My fingers clenched on the phone. ‘Mikolo?’ I whispered.
He chuckled. ‘As good as always, I see. I didn’t think you’d recognize me after all these years.’
I suddenly felt exposed. ‘What do you want?’ I asked coldly, my gaze shifting to the dim passage beneath my feet. The strays had stopped a respectable distance from the fire escape and were watching me curiously. There was no one else in the alleyway.
I looked up and scrutinized the opposite building. Industrial-sized windows occupied most of the rear facade of the deserted tower block. I could not make much of the gloom behind the dirty, cracked glass.
‘Come now, is that any way to greet an old friend?’ Chapman drawled.
‘You might as well get to the point,’ I retorted. ‘Gotze already told me about you.’ I put the phone on speaker, hooked it on my shirt, and started to climb.
‘Did he now?’ said Chapman. His words crackled with static from my movements. His voice was no longer friendly. ‘And what exactly did Gotze say?’
‘He mentioned your name before he killed me.’ Several stories up, I came across the silver cat. It balanced on a ledge next to the fire escape and studied me guardedly.
I climbed over the railing and took a cautious step toward it.
‘Oh,’ murmured Chapman. ‘So, he did manage to kill you before he died.’
Motion below drew my gaze. The strays disappeared, sleek shadows fading in the gloom. A loud hiss erupted in front of me. My head snapped up.
The silver tabby was crouched on all fours, its back arched and its golden gaze focused unblinkingly on a point an inch past my left shoulder.
I grabbed the startled cat and jumped back on the landing. Fragments of metal and brick clouded the air as bullets scored a line in the brick wall next to me. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw figures appear at the end of the alley. I turned and raced up the stairs.
Glass shattered somewhere above me. A falling shard caught my cheek. Above the splintering and cracking noise, the stutter of a machine gun rose from the rooftop of the opposite building.
Heat bloomed on the back of my hand. For a second, I thought I had been shot. I glanced down and saw the silver tabby clinging to me grimly; its claws had drawn blood. I gripped the cat and dodged a further spray of bullets.
The metal steps suddenly juddered beneath my feet. Two men in black suits were climbing the fire escape. One of them leaned over the railing and raised a black object. I heard a distant twang and felt the draft of an arrow as it whizzed past my shoulder.
‘Hang on!’ I gasped. The cat’s claws dug in further.
I skidded onto the next landing and jumped. My fingers closed on the bottom rung of a ladder. I drew my legs up and arched my body over the empty space beyond the railing.
There was a fleeting moment of weightlessness. A heartbeat later, I crashed through a window and landed hard on a floor inside the building. I rolled and leapt to my feet.
The machine gun roared as I started to run. Bullets ricocheted off the ground, raising chips from the concrete. An indignant yowl accompanied the dull thuds. I winced; the cat was trying to scratch bare bone.
I bolted from the room and started down a dingy corridor. My phone beeped. I grabbed the cell and glanced at the display. It was an incoming call from Ashely.
‘Where are you?’ I barked into the mouthpiece.
‘Outside the client’s building,’ he replied. ‘What’s the matter?’ he added, his voice stiffening. ‘You sound breathless.’
I ducked past an open doorway and narrowly avoided another volley of bullets. ‘Get to the north entrance of the park! Hurry!’ I shouted before ending the call.
I darted across a series of intersections, my eyes frantically scanning the desolate halls for an exit. An emergency door finally materialized at the end of a passage. Glass tinkled somewhere in the building. Distant footsteps followed.
I hit the door at a run and almost went over the metal banister on the other side. A gloomy stairwell opened up beneath me. I turned and started down the steps.
I was ten feet from the ground floor when the door at the bottom of the stairs suddenly opened. A man entered the building in a flood of daylight. He blinked at the shadows and raised his gun just as a crash reverberated from above; the suits had found the emergency exit.
I tightened my grip on the cat, grabbed the handrail, and stepped up against the wall. A crossbow bolt hissed past my ear as I vaulted over the banister. It missed my shoulder by a hairbreadth and thudded into the concrete floor.
The gunman’s eyes widened a second before my feet landed on his chest. A grunt left his lips and he flailed backward, the gun clattering out of his hand. I elbowed him in the throat, scrambled to my feet, and headed for the exit. The cat glanced around at the sound of choked gurgling. Footsteps pounded the stairs behind us.
I emerged in a narrow passage between two tower blocks. A squeal of tires rose up ahead. I caught a glimpse of the Chevy as it shot past the mouth of the alley. I sprinted toward it.
Bullets struck the ground close on my heels when I emerged from the alleyway.
‘Hey! Over here!’ I yelled, waving wildly with my free hand.
Ashely spotted me in the rearview mirror, slammed on the brakes, and put the car into reverse. The Monte Carlo screeched to a halt at the curb. I opened the passenger door and dove inside headfirst. A dull thud erupted from the rear of the vehicle.
‘Go!’ I shouted. ‘They’ll aim for the tires!’
Ashely pulled away and floored the accelerator.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ he said with a scowl. He glanced sideways as I straightened in the seat. ‘And what is that?’
I looked down. I had forgotten about the cat. The silver tabby’s golden eyes were locked on my face, its claws still firmly hooked in my flesh.
‘It’s Miss Kaplinsky’s cat.’
I carefully detached the animal from my arm. It relented and switched its grip to my jeans.
Ashely maneuvered the Chevy around the mid-afternoon traffic and looked in the rearview mirror. He drew in a breath sharply. ‘Is that an arrow?’
I looked over my shoulder. A crossbow bolt was embedded in the trunk of the car. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘Unless our client has some seriously fearful enemies, I presume those were Hunters again?’ he asked, his mouth a thin line.
‘Yes. It was—’A sudden burst of static interrupted me. The cat twitched; the claws stabbed in further.
I grimaced and looked at the dashboard. Ashely had inherited an old police radio scanner with the car. It had proven useful on many of our previous investigations.
My blood grew cold as I listened to the words pouring out of the speakers of the black box.
‘Control, this is C-16 on Concorde. Have responded to the disturbance at Golden Leaf. Calling in a 10-54 Code 1 at 12B.’
‘Copy, C-16. Go ahead.’
‘Victim is resident at the address, white female, late seventies. Bullet wound to the head, DOA. Witnesses point to suspect being a white male, mid-thirties, six-foot two, one seventy, black hair, blue eyes, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. Suspect is on foot and may be armed.’
‘Copy, C-16. Will dispatch EMT and notify Patrol and Operations.’
‘Copy, Control.’
‘Adam?’ Ashely said quietly.
I looked blindly ahead while I recalled the scent of vanilla and a room crowded with faded memories.
Chapter Four
The East Boston police precinct was housed in an imposing, neoclassical brick and granite structure on the corner of a busy commercial junction not far from the harbor.
Contrary to its stately outer appearance, the inside of the building could have been any other station in the city. The wide corridors and grand ceilings failed to mask the scruffiness of the place and the people who worked within its walls, while the smell of sweat, coffee, and cigarettes permanently imbued th
e air, which had acquired a yellow to smoky, brown haze.
The interview room on the first floor offered a rare glimpse of Boston’s downtown skyline. The setting sun had turned the waters of the bay crimson and bathed the austere walls of the chamber with an orange glow.
The homicide detective assigned to Miss Kaplinsky’s murder was a bear of a man by the name of Meyer. He dwarfed his partner, a much younger sergeant detective called Pratt. Pratt was skinny, virtually devoid of facial hair, and had a bobbing Adam’s apple that could have sunk the Titanic; Meyer appeared to be the type to grow a five o’clock shadow ten minutes after a shave. Pratt’s suit was smooth and wrinkle-free, his tie crisp, and his shoes shiny with fresh polish; Meyer looked like he shopped at the Salvation Army and sported well-worn, scuffed Doc Martens. Despite these flagrant discrepancies, they made a good team.
It was only Ashely’s reputation that had kept them from formally interrogating me as the prime suspect in the case.
Meyer studied the notepad in his hand. Not that he needed to check the facts; he looked like the kind of cop who’d memorize everything about a person in a flash.
‘You said you left the victim’s apartment at around thirteen hundred?’
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘Where did you go?’ said Meyer.
‘I spoke to a couple of her neighbors, a Mr. Harrison from 8B and Mrs. Garcia from 10A.’
‘Why?’ said Pratt in a hard voice.
Despite the anger thrumming in my veins, I allowed a faint smile to cross my lips. ‘I wanted to ask them about the cat.’
Pratt’s gaze shifted to the shape on my lap. ‘Is that the feline in question?’
Bored by the proceedings, the silver tabby had gone to sleep; its claws were still resolutely ensnared in the denim fabric of my jeans. ‘Yes.’
Meyer closed the notepad with a snap. ‘What’d you do after that?’
‘I searched the neighborhood and the park across the road.’
‘How long did that take?’
‘About an hour twenty.’
Meyer rose from the table and strolled to the window. ‘And you found the cat? Just like that?’ he said, gazing at the fading light.
I kept my expression neutral. The older detective was a difficult man to read, which made him the better cop; I couldn’t tell whether his rigid stance denoted skepticism, tiredness, or both. Pratt on the other hand had not quite mastered the art of hiding his emotions; if he had his way, I would be under lock and key before I could breathe the word “lawyer”.
‘The catnip helped,’ I volunteered.
Meyer returned to his seat. ‘You said in your statement,’ he glanced at the paperwork before him, ‘that you didn’t recognize the men who were after you?’
‘That’s correct,’ I answered truthfully.
Silence followed. ‘Does this kind of thing happen to you often?’ said Meyer.
I pretended ignorance. ‘What do you mean?’
Meyer sighed and waved a hand vaguely. ‘The bullets. The arrows. The random strangers trying to kill you.’
I wondered how he would react if I told him the truth. ‘No,’ I said steadily.
The older detective’s eyes narrowed. ‘We haven’t got the official reports from ballistics yet, but the rounds from the alley are a close match to the one found in the victim’s body.’
I remained silent.
‘Do you have a gun, Mr. Carpenter?’ said Pratt.
‘No.’
The two cops glanced at each other. I could tell they were not buying this barefaced lie.
‘I recall Ashely telling me that you were an excellent shot,’ said Meyer.
I let the smile dance on my lips once more while I silently cursed my absent partner. ‘He has a tendency to exaggerate.’
Meyer cocked an eyebrow. He obviously knew Ashely better than I thought he did.
Pratt sneered. ‘You mean to tell us you’ve never fired a gun while working as a private investigator?’
‘I don’t like guns.’
‘That’s not an answer!’ snapped the younger detective.
Meyer scowled. ‘Enough.’ He stood and pushed the chair under the table. ‘That’ll be all for today, Mr. Carpenter. We’ll be in touch again in the next few days. Make sure you’re available for questioning.’ He paused. ‘And we’d appreciate it if you didn’t leave town for the foreseeable future.’
Ashely was waiting in the station’s reception. We left the building without exchanging a word and strolled to the Chevy. Leaves rustled in a nearby sycamore tree as a cold gust blew through the parking lot. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, glad for the fresh air after the stuffiness of the precinct.
‘What did Meyer say?’ Ashely asked once we were inside the car.
‘The bullet that killed our client matched the shell casings the Hunters left in the alley.’ I unclenched my fingers, still struggling to quell the ice-cold rage threatening to overwhelm me.
‘Well, that should help your case at least. Did he say anything else?’
‘Yeah. He told me not to leave the city.’
Ashely pulled out of the parking bay. The beams from the Chevy’s headlights washed across the dirty asphalt as he headed for the river.
‘What’re you intending to do with that?’ he said after a moment’s silence. He indicated my lap with a cocked thumb.
I gazed at the sleeping cat. ‘Miss Kaplinsky had no next of kin. I guess it’s staying put for the time being.’
A resigned expression dawned on my partner’s face. ‘Has it got a name?’
I hesitated. ‘It’s—Barnabas.’
Ashely’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
I shrugged noncommittally.
‘What I don’t get is why the Hunters would murder a defenseless old lady,’ he said eventually, his gaze focused on the road ahead.
‘I don’t know the answer to that either.’ This was a half-truth. Deep down, I suspected I knew the reason why. And if I was right, things would only get worse.
‘This is the third time in three days they’ve tried to kill you.’ Ashely glanced at me. ‘Why now?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t exactly get time to ask questions.’ I leaned against the headrest. ‘Maybe they’re under new management.’
Ashely grunted. ‘That’s a helluva lot of don’t knows.’
I sighed. ‘I know.’
Another minute elapsed. ‘So, what’re you gonna do about it?’ he challenged.
I smiled faintly at his words; he knew me well. I looked out of the window, stalling for time.
We were headed down the Sumner Tunnel. Traffic was light for the time of day. A fire engine came up behind us and overtook the Chevy in a roar of sirens and flashing lights. The cat woke up and yawned. I looked down to find its golden eyes staring at me unwaveringly.
‘I’m going to New York,’ I said finally.
Ashely was quiet for a while. ‘What’s in New York?’
‘Someone who has answers, or knows where I can get them.’ I stroked the cat’s head. A low rumble of approval erupted from its belly.
A blast of static and garbled words escaped the radio scanner as we drove out into the North End. The fire was on the east-side dockyards. An orange glow smudged the skyline ahead and to the left.
‘Meyer told you not to leave the city,’ said Ashely, his tone neutral.
‘He did.’
There was a short lull. ‘I’m coming with you,’ he stated, adamant.
I turned a steady stare on him. ‘This will get ugly.’
Ashely shrugged. ‘I’m already involved.’ He glanced at me and scowled. ‘I’m not going to change my mind about this, so don’t give me that look. And don’t say another word!’
‘I wasn’t intending to.’ Once Reynolds decided something, it would take nothing less than an act of God to steer him from his intended path. ‘What about Price?’
&nb
sp; ‘Price can wait,’ Ashely retorted dismissively.
I looked at the cat. Its golden eyes were still fixed on my face; it seemed to be awaiting my decision as intently as Ashely.
‘Okay,’ I said finally. ‘But we need more weapons.’ My gaze shifted to the dashboard. ‘And a new set of wheels.’
‘What’s wrong with the Chevy?’ Ashely protested.
‘Trust me, right now all the Hunters on the east coast know about the Chevy.’
He hesitated. ‘How many of them are there?’
‘Hundreds.’
He appeared to be mulling over something. ‘You have a car?’
I closed my eyes. ‘Yes. Several, actually.’
Ashely’s apartment was a short drive from our office in Mission Hill and a half hour from the suburb where his ex-wife and children lived. Though small, the condo’s austere black and white decor complemented his character and former lifestyle as a Marine.
I kept a lookout while he packed some essentials in a large rucksack. The cat followed him around the apartment, throaty purrs escaping its belly as it rubbed its head against his ankles.
I smiled. ‘He likes you.’
Ashely grunted something unsavory. He reached under his bed and pulled out a crate secured with heavy-duty military padlocks. He unlocked it and flipped the lid up. The cat sauntered across the floor to investigate the contents of the chest.
‘Leave those,’ I said.
‘I thought you wanted weapons.’ Ashely’s hand hovered over the small arsenal inside the container. He had served with the 3rd Battalion 6th Marines at Camp Lejeune, in North Carolina, had participated in Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm in the Persian Gulf, and Operation Just Cause in Panama. He knew his firearms.
I hesitated. ‘Do you hold a license for the guns?’
Ashely nodded.
‘Then definitely leave them. And take your passport.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘Just in case,’ I said with a shrug.
Fifteen minutes later, we walked into the lobby of my building and took the lift to the tenth floor. No one had followed us.
The hallway outside the apartment was deserted and the rooms were as I had left them that morning. I grabbed a couple of duffel bags from a closet and packed some clothes in one of them.
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