Drummond jerked his head toward the interrupted game on the chessboard. ‘Are you still so friendless you have to play chess alone, Shameless?’
The old, undeserved nickname, a cheap variant on Shawcross, made the blood surge into his face. Humiliation. He hated Drummond with a loathing that went to his marrow but he realized he needed him; he needed to know why his past and present were intersecting so violently. But he knew Drummond was trying to keep him off-balance: the drama of the knife at the throat, then the offhand compliment about Henry’s aptitude with a gun. Standard interrogation techniques, a constant shifting between threat and kindness. Henry kept a neutral expression on his face.
‘I could hear the click of the pieces on the board from the hallway,’ Drummond said.
‘Playing took my mind off my son.’ Henry cleared his throat.
‘Your stepson, you mean.’ Drummond picked up one of the chess pieces – Luke’s king – and inspected it, as though admiring the crafts-manship. ‘You always did like to play both sides.’
Henry crossed his arms. ‘You said Allen Clifford was the murdered man. Since when did he become a homeless street bum?’
‘He wasn’t. He was pretending to be.’
‘Pretending?’
‘Allen Clifford was meeting with a fellow who had ties to domestic extremists who wanted to sell some information.’
‘Information?’ Henry made his voice go weak.
‘Yes. There’s a black market, you know.’
‘And Allen Clifford was posing as a bum?’
‘At the request of the guy he was meeting. Seller wanted to meet in the open, he wanted it to look like the meeting was just two totally harmless guys talking on the street. Very nervous. I assume he was worried about being cornered in a room, or tape recorded.’
An extremist in Houston, selling information. Henry worried that the guy was going to sell his name. But no. The only ones in the Night Road who knew Henry’s name were Snow and Mouser and Eric. Who could it be? ‘How do you know all this? Who was Clifford working for? Whom are you working for?’
‘Whom? Oh, I’ve missed you, Shameless. Clifford and I both free-lance. He talked to me about the operation before he went down there. He was doing it alone, he didn’t want the guy spooked. But clearly, your stepson knew about this meeting. I want to know what he’s been doing with his life since he lost his dad and’ – here Drummond made a face – ‘got you as a replacement.’
‘Luke is harmless. He’s just a psychology student.’
‘Harmless? The Houston police disagree. But I know even more than they do. I got access to his internet records from his home account, Shameless.’
‘Stop calling me that. You sound like you’re in junior high.’
‘But you sure are pushing yourself today, aren’t you? Shameless as ever. The amazing political seer, the Freud of the terrorist mind, the guy who claims to know the terrorists better than they know themselves.’ Drummond kicked the table aside, sending the chess pieces scattering across the floor. He put the blade up under Henry’s jaw. ‘I call you exactly what I think you are. Your stepson’s internet records indicate he has been visiting hundreds of websites frequented by people with radical viewpoints. He’s been corresponding with them through these sites, using tons of different email addresses, sending them some rather fiery messages of agreement. Why?’
‘He was working on a paper about… extremist psychology. He’s been fascinated by it… ever since Warren died.’ That was true, and Henry stared hard into Drummond’s ice-blue eyes. They reminded him of the hard blue of the sky beyond a mountain peak.
‘So this reaching out to the fringes is for a research paper? No, I don’t think so. He’s compiled an avalanche of data, even for a master’s degree. I think he’s one of them.’
‘No. Not a paper; a book. He’s working on a book.’ The lie wriggled, thick in his mouth. He had to convince Drummond or Drummond would find Luke and kill him. Of that, Henry had no doubt. ‘He told me.’
‘Have you read or seen this book?’
‘No.’
‘So he could have lied to you.’ He moved the knife off Henry’s throat, let it dance along Henry’s eyelashes. Henry bit his lip. ‘Does he know about us, Henry? You and me and Clifford… and his dad?’
‘No. I swear. Luke doesn’t know about the Book Club, I swear. I never told him. And even if I did, he wouldn’t go after Allen Clifford or you or me…’ His voice trailed off. ‘He’d probably think we were all heroes.’
‘Heroes,’ Drummond snorted. ‘God. You did tell him, just to make yourself look smarter.’
‘No. I’ve never told Luke about the Book Club. Honestly, Drummond, why would I?’
‘Bragging.’
Henry gave a choked laugh. ‘Wasn’t that our great failing, Drummond – not telling the world what we knew?’
‘In your mind, Shameless, in your mind.’
‘We both know that if we’d been listened to, the world would be a very different place today, Drummond.’
‘I don’t care to dissect history. I care about dissecting the present. You say Luke doesn’t know about our past. But he knows about a meeting between Clifford and an extremist that is coincidentally scheduled to take place on the same day of a bombing that scares the piss out of the country. Maybe this extremist is one of Luke’s online friends.’
‘No,’ Henry said. ‘I saw the video. Luke wasn’t alone in the car. Someone else was in the passenger seat. Maybe Luke was forced to participate.’
Drummond shook his head. ‘Hardly an acceptable theory. A trap was set for Clifford. And your stepson was the getaway driver.’
Henry said, ‘Assume you’re right.’ He could feed Drummond a bit of a line, see what Drummond was willing to share. ‘What was Clifford going to do with this extremist once he had him? Just how wide do your responsibilities range? Who was he going to turn the extremist over to?’
Drummond made a clicking noise, frowned. Henry could see him deciding to give a bit of information in hope for Henry doing the same. ‘Clifford would have hauled his ass out to a cabin in east Texas, up near Braintree, questioned him. With force, if needed. See how much he’d spill.’
Henry blinked. The cabin. It had been originally intended for something other than Luke’s kidnapping. An interrogation by Clifford. And the kidnapper had known that with Clifford dead, the cabin would be free to use for holding Luke hostage.
‘Luke would not willingly participate in any crimes,’ Henry said in an even tone. ‘Clifford, on the other hand, was contemplating kidnapping of his source. You’re here because you were working with Clifford. You’re still nothing more than hired muscle.’
Drummond paused. ‘Your defense of Luke is not convincing.’ He shook his head. ‘His dad wouldn’t be very proud of how his boy’s turned out. You did a piss-poor job. I’m not surprised.’
‘Get out of my house, or I’m calling the police.’
‘No you’re not. How will you explain me?’
The silence stretched between them. Finally Henry said, ‘If you tell me what you know about this meeting, maybe I can figure out how Luke is connected. I might be able to find notes in his research to help you. I’ll give you any information I find. But you have to promise me. You do not hurt Luke. I take your word as a fellow member of the Book Club that you will not harm him.’
Drummond considered the offer for ten long seconds. ‘All right.’ The knife eased back.
‘Who was the extremist, what’s his name?’
‘Jimmy Bridger.’
Snow’s old boyfriend, the one who had taken off a few days ago, a racist nothing. Snow had talked, and Bridger had looked to sell the information. Henry kept his poker face in place. ‘He wanted to talk and then he wanted protection.’
‘Who are you and Clifford working for that you could offer protection to an informant?’
Drummond didn’t deny that he and Clifford shared an employer. ‘A private employer.’
