winding dirt track until he came to a chain barrier. He stopped the Blazer, got out, and started running. He heard sirens, and an amplified voice ordered him t
o stop. Sumner paid it no heed. He was thinking about his wife and kids. He wanted to go home. He hadn’t hurt anyone, and Richard was dead. Couldn’t they just call it quits and let him go?

  He glimpsed movement in the trees to his right: a man in uniform. He risked a glance behind and saw more police approaching on foot. He had a stitch in his side. He was out of condition. He wasn’t going to make it to the next town. The way he was feeling, he wasn’t going to make it to the next tree. Fuck it. Maybe he could find a way to blame it all on Richard, invent some tale of an imaginary grudge against Thayer over a shitty couch or a crummy dining room set, claim that he didn’t know what was happening until Richard produced a gun. He couldn’t keep on running. He’d collapse.

  Sumner stopped. The blood was pounding in his ears. The police were shouting at him again, but he barely heard what they were saying. It was over. He was done. He started to raise his hands only to realize he was still holding the gun that Richard had given him. He’d been holding it ever since he left the house: holding it while driving, holding it while opening the car door, holding it while running.

  Now he would hold it while dying.

  A fusillade of shots rang out, but Sumner heard only the first.

  84

  David Ferrier returned from walking his dog and noticed that the Buckners still hadn’t come back from whatever trip they were taking. It was unusual for them to be away overnight. Hell, if they didn’t get back soon they might miss Sunday services, and their whole damn church would fall apart without them. Or worse – at least for the Buckners – maybe it wouldn’t, and then their true position in the universal hierarchy would be revealed to them. Ferrier realized that his distrust of the Buckners had become an obsession: if they ever pulled up sticks and left, he’d be lost. He’d have nobody to dislike within an easy walk of his home.

  He hung up his coat, put away the dog’s leash, and decided to grab a beer and watch some TV. His wife, who didn’t approve of drinking before sundown, wouldn’t be home until after six, and therefore would never know, although Ferrier thought that he might hide the empty bottle under some other containers in the recycling bin, just in case she was counting, because she didn’t really care much for him drinking, period, on account of some foolish notions she’d picked up from his physician. Then again, if she was counting, she’d certainly notice that the six-pack of Leinie’s in the refrigerator was lighter by one bottle, so it would all be for naught.

  Once he’d been through the various permutations, all joy was sapped from the idea of a beer anyway, so he settled for a soda. He spent the better part of an hour channel surfing, so it was a while before he stumbled on the story about the attack on the home of Tobey Thayer, the furniture king. The coverage flicked to woodland, and a beige Chevy Blazer parked with the driver’s door standing open. A cloth hid the license plate, but the decal on the trunk was clearly visible.

  Support Your Local Educator.

  ‘Holy shit,’ said Ferrier.

  Parker was almost at the Pennsylvania border when Moxie Castin called him.

  ‘Well, your boys aren’t behind bars, although it was all I could do to stem the tide of police curiosity about them,’ he said. ‘Tobey Thayer had a heart attack, and is under observation. Before he lost consciousness, he and his wife corroborated Angel and Louis’s version of events, and Thayer confirmed he killed one of the men who entered his home. Apparently the cops have a name, but they’re not releasing it. You want to know what it is?’

  ‘I thought you said they were keeping it to themselves.’

  ‘They are, but that didn’t stop Angel from taking a look in the dead guy’s wallet before the cops got to him. Richard Franklin. I have an address for him in Lima, Ohio, but by now his home probably has more police in its vicinity than the White House.’

  ‘What about the other guy?’

  ‘That one I had to call in a favor to get. His name was Sumner Chase. He ran a construction company out of Findlay. In case you’re wondering, Lima and Findlay are about thirty-five miles from each other. Neither of these guys had so much as a parking violation between them before they came gunning for Thayer, assuming that’s what they set out to do. But here’s the thing: from what I hear, the cops believe they came to Greensburg from the west, not the Northeast. They were picked up on some tollbooth cameras. Whoever killed Michelle Souliere, it wasn’t these two, not unless they took the scenic route.’

  ‘Anything else I should be told?’

  ‘Just that Ross wants to know if you and your – and I’m quoting here, “goons” – actually understand the meaning of the word discreet?’

  ‘Yeah? When you speak to him again, ask him if he understands the concept of honesty. Whatever is bothering him about Eklund, he’s not sharing it with me.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll be hearing from him in good time, and he’s not going to like the size of my bill when he gets it.’

  ‘Add on an extra zero,’ said Parker. ‘Tell him I said it was okay.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Sure. It’s the federal government: they won’t even notice. And they’re your tax dollars anyway. Consider it a rebate.’

  ‘I’ll think about it. In the meantime, I’m still working on that other matter.’

  Parker had temporarily forgotten about Rachel and Sam. The realization came with a stab of guilt.

  ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘And finally, I just need to make sure you’re still clear on the importance of not shooting—’

  Parker hung up.

  85

  Kirk and Sally Buckner were a few miles out of Turning Leaf, and Sally was getting antsy. She wanted to know that Richard and Sumner had done what they were supposed to, but she didn’t want to risk calling them. The agreement was that either Sumner or Richard would text ‘OK’ when the job was done, and then they could all dispose of their phones, but so far Sally had heard nothing.

  Kirk was dozing in the passenger seat, which made her want to grab a handful of his hair and smash his face against the window because he had no business sleeping, not with all that was going on. Ahead of her, a highway patrol car had stopped some guy in a truck, and Sally glanced anxiously in the rearview mirror before changing lanes.

  Eleanor stared back at her from the backseat. The dead girl’s lips were moving rapidly, but Sally couldn’t read what they might be saying. Then Eleanor began shaking her head in warning, her mouth still forming soundless words, and Sally took the next exit and pulled into a gas station with a Starbucks next door, which caused Kirk to wake up.

  ‘We out of gas already?’ he said.

  Sally turned to him. ‘Eleanor’s in the car. She’s frightened. Get on the computer. Check the news feeds. Find out what’s happening.’

  Kirk didn’t argue, although he couldn’t stop himself from looking back. He could feel Eleanor’s presence as a coldness at the top of his spine. It brought back the memory of her taste.

  He fucking hated Eleanor.

  Kirk used the wi-fi at Starbucks to get on the Internet, googled Thayer’s name, and quickly scanned the results before displaying them for Sally. She read them without comment. Now she knew what Eleanor was trying to tell her.

  ‘We have to run,’ she said.

  ‘How do you know? Maybe we should wait and—’

  Sally slapped him hard across the face.

  ‘Don’t you dare argue with me, you fucking useless piece of shit. Richard and Sumner are dead, and the police may already be on their way here, otherwise Eleanor wouldn’t have come to warn us. Do you understand?’

  It took Kirk a moment to answer.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. He wouldn’t look at her. He was rubbing his cheek with his left hand, but his right was balled into a fist. Sally thought he was close to striking back. When his eyes flicked to her, she knew it. Maybe he still had some spirit left in him after all. Good: he’d need it.

  ‘I’m sorry I hit you,’ she said, although she wasn’t. The words were just req
uired to mollify him.

  He didn’t reply, just said ‘Most of what we need is in the house.’

  ‘We can’t go back there. Somehow, we’ve been tied into what’s happening.’

  They were always prepared to move at short notice, even after all these years. It was why the house was rented, and they owed nothing on their car, although if Sally were right then they wouldn’t be able to hold on to it.

  ‘Then we’ll have to risk going to Donn’s.’

  In the event of a disaster, Kirk had anticipated having at least some time to gather what they needed. But just in case, he had left some essentials at Routh’s place, hidden in an airtight bag in his basement: cash, drivers’ licenses, and birth certificates in new names – Jesus, those had cost him a lot of money and effort – spare phones, and a couple of changes of clothing. There was also a wig for Sally; she kept her hair short, maybe for just that reason, although he had never asked. He could cut his hair and shave off his beard. It wouldn’t take long. They’d have to separate, of course – the police would be expecting them to travel together – but they had clean e-mail addresses with which to stay in contact, and the burner phones at Routh’s home had never been activated.

  On the other hand, no one had ventured into Routh’s house since he’d made his final trip to Providence. Sumner had made a couple of passes and detected no signs of intrusion or surveillance, but it was possible that whoever was responsible for Routh’s death might now be watching the property. It was a risk they’d have to take. They could also leave their car in his barn, and exchange it for the battered Camry that was the latest in a string of vehicles Routh always kept for discreet use. It would get them wherever they needed to go before they were required to split up. They could argue about who got to keep the Camry once it was safely in their possession.