Man appoints, and God disappoints.
—Miguel De Cervantes
“How’s Brenda?”
“Bad.”
“She gonna pull through?”
“They’re not sure.”
Rogers winced. They had been so close to catching the boy. Who could possibly have foreseen the arrival of Brenda?
“Don’t blame yourself,” said Dunphy. “These things happen. Chaos Theory.”
“They took out their own guy. Who are these people?”
“They’re deadly fucking serious, that’s for sure.”
“Part of the plan?”
“No way. Pure fuck-up,” said Dunphy “No one could possibly predict Brenda was gonna show up like that.”
They were standing underneath the cold portico swilling coffee. The sandstone columns every few yards, like an Egyptian temple, had yards of yellow tape around them, holding back the crowd. Kyle came hurrying across towards them.
“People are saying Brenda’s dead. They are coming to pay their last respects.”
He glanced back towards the park. Several people already held candles. More pushed forward, searching for the spot where she had fallen. They held handkerchiefs expectantly, looking for blood spots.
“Jesus,” said Rogers. “Put the rain on.”
“Can’t do that, pal,” said Dunphy.
“They’re ghouls,” said Rogers.
“They’re destroying evidence,” said Kyle.
“Who needs evidence? We have him clear on tape shooting her. Look.”
They watched the red-haired boy panic as the camera lights lit him up and all eyes turned towards him.
“Must have been a terrifying moment for him,” said Dunphy. “Suddenly his invisibility melted away.”
They saw the short flame from the weapon. Brenda’s look of surprise as she collapsed.
Kyle said, “Oh, there’s a woman wants to see you. Urgent, she’s saying.”
“Tell her to wait.”
“I’d see her if I were you,” said Dunphy, staring over his shoulder. “It’s Katy Wallace.”
“Let her through,” said Rogers.
A commotion at the edge of the crowd as she pushed through. The people stared in fascination at the crime scene, as if they were spectators at a play. A small emergency vehicle had been set aside as a temporary command post. Rogers nodded her inside. He could smell her perfume as she passed.
“Oh boy,” said Dunphy approvingly.
“Want to listen in?” asked Rogers.
“You bet,” said Dunphy.
He climbed up into the trailer. Katy was already seated. She waited till they’d closed the door.
“Have you seen my father?” She looked at them fiercely, as if expecting an argument.
“Who?” said Rogers.
“My father is missing.”
“Look, lady,” said Rogers, spreading his hands, “there are a lot of missing people on this ship. We don’t have time to go chasing around after people’s relatives.”
“Why don’t you try the Bodyslogs?” asked Dunphy reasonably.
“The Bodyslogs can find no trace of him,” she said. “He’s a Silesian.” As if this explained anything.
“Aha,” said Rogers, not understanding.
A security man came in, glanced curiously at Katy, and handed Rogers a note. Rogers read it and looked up sharply.
“You just tried to see Emil Keppler?”
“Yes. He wouldn’t see me.”
“Mind if I ask why?”
“I don’t know why he wouldn’t see me.”
“No, why did you want to see him?”
“He’s…” she looked at him, wondering how much he knew. “I wanted to ask him to help find my father.”
“And he wouldn’t?”
“Wouldn’t even let me in.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“No. Why?” she asked, puzzled.
“He’s under house arrest.”
“Emil?” She looked stunned.
“What were you doing at the Rialto?” asked Dunphy.
“Who’re you?” she said.
“Answer the question,” said Rogers.
“I’m here to ask you questions.”
“Not anymore,” said Rogers. “Tell us why you went to the Rialto.”
“I was meeting my father.”
He exchanged a glance with Dunphy. Dunphy was feigning indifference.
“What’s his name then, this father?” asked Rogers.
She thought for a moment. “His real name, or his code name?”
Rogers sat forward, suddenly tense. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. His code name.
“Everything you know.”
“His name is Walewski,” she said, “Alexander Walewski. Also known as Comus.”
Dunphy whistled. “Comus,” he said. “You’re sure it’s Comus?”
“Quite sure,” she said. “He’s my father.”
“Can you believe that?”
“I suppose she’s telling the truth?”
“Why lie?”
They looked at her through the window, waiting anxiously outside the trailer.
“So what do we do?” said Kyle.
“Find him before they do,” said Dunphy. “Unless they already have him.”
“Come on, let’s not get paranoid. He’s an old man. He wandered off. Got lost. Fuck-up.”
“Why not conspiracy?” said Dunphy. “They can’t be too happy with his role in this.”
“You think they snatched him?”
“Wouldn’t you? Leaving a geriatric loose in the middle of an operation. Running around blabbing. Visiting relatives. No, things don’t look so good for old pal Comus.”
“You think so?”
“Look what they did to the redhead.”
They gazed out of the window. The Bodyslogs were removing the body.
“So who killed Sammy Weiss?” asked Rogers.
“I think the watchers killed her,” said Dunphy. “When they found Katy visiting Comus, they panicked. Was it a trap? Were they being double-crossed? They’ve got a lot at stake here.”
“Go on,” said Rogers.
“Keppler represents their arms. They have to protect him. They need him safe until he can deliver. When Sammy copied the Weiss file to Carlton and Carlton was following Katy, they had nightmares. None of them could conceive of the real reason for Comus’s visit. Innocent motives don’t help in a paranoid world.”
“So they killed her?”
“The watchers killed her. To protect Keppler.”
“It’s a theory,” said Rogers. “Let’s go test it.”
There was a shout outside.
“They’ve found another one.”
“What?”
“Another body in the grass out there.”
Dunphy and Rogers looked at each other.
“Could be Daddy,” said Dunphy. “Better stop her.”
But they were too late. Katy was already running across the grass. A group of detectives were holding people back. Harsh lights picked out something huddled under a rough blanket. She reached the cops, but they wouldn’t let her through. By the time Rogers caught up with her, she was arguing hysterically with them.
“That’s okay,” said Rogers. “Let her look.”
She glanced at him, her pale face frightened but determined.
The uniformed men hovering over the body stood up and pulled back the grey blanket. She stared down.
“That’s not him,” she said.
Charles Jay Brown had embarked on the longest voyage.