“Guns,” Spinsie said. “But guns like I’d never seen before, and I’ve seen a few in my day. Guns of a type that I don’t think exist anywhere yet. When Heaven invades Hell I hope God gives the angels a few of those guns. I didn’t know much about them but I knew I didn’t want to be around when they started going off. And Skiller. He saw. Started asking, ‘What are those? What are those?’ The others, they didn’t care. But Skiller wouldn’t have any part of it. Went all quiet once he realized what they were doing. Oh, he still loaded it, after a while. But I could tell he didn’t like it.
“We took the coffin ship back to the docks. Plan was to have the cargo shipped to a tobacconist pal of mine and have it repackaged as cigars. Then they’d wait a while and move it. Out to that, that big place, what’s it called?”
“Construct, probably,” Samantha said quietly.
“Yeah. You can stash anything there. The plan was to secure it real good, make sure no one could jimmy it. But once we got to the docks and unloaded them and started putting the corpses through the dockmaster we noticed Skiller was gone.”
“Gone?” Hayes asked.
“Yeah. Just gone. No one had any idea where he went or anything.”
“No one hurt him? No one attacked him?”
“No, not at all. He just slipped away.”
“Where do you think he went?” Samantha asked.
Spinsie shrugged. “Well, he wasn’t stupid. He knew something was up. He knew those guns hadn’t come from any Baltic freighter. Wherever they came from, it could only have been a few miles away. So I think he doubled back to the night landing, and just started walking. Started walking west to look for some pier. Some small dock. Something. To see where those guns had come from.”
Samantha and Hayes did not speak for some time. Spinsie rocked back and forth, glancing between them nervously, still desperate to please.
“Where are the guns now?” Hayes asked.
“I don’t know,” Spinsie said.
“You don’t?”
“No. After the tobacconist it was all up to them. They handled the Construct part. I wasn’t going in there.”
“And they didn’t know what they were going to do with the guns. Just that they were bringing stolen McNaughton cargo ashore.”
“Yeah. Yeah, little brother. That’s right.”
“Where was the night landing at? Off of what point on the shore west of here?”
Spinsie gave him the coordinates, or near enough.
“And you didn’t tell anyone about this?” Hayes asked.
“No. Spinsie keeps his mouth shut. Never says anything he doesn’t need to.”
Hayes nodded. “All right,” he said.
Spinsie glared at him. He took his cup of tea and tossed it back violently. Then he slammed it down on the table and said, “ ‘All right.’ All right, he says. Like he knows everything. You don’t know everything, you know that, little brother? Just ’cause you’ve been around. Just ’cause you managed to get out before I could. That doesn’t make you any better.”
“There’s no need to be angry,” Hayes said.
“I think there is. I think there’s plenty need. Always one step ahead, aren’t you, little brother? Always smarter than everyone else, always need to show it. How’s the god, Hayseed? How’s the little god that sits on your shoulder and tells you what to do? Very Socrates, that.”
“Enough,” Hayes said.
“You’re not always smart. Weren’t when I found you. Don’t think you are now. What put you on the streets? What about that girl you knocked up all those years ago, if you remember?”
“Enough,” Hayes said angrily.
But Spinsie kept talking, speaking louder with each word. “You didn’t see that coming. Didn’t see her putting the knife to her wrists, did you?”
“Enough!”
“Didn’t see daddy dearest tossing you out of house and home, did you, Hayseed, my little brother? Did you see that? Did you see that?”
Hayes rose and strode over to Spinsie and gave him three quick slaps. Spinsie recoiled and felt his lip and stared up at Hayes, stunned.
“You always were an ass, Spinsie,” Hayes said fiercely. “A stupid, ignorant ass. The reason I was always on land and you were at sea was that no one could ever stand you. You can’t even stand yourself. It’s the reason you were alone then and it’s the reason you’re alone now, and it’ll be the reason you’re alone for the rest of your damn days.” He turned around and waved to Samantha and said, “Come on.”
He marched out the front door with Samantha following. She hurried up to him and said, “Mr. Hayes, your friend, shouldn’t you-”
“He is not my friend, Sam.”
“But he-”
“He’s an idiot old man living an idiot old man’s life. I’m content to leave him here. Come on. Back up to the road.”
They were almost to the fence when she heard the shouting. She turned and saw Spinsie on his knees in his doorway, screaming at them to come back, come back, he had done a bad thing and he was sorry, just please come back. He waved his arms and then dropped them to his sides and sat there on the ground, watching them leave.
“Mr. Hayes?” she asked.
But Hayes did not hear her. He walked on until they could find a phone station and call a cab.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
It took Garvey more than three hours to get to Collins among the desks of the Department. It was much the same as it had always been in his absence, even painfully the same. Same stale scent of coffee. The sting of cheap aftershave and old cigarette smoke. The other police watched him with a medley of expressions, surprise and disdain and frowning sympathy. Garvey waited quietly in one of the chairs witnesses occupied so often, the box of files balanced on his knees. Finally Collins came charging in, riding a wild head of steam and still muttering curses. When Garvey stood he stopped and said, “Holy hell. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” said Garvey.
“We don’t need to talk to you,” said Collins. He turned away. “Go talk to someone else.”
“And to show you something.”
“You don’t need to show me anything. Go home, Garvey.”
“Please, sir. Just listen to me.”
“No. No, no. Go home, Garvey. Just go home.”
“You need to see this.”
Collins squinted at him over his shoulder. “Would you bet your career on it?”
“I’d be willing to bet my life,” Garvey said simply.
Collins led him to his office. It was famously messy, covered in little cities of files and papers and paperweights, old clothes and shoes he had had to change in and out of in the depths of a case. They sat and Collins took out a pipe and read over the file as Garvey spoke, just like any other case, like any other day. With each word his lieutenant’s eyes became wider and wider. Eventually he turned off the light as if he didn’t want to see any more and they both sat in the dark.
“You’re sure about this?” said Collins.
“Positive. That’s McNaughton records. Right there. You can see the M.”
