part0051

AS WAS OFTEN the case, Evan reckoned he deserved a medal. This time it was for patience and self-control. The way things were going he was going to have to get himself down to the gym, build his chest up a bit, to fit them all on.

Because, despite his last conversation with Crow—the one where he’d asked him about the man with filed teeth—being abruptly terminated when he lost the cell phone signal, he’d sat on his hands the whole way back and not called him.

Some things needed to be discussed face to face. With the option of giving the old buzzard a clip around the back of the head, Guillory style, or maybe a poke in the eye, if he prevaricated. He flexed his fingers, warming them up, as he waited on Crow’s doorstep.

He was on the verge of giving the bell a third, much longer push when the door swung open.

‘Sorry,’ Crow said with a backwards and upwards flick of the head. ‘I was busy upstairs.’

He was talking about his wife. She suffered from Alzheimer’s Disease and spent most of her life in bed. Evan knew this and it seemed plausible enough. Apart from the fact that he hadn’t seen anyone coming down the stairs—because he couldn’t see through doors—but he was sure he’d caught a glimpse of somebody disappearing up them as Crow opened the door. He didn’t mention it. It was none of his business.

He was wrong about that.

‘I don’t know at exactly what point our phone call was cut off,’ Evan said once they’d gotten themselves settled into the back room, ‘but I’d just asked you why a man would file his teeth to points.’

Crow went to speak. He looked a lot like his pet bird opening its beak and nothing coming out. Evan stopped him.

‘Not just any man. An American soldier. A man in a photograph standing next to Vaughan Lockhart, a photograph that you gave me and a man you described as nobody important .’

Evan dug in his pocket. Crow watched in silence. Even the pet crow was quiet, wondering what Evan was about to produce, maybe hoping it was a worm. Rather than a can of them. Evan pulled out the original photograph that Crow had given him. It was crumpled and curled at the edges. He hadn’t had the time or the inclination to put it in the waterproof case with his phone and the photograph from the boat before he made his hasty exit.

‘Sorry. It got a bit wet.’

Crow took it from him, didn’t say anything. As you wouldn’t when you know a damn sight worse had happened than an old photograph getting ruined. He tried to smooth it flat nonetheless, gave up when he saw Evan’s face.

Then Evan produced the photograph he’d taken from the boat. It was nice and flat, the waterproof case having done its job.

‘So I got you another one.’

Crow took that one from him as well, turned it over when Evan told him to. His face remained as expressionless as if there’d been nothing written on the back.

‘I assume Pentecost is the name of the man with Lockhart.’

Crow nodded, turned the photograph over again.

‘First name? Last name?’

‘Last. His first name is Avery. He never used it.’

‘You want to tell me about him? And while you’re at it, what the hell’s going on here.’

Crow put the photograph on top of the other one on the side table, pushed himself wearily out of his chair. Evan reflected that much as he might have the old man on the back foot, Crow was still Crow after all. And Evan would wait for his answers until Crow was good and ready. But Crow didn’t make his way towards the drinks cabinet to get them both a shot of the good stuff as Evan was expecting. Instead he began to pace the room. As if the story he was about to tell was not one to be told sitting down, where the demons he was about to describe could more easily get at you. As he moved away his pet bird launched itself into the air, settled on the seat Crow had just vacated. As a cat might, seeking out the residual warmth. Staring at it, Evan couldn’t help but wonder which one of them he’d get more truth and sense out of.

‘I don’t know what’s going on here,’ Crow said.

Evan was out of his own chair in a flash, spooking the bird, sending it flapping away to the far side of the room.

‘I wouldn’t have sent you down to Florida if I did.’

Evan thought hard for a moment, decided to postpone the first poke in the eye for a little while longer. Crow caught sight of his expression, decided that a little bit of explanation wouldn’t hurt.

‘I know who Avery Pentecost is. Or was. I’ll tell you about him in a minute. But I honestly don’t know what’s going on.’

Evan didn’t miss the reference to the past tense— was . Did that mean that Pentecost was dead? If so, who was the old man with the filed teeth? One thing he did know—he wasn’t going to find the answers until he’d brought Crow up to speed on everything that had happened in Florida.

So he took him through it from the beginning. Despite the time and trouble it had taken him to uncover, it was a very simple story. Not only that, it was as old as it was simple. The house on Passover Lane in Key West that was used as a honey trap and the woman who died in it at the hands of an important—and still unidentified—man with powerful friends. The inadvertent filming of that man’s panicked escape from the house and the subsequent hunting down and killing of everybody whose lives had been touched by those events, however fleetingly or tangentially. Including Crow’s friend George Winter.

The sudden outburst from Crow stopped Evan mid-flow. He stared at Crow for a long moment. His expression suggested that he was unaware that he’d said anything remotely amusing. Crow smiled apologetically.

‘Sorry. I couldn’t help it.’

Evan couldn’t move on until Crow had explained himself, told him to spit it out.

‘It’s ironic, that’s all. The fact that the house is on Passover Lane. You do know what the Jewish feast of Passover is about?’ He took Evan’s silence as a denial, shook his head sadly. ‘An avenging angel was sent to kill every firstborn Egyptian child in order to persuade the Pharaoh to release the Israelites from slavery. It’s ironic that the house on Passover Lane gave rise to a similar bloodbath.’

Evan said that he could see the similarity, wondered not for the first time about the way Crow’s mind worked. As far as he was concerned it was something much more down to earth, no help from avenging angels required.

‘It’s the same old, same old. Rich, powerful men protecting their own. Plus all the usual minor details. Some selective police blindness, that sort of thing.’

‘Not your friend Cortez?’

Evan had been wondering when Crow would try to turn the story back on him, and then bring Guillory into it as well. If he thought it was going to deflect the attention away from himself, it wasn’t going to work.

‘No, not her. Anyway, I think this guy Pentecost is behind it all. He’s the one orchestrating the clean-up. All I need to know now is who the hell he is.’

He gave a low sweep of his hand, over to you. Crow was shaking his head. Evan didn’t know if it was meant to say I disagree or I’m not telling you. Either way, it was an unacceptable response. The time for pokes in the eye was on hand. Crow backed away, showed Evan his palms.

‘They killed Lockhart as well?’ he said.

Evan was tempted to ask him what he’d been doing for the past ten minutes while he was explaining. He’d just told him they’d killed everybody. The only thing he hadn’t specifically mentioned was the glaringly obvious loose end—himself. They’d be getting to that soon.