The Wrath of Angels cp-11

by John Connolly

  ‘He still alive to tell the tale?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Then he should be grateful.’

  ‘Et tu, Brute?’

  ‘It wasn’t a judgment, just a statement of fact. I’ve saved your clippings, but I don’t want to know the unofficial details. That way, I can plead ignorance if someone comes knocking. I’ve reached an accommodation with what you are, even if you haven’t.’

  ‘What I am, not what I do?’

  ‘I don’t think there’s a separation where you’re concerned. Come on, Charlie, we’ve known each other too long. You’re like a son to me now. I judged you in the past, and maybe I found you wanting, but I was wrong. I’m on your side here, no questions asked.’

  I sipped my coffee. Walter had also opened a beer for himself, but I had declined one. He was singlehandedly keeping the Brooklyn Brewing Company in business. There had barely been room in the refrigerator for food.

  So I began talking. I told Walter of Marielle Vetters, and the story of the plane. I told him of Liat, and Epstein, and the second confrontation in the restaurant. I told him more of Brightwell, because Walter had been there when a woman came to my house asking for help in finding her lost daughter, a request that had led, in turn, to Brightwell and his Believers.

  ‘I ever tell you that you keep some strange company?’ he said, when I was done.

  ‘Thanks for pointing that out. What would I do without you?’

  ‘Spend money on expensive hotel rooms in New York. You sure you don’t want a beer?’

  ‘No, coffee’s fine.’

  ‘Something stronger?’

  ‘Not my bag any more.’

  He nodded.

  ‘You’re going to go back to Epstein, aren’t you? You’re curious about this list, and the plane. More than that, you’re interested in Brightwell. He got under your skin.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean that what Brightwell thought about you was true or right. If you’re an angel, fallen or any other kind, then I’m Cleopatra. That stuff is okay if you’re Shirley MacLaine, otherwise it starts to sound flaky. But if you want some company dealing with the Chosen People, let me know.’

  ‘I thought you’d signed up for “don’t ask, don’t tell”?’

  ‘I’m an old man. I forget what I’ve said as soon as I’ve said it. Anyway, it’ll be an excuse to leave the house that doesn’t involve doctors, or a trip to the mall.’

  ‘You know, you’re quite the ad for active retirement.’

  ‘I’m going to be a centerfold for the AARP magazine. They promised. It’ll be like that Burt Reynolds pic from Playgirl, but with more class, and maybe more gray hair. Come on, I’ll show you to your bed. If you’re not going to drink beer, then you’re no good to me awake.’

  Epstein called my cell phone before I went to sleep. Somewhere in our brief exchange there was an apology of sorts, perhaps from each of us.

  I slept soundly.

  I did not dream.

  21

  I met Epstein late the following afternoon at Nicola’s Italian grocery and delicatessen at 54th and First. This part of town was known as Sutton Place, and for much of its history the rich and the poor had lived side by side here, tenements coexisting alongside the homes of socialites, the noise from factories, breweries and wharves providing the soundtrack while artists such as Max Ernst and Ernest Fiene worked in their studios. In the late 1930s, construction began on what was then known as the East River Drive, and subsequently became the FDR. The tenements and wharves began to disappear, and slowly high-rises started to take the place of many of the more civilized, characterful buildings. Still, some of those with long memories remembered a time when the apartments of Sutton Place were occupied mostly by actors and directors, when it was a haven for theatrical folk and, by extension, the gay community. It was said that eighty percent of the population of this small area was gay. Rock Hudson, among others, had an apartment in the 405 building across the street from Nicola’s. In those days, if you told a cab driver to take you to ‘Four out of Five’, he would bring you straight to its door.

  The choice of Nicola’s as the venue for the meeting was mine. Nick, who owned the store along with his brother Freddy, was ex-military, having served his time in Vietnam. His genius there lay in sourcing whatever was necessary – food, equipment, booze – in order to ensure the continued smooth running of the US military endeavor in Southeast Asia, but particularly that element of the endeavor which affected the comfort and care of his unit. Whole camps had been sustained thanks to Nick’s abilities to scavenge and procure. Given another thousand men like him, the US might even have won the war. Now he had settled comfortably into the role of a store owner in New York, where his undoubted skills in negotiating and appropriating continued to serve him well.

  Nick and Freddy were both behind the counter that morning, each dressed in the store’s unofficial uniform of check shirt and blue jeans, although on Saturdays Nick eschewed the uniform in favor of a more formal black shirt, a nod to the days when he would hit the town after the store closed. Nicola’s was a relic of a better time in New York, when every block had its neighborhood store, and there were personal relationships between shopkeepers and their customers. If you stood still for long enough in Nicola’s, either Nick or Freddy would press a fresh espresso into your hand. After that, you were theirs forever. On a crate beside the door sat Dutch, one of their oldest customers, his coffee in his left hand, a blanket across his lap concealing his right, along with the gun that the hand contained on this particular afternoon.

  The appearance of the store was deceptive. Although it was compact, with barely enough room for a handful of customers to stand in line, a flight of steps at the back led to a small storage space, and that space in turn opened up into the bowels of the building behind, where Nick and Freddy kept an office. A couple of storefronts to the right of the store, facing the street, was an iron gate that gave access to a large yard at the rear of the block, its footprint massive by the standards of real estate in the city.

  Epstein arrived shortly after I did, trailed by Adiv, Liat’s would-be suitor, and Yonathan, the older man who had riled me during the previous night’s confrontation. When Adiv and Yonathan tried to follow Epstein into Nicola’s, Walter Cole appeared and blocked their way.

  ‘Sorry, boys,’ he said. ‘Space is at a premium.’

  Epstein stared at Walter.

  ‘The ex-policeman,’ said Epstein. He emphasized the word ‘ex’.

  ‘Once a cop, always a cop.’

  ‘Are you a guarantee of safety?’

  ‘I live to serve. Like I said, once a cop, always a cop.’

  ‘Is there another way in?’ asked Adiv.

  ‘Building on 54th, and through the gate to the right,’ said Walter. ‘Makes you feel better to take one entrance each, then go ahead. As for the store, nobody’s going to get past the four of us.’ He indicated Nick, Freddy and Dutch. ‘Plus we’re all so wired on espresso that if the mailman makes a sudden move we might even take him out. Go for a walk, boys. Get some air into your lungs.’

  Epstein considered the arrangement, then nodded at his two bodyguards and they moved away, Adiv to the corner of 54th where he could watch both the storefront and the entrance to the apartment block, and Yonathan to the iron gate on First. I led Epstein down the stairs, through the storeroom, and across the hall to Nick’s large office where we could talk without clean-shaven young Jewish men with guns threatening the peace.

  As we walked, I couldn’t help but wonder where Liat might be. Liat troubled me. I hadn’t slept with anyone since Rachel left me, and I wasn’t entirely sure how I’d ended up in bed with Liat, beyond the fact that I had wanted to, and she had been there and willing, which were pretty good reasons in themselves. But last night, at the restaurant, she’d shown no great desire to repeat the experiment, and Epstein had clearly entrusted her with the task of watching me closely as he confronted me with the list, and assessing m
y reactions to his subsequent questions. Asking him if he’d also suggested that she sleep with me in order to examine my injuries seemed kind of crass, and I might not have been flattered by the answer; asking what would have happened if she had shaken her head instead of nodding at the end of the questioning might have had a more damaging effect on my feelings toward all concerned.

  Nick provided us with more strong Italian coffees on a small tray, and some fresh pastries. Epstein was halfway through a tartlet when Walter Cole wandered in and took his seat at a table in the corner.

  ‘I thought we were going to talk alone,’ said Epstein.

  ‘Your mistake,’ said Walter.

  ‘I understood this to be neutral territory.’

  ‘No, you misunderstood this to be neutral territory,’ said Walter.

  Epstein turned back to me. ‘And your guardians, Angel and Louis?’

  ‘Oh, they’re around,’ I said. ‘In fact, I think they may be keeping Adiv and Yonathan company right about now.’

  Epstein tried his best not to look unhappy at this news.

  Tried, but failed.

  Outside, Adiv and Yonathan both found themselves with guns pressed against their sides just as the sun began to set. They could see each other clearly, so Adiv was privy to Yonathan’s situation, and vice versa. Adiv saw a tall black man with a shaved head and the graying beard of an aspiring Old Testament prophet, albeit a prophet wearing a thousand-dollar suit, materialize behind Yonathan, the gate opening silently as he emerged, his mouth whispering something softly into Yonathan’s ear, his left hand on Yonathan’s shoulder, his right driving the gun hard under Yonathan’s armpit. Adiv, whose father was a tailor, just had time to adjudge the suit as remarkably well cut before a small, unshaven white man resembling a bum with some access to laundry services was threatening to blow out his insides if he moved, and so Adiv stayed very still indeed while the man disarmed him. Louis was having a similar exchange with Yonathan, with similar consequences, although he took the trouble to add, ‘And none of that krav maga shit either. Trigger pull on this is so light a passing breeze could set it off.’

  A huge, battered 4WD with smoked glass windows, and driven by a Japanese gentleman, pulled up outside the grocery store. Its rear doors opened to reveal a second Japanese man, and Yonathan and Adiv were bundled inside, Angel following. As the doors closed again, they were forced to the floor and their hands were secured behind their backs with cable ties. Their phones and wallets were taken from them, along with their spare change.

  ‘What are you going to do to the rabbi?’ asked Adiv, and Angel was impressed by the fact that the kid was more concerned about the rabbi’s safety than his own.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘My friend is going to stay by the store to make sure the rabbi is safe, and we have another man inside, just in case.’

  ‘So what is this about?’ asked Yonathan.

  ‘It’s about not pointing guns at people who are on your side,’ said Angel, then poked Adiv hard in the ribs with the toe of his glitter-covered cowboy boots. ‘Oh, and not telling people on your side to go fuck themselves when they try to exchange pleasantries with you just because you’re sore about what they may or may not have done with your girl, especially if they didn’t know at the time you thought she was your girl, and more particularly when she isn’t even your girl to begin with because you’re just holding some hidden flame in your heart for her that only you can see. What are you, nine years old? A nice Jewish kid like you should be too smart to be that dumb.’

  Yonathan shot a poisonous look at Adiv.

  ‘What?’ said Adiv. ‘You were the one who pointed the gun at him.’

  ‘Boys, boys,’ said Angel. ‘Recriminations will get you nowhere, although I will admit that it is entertaining from up here.’

  ‘The rabbi’s safety is above such concerns,’ said Yonathan, striking for the moral high ground. ‘We should be back there with him.’

  ‘You’d have thought, except for the fact that you were taken on a city street in daylight and are now lying in the back of a jeep heading for Jersey. I’m not in the personal protection industry as such, but it suggests to me that the rabbi ought to be contracting for better staff, if you don’t mind me saying so. And even if you do.’

  ‘What are you going to do with us?’ asked Adiv. His voice didn’t crack. Angel had to admit that the kid had balls; not much in the way of manners, but definitely carrying a pair.

  ‘You know what the Pine Barrens are?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A million acres of trees, reptiles, bobcats, and the Jersey Devil, although I admit the Jersey Devil may not exist. It’s a long walk home, even without the devil on your tail.’

  ‘You’re going to abandon us in the wilderness?’

  ‘It could be worse: we could be dumping you in Camden County.’

  ‘The city invincible,’ said the Japanese driver, speaking for the first time.

  ‘What?’ said Angel.

  ‘“In a dream, I saw a city invincible”,’ said the driver. ‘Is the motto of the city of Camden. I learn it in citizenship class.’

  ‘You mean “city invisible”,’ said Angel. ‘Someone probably stole it while the cops weren’t looking. Fucking city is so violent even dead people are armed. Personally, I’d take my chances in the Pinelands.’

  ‘But—’ Adiv began to say, but Angel aimed another kick at him as he started to protest, silencing him quickly.

  ‘It’s a done deal,’ he said. ‘Quiet now. I do some of my best thinking in the backs of cars.’

  We sipped our espressos. They were very, very good.

  ‘So let’s start again,’ I said to Epstein. ‘Tell me what you know about the woman who provided the list.’

  ‘Her name was Barbara Kelly.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘She died last week.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘She was cut repeatedly with a blade, scourged with a belt of some kind, and partially blinded. Her killer or killers then set fire to the house, probably in an effort to hide the evidence of the attack. They were very careful in how they approached her torture. There were no broken bones, and she was still alive when the fire was started in the kitchen, although probably unconscious. She had quite a sophisticated alarm system, with recessed smoke and heat detectors independent of the main system but running parallel to it. It was also raining heavily, which helped arrest the progress of the conflagration. Nevertheless, by the time the fire department arrived, the blaze had consumed part of the kitchen and spread to the living room, but somehow Kelly had managed to crawl into the hallway. She was badly burned, and died on the way to the hospital. The post-mortem revealed the extent of the injuries she had received prior to burning.’

  ‘You learn anything more since then?’

  ‘She claimed to be an independent consultant. She had very little in her bank accounts, and appeared to be just about keeping her head above water. Her income came from a variety of sources, mostly small businesses. Appearances would suggest that she worked very hard for a modest return, barely enough to cover her mortgage and living expenses.’

  ‘Except?’

  ‘We’re looking into the companies, but already two have been revealed as no more than names on mailboxes. We believe there were other sources of income, and other accounts.’

  ‘Did the police find anything at the house?’

  ‘A laptop mentioned in her insurance submission is missing and has not been traced. The hard drive had been removed from her desktop, and her personal files seem to have been carefully harvested.’

  ‘A dead end.’

  ‘We’re still looking. And there is an added complication.’

  ‘Isn’t there always?’

  ‘We believe that we were not the only ones to whom she sent material. She had cancer, and she felt that she was running out of time. She wanted to make reparation for her sins. She needed to know that the process had begun, that her offer of information was being ta
ken seriously.’

  ‘Who would she have sent it to? The newspapers? A DA somewhere?’

  Epstein shook his head. ‘Don’t you understand? The whole point of this conspiracy was to acquire influence and favors, either now or for the future. From the two extracts we’ve seen, we know that they own politicians and reporters. Don’t you think that they’ve also wormed their way into the lives of police officers, lawmakers, prosecutors? She couldn’t send the list through the usual channels. She had to be more selective.’

  ‘Then how did she decide upon your lawyers?’

  ‘She knew of us because we were her enemies.’

  ‘And she gave no indication of the other recipients?’

  ‘Recipient. There was just one other. The only clue she gave was to warn us to act quickly, because if we did not another less scrupulous than ourselves would take vengeance into his own hands, and through him she would earn her salvation.’

  I knew the man she meant. So did Epstein. There was only one individual who fitted that description, who had the resources and, more importantly, the vocation to do as this woman wished.

  He called himself the Collector.

  22

  The envelope had arrived at the offices of the lawyer Thomas Eldritch in Lynn, Massachusetts, by standard mail. Lynn was known in local parlance as ‘the city of sin’, in part due to its reputation for high crime rates during the peak of its industrial boom but mostly because of the ease of the rhyme. Nevertheless such taunts have a tendency to get under the skin not only of individuals but of entire cities, and at the end of the twentieth century it was suggested that Lynn should change its name to Ocean Park, which gave fewer opportunities to amateur poets for unkind rhymes. The proposal was rejected. Lynn had been Lynn for a very long time, and altering its name would be tantamount to a bullied schoolchild admitting that the bullies had won, and moving to a different school to avoid further confrontation. Also, as any schoolchild will tell you, the more you protest about name-calling, the louder the catcalls become.

  Eldritch was not troubled by the conjunction of the words ‘Lynn’ and ‘sin’: he found it rather apt, for Eldritch was in the sin business, specializing in those of a mortal nature. He was, though, more prosecutor than final arbiter, assembling details of a case, confirming the guilt of the parties involved, and then passing on what he had learned to his private executioner so that the ultimate sentence might be carried out. Eldritch understood the disjunction between the concepts of law and justice. His response was to refuse to accept this fact unconditionally: he was reluctant to wait for justice to be applied in the next world when it could just as easily be dispensed in this one, with a concomitant reduction in the amount of evil and misery contained in this realm. The possibility that he might be a party to that which he hated rarely, if ever, bothered him, and it certainly did not cross the mind of the one who wielded the blade at the final moment.