The Wrath of Angels

in.

‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘but I have a lawyer.’

‘Yes: Ms Price up in South Freeport. You must prove quite a handful for her. After all, you do get up to all sorts of mischief.’

He wrinkled his nose, and blew the last word at me as if it were a kiss. In the right light, and the right mood, he might have resembled an indulgent, avuncular figure, except that it was all a pose. Throughout our exchange, not once had an unsettling steeliness left his eyes, and, for all of his obvious ongoing decrepitude, those eyes remained remarkably clear, and bright, and hostile.

‘Mischief,’ I echoed. ‘The same observation might equally be made about your own client.’

I chose the singular carefully. Whatever impression Eldritch’s practice gave of even the slightest interest in conventional legalities, I believed that it existed for only one true purpose: as a front for the work of the man who occasionally went by the name of Kushiel, but was more commonly known as the Collector. The law firm of Eldritch & Associates targeted putative victims for a serial killer. It was engaged in an ongoing discourse with the damned.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Parker,’ said Eldritch. ‘I do hope that you’re not implying some knowledge of wrongdoing on our part.’

‘Do you want to search me for a wire?’

‘I doubt that you would be so crude in your methods. I suspect that it simply amuses you to make accusations you can’t possibly prove about suspicions on which you lack the courage to act. If you have questions to ask about the behavior of this “client”, then you should put them to him yourself.’

‘We’ve had words about it, but infrequently,’ I said. ‘He’s a difficult man to find. He tends to hide under rocks, waiting to pounce on the unwary and the unarmed.’

‘Oh, Mr Kushiel usually hides much deeper than that,’ said Eldritch, and any pretense of goodwill vanished. The office was very cold, much cooler than the morning outside, but I could find no sign of an air-conditioner. There wasn’t even a window to be opened, and yet, as Eldritch spoke, his words found form in plumes of condensation.

And just as my use of the singular about his client had been carefully chosen, so too was his use of his client’s name at that particular point in our discussion. I was aware of the derivation of that particular identity.

In demonology, Kushiel was Hell’s jailer.

The first time I had approached Eldritch, his client had been waiting for me outside when I left. If that was going to be the case again, I wanted to know. There was an entente between us, but it was delicate, and far from cordiale. The existence of the list was likely to complicate that relationship further, especially if the Collector had begun to target those on it.

‘Where is he now?’ I asked.

‘Abroad in the world,’ came the reply. ‘There is work to be done.’

‘Is he a fan of talk radio?’

‘Somehow, I doubt it.’

‘Did you hear that Davis Tate died?’

‘I didn’t know the man.’

‘He was a minor cheese on right-wing radio. Someone shot him in the head.’

‘Everyone is a critic nowadays.’

‘Some more than others. Usually a bad review on the Internet suffices.’

‘I don’t see how this concerns me.’

‘I believe that you and, by extension, your client, might have been in contact with a woman named Barbara Kelly. She provided you with a document, a list of names.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

I ignored him, and continued. ‘Your client may be tempted to act upon that information. In fact, I think he may already have started with Davis Tate. You need to tell him to keep his distance from the people on the list.’

‘I don’t “tell” him anything,’ replied Eldritch acidly. ‘You should not presume to do so either. He will do as he sees fit, within, obviously, the limits of the law.’

‘And what law would that be, exactly? I’d like to see where serial killing has been enshrined as a legal act.’

‘You’re baiting me, Mr Parker,’ said Eldritch. ‘It’s uncouth.’

‘Your client is more than uncouth: your client is insane. If he is beginning to take action against the individuals on that list, he’ll alert others on it, and those who control them, to the fact of its existence. We’ll lose them all just to satisfy your client’s bloodlust.’

Eldritch’s limbs stiffened in anger. It brought out the excessive politeness that was his lawyer’s training.

‘I would contest your use of the word “bloodlust”,’ he said, enunciating each syllable slowly and clearly.

‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘It implies an emotional capacity to which he can’t even aspire, but we can have a semantic discussion about the best definition of his mania on another occasion. For now, all he has to know is that there are larger interests at stake here, and other parties involved.’

Eldritch’s hands gripped his desk as he leaned forward, the scrawny tendons in his neck extending so that he looked like a turtle deprived of its shell.

‘Do you think he cares about some old Jew squatting in New York, fingering his tassels as he prays for his lost son? My client acts. He is an agent of the Divine. There is no sin in his work, for those whom he chooses to confront have forfeited their souls through their own depravity. He is engaged in the great harvest, and he will not, cannot, stop. Files must be closed, Mr Parker. Files must be closed!’

Spittle flecked his lips, and his usually bloodless features had bloomed with an unexpected rush of sanguinity. He seemed to realize that he had overstepped his usual boundaries of decorum, for the tension eased out of his body, and he sank back into his chair, releasing his grip upon his desk. He took a clean white handkerchief from his pocket, patted it against his mouth, and looked with distaste at the marks on the material. It was spotted with red. He caught me staring at it, so he folded it quickly and put it away.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘That was uncalled for. I will pass on your message, although I can’t promise that it will do any good. He seeks and finds, seeks and finds.’

‘There’s another risk involved in his actions,’ I said.

‘Which is?’

‘He will force them to act against him, but he’s hard to pin down. You’re much easier to find.’

‘That could almost be interpreted as a threat.’

‘It’s a warning.’

‘To borrow your expression, that’s a matter of semantics. Will there be anything else?’

‘I do have one last question,’ I asked.

‘Go on.’ He did not look at me, but began writing on a yellow legal pad in that elegant copperplate. Already he had dismissed me in his mind. I had forced him to shout. I had seen the blood on the handkerchief. He wanted me gone from his presence.

‘It concerns the list that you were sent.’

‘List, list.’ A drop of blood fell from his lips and exploded upon the paper. He continued writing, so that blood and ink combined. ‘Again, I know of no such list.’

I ignored him.

‘I was wondering if my name was on it.’

The nib of the pen stopped moving, and Eldritch peered up at me like some old, malicious imp.

‘Worried, Mr Parker?’

‘Interested, Mr Eldritch.’

Eldritch pursed his lips.

‘Let us speculate, then, since you seem so convinced of its existence, and my knowledge of it. If my name were on such a list, I might well be worried, for what could one have done to justify one’s place upon it?’

He wagged the bloodied nib of his pen at me.

‘I think that perhaps you will be meeting my client sooner than you anticipate. I’m sure that the two of you