?Someone I know??
I nodded. ?Could be, yeah. Someone who used to live here, anyway, but maybe not during your time. Guy name of Dennis Peace.?
Reggie frowned in thought, as if he was running that name through his memory banks. ?Peace. No, doesn?t ring any bells. You know a Dennis Peace, Greg??
Lockyear looked round at the sound of his name, his expression the same mildly astonished double-take I?d seen him use outside. I was reminded of Stan Laurel, although maybe that was just the hair. He stubbed the cigarette out again, absently, in spite of the fact that it was already dead. ?Yeah,? he said. ?I know Peace. Well, I used to know him. He lived here for about six months of last year. Bastard never cooked once. Why? What?s he done??
This was addressed to Reggie, but Reggie turned to me because obviously that was my question to answer if it was anybody?s.
I decided to tell the truth, as far as I could. It?s not like exorcism as a profession generates a whole huge heap of fellow feeling, but I didn?t want to try to extort any information out of these guys by selling them some tired line about Peace owing me money or whatever. That sort of thing will inevitably turn around and bite you in the ass sooner or later. ?Someone hired me to find him,? I said. ?He?s meant to have a kid with him. A little girl, who?well, who isn?t his. She was abducted from her parents? house. Peace was there the day it happened, or at least that?s what I?ve been told. So her parents think maybe he took her. I want to see if that?s what happened. And if it is, I?m being paid to get the kid back.?
Reggie said nothing, just kept looking at me with a gambler?s deadpan.
?Well, I never met the man,? I conceded, responding to the skepticism in that look. ?This is just a job, and it could all be bullshit as far as I know. Sooner I find him, sooner I find out.?
?Sounds like a job for the police,? Reggie observed. He was standing over me, watching me more closely than the occasion seemed to call for. Having offered me a seat, he made no move to sit down himself.
?Yeah, I guess it would be, if the girl was alive. But she?s dead.?
?All the more reason??
?I mean, she was already dead when he took her.?
Reggie gave the kind of slanted nod that means ?hell of a story.? ?There are some very nasty people out there,? he observed. ?A lady takes a terrible risk.?
I recognized the quote, let it pass. ?Does anyone make a note of forwarding addresses, when someone leaves here?? I asked, giving a tottering pile of envelopes a meditative tap.
?The Trust does. But we?re not the Trust.?
There was definitely an edge in Reggie?s voice now. I could see that we were heading for a point at which he was going to give up the unequal struggle between mood and manners and tell me to sod off. But I was feeling a little bloody-minded myself, now?maybe because of the headache, which was back worse than ever?and I wasn?t quite ready to back off. I looked across at Greg Lockyear, who was now leaning forward with his elbows on the counter and looking out across the Thames toward the Gallions Point marina as if it were the most riveting thing he?d ever seen. A conviction started to grow in me.
?Greg,? I said, leaning out past Reggie to get a better line of sight. ?You keep in touch with Peace at all, after he left here??
Reggie didn?t like the fact that I?d just done an end-play around him, and Greg?when he turned his dazed-rabbit eyes my way?didn?t look all that happy to be back in the conversation. This was making friends and influencing people the Felix Castor way. ?No,? Greg said, shaking his head emphatically. ?No, I never really got on with him all that well. Glad to see the back of him, to be honest.?
?Any clues as to where he was going? Or did anyone ever visit him while he was here? Anyone who might have put him up afterwards, I mean??
He looked out of the window again, as if checking an Autocue, then back at me. ?No.?
I turned my attention back to Tang. ?Who else is staying here, Reggie?? I asked. ?I mean, besides you two??
Reggie folded his arms. ?Nobody.?
?And you?ve been staying here since???
?Castor, you said you came here looking for advice. You really think acting like a cop is going to get you any??
?Well, you said you were happy to help. I?m just taking you at your word.?
?Okay. I think we helped you enough now. So my new word is sod off out of it.?
?That?s more of a phrase,? I pointed out, reasonably. ?I?m not a cop, Reggie.?
?You think I?m simple? I said you were acting like one.?
?Not even that. A cop would be picking up on all your bullshit and shoving it back in your face to see if you blink.?
There was a moment?s?or maybe just half a moment?s?tense silence. ?What bullshit?? Reggie demanded.
?Well, let?s see. You?re a Buddhist, but when I come in you?re sitting in front of a plate full of sausage, eggs, and bacon. You can?t bring yourself to actually touch the stuff, but you do your best to pretend it?s yours. And Mr. Potato Face over there had the same problem with the fag, so it?s fair to assume that somewhere nearby there?s a chain-smoking, carnivorous mate of yours who doesn?t want to be introduced to me for some inexplicable??
It was just as well that Reggie?s eyes flicked upward. Like an idiot, I?d been watching the door at the back of the galley, but seeing that telltale glance I rolled off the couch a split second before a burly form crashed down feetfirst from above, and two size-ten boots thumped into the space where I?d just been sitting.
I hit the floor and rolled, fetching up against Reggie?s feet. He jumped back hastily, proving that his Bruce Lee looks were all window dressing, but the guy with the roomy footwear was a bit more aggressive. He strode across to me, lifted me up by my lapels with surprisingly little effort, and slammed me into the wall.
?Hold on to him!? he bellowed.
Reggie and Greg rushed to comply, taking an arm each. I could have fought back, but only at the expense of a few more hard knocks. I figured the time for that would come.
The man standing in front of me, rubbing right fist into left palm, looked like hard knocks were a daily fact of life for him. He was big enough to be covered by building regulations, and his hard, craggy face bore a couple of days? growth of stubble. His hair was sand-blond, his complexion sandpaper-rough. There were deep shadows under his eyes, as dark as bruises. He must have been fairly handsome once, in a weather-beaten, roughly chiseled out, oversize kind of way. Now, in middle age, he looked like someone who was just starting to feel the pull of gravity and letting it get to him?psychologically, if not physically. He was wearing one of those shades-of-gray urban combat jackets over a green turtleneck sweater and olive-drab trousers tucked into those intimidating
He glared at me?a warning glare.
?I got your message,? he said. ?That was you, yeah? At the Oriflamme? So you wanted to talk to me. Well, here I am. What do you want to talk about??
?Abbie Torrington,? I suggested.
That was meant to be an opening gambit, but it got a more spectacular reaction than I was expecting. Peace gave a wordless roar and punched me in the stomach. I saw the punch coming and threw myself backward as far as I could into Reggie and Greg, trying to ride with it. Even so, it was like standing in the path of a cannonball. The pain was incredible, and I folded up with a feeble hiccup of displaced air. I sagged, but Reggie and Greg held on so I didn?t actually fall.
?You don?t?you don?t even talk about her!? Peace bellowed. ?You don?t even?you bastard, you think I?m going to let you?? Who?s paying you? Who?s fucking sent you here??
He grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked my head up again?but not before I took a closer look at that bracelet and saw it for what it was: a heart-shaped locket on a golden chain, wrapped twice around his muscular wrist.
?Who sent you?? he asked again.
?Her?her mother,? I wheezed.
?Well you tell that bitch she?s never seeing Abbie again in this world or any fucking other. That?s over. It?s over! I would?ve?I would?ve?I?ll kill before I let that coldhearted bastard??
He ran out of words, his face flushed so deep a red it looked like he was about to bust a major artery. He brandished his fist at me again, but didn?t go for a second punch. He took a long, shuddering breath, visibly struggling to get himself back under some kind of control. I remembered that he was popping speed; that?s not generally conducive to moments of calm reflection.
Then things took a turn for the worse. Peace flicked his jacket away from his body on the left-hand side and pulled a handgun out of his belt. He shoved it hard up against my cheek.
?Take it easy, Den,? Reggie Tang murmured anxiously.
?Shut up, Reggie,? Peace growled. He looked at me with a sort of agonized hatred. He seemed to be working himself up to something, and I opened my mouth to try to head it off. Before I could speak, his free hand shot forward, balled into a fist. I didn?t have time to move?just to close my eyes. A splintering, rending sound came from just to my left. Opening my eyes, I turned my head a fraction and saw the
