The Devil's Anvil (11 page)

‘You must be pretty certain that Richard Womack is alive. If he’s dead, where’s your payment then?’

‘We get a retainer fee, and our expenses are covered.’ Adam glanced once at Noah – checking he was still in dreamland – then said conspiratorially, ‘To be honest, mister, it gets us out of the city for a while. I’m happy to do a bit of hiking and camping at someone else’s expense. I like it out here in the hills; it’s kinda like a working vacation for me.’

I checked out his clothing. ‘You get those duds on expenses?’

He looked down at his North Face coat and Timberland boots. He didn’t have to reply.

‘Noah should have decked himself out at the same outfitters,’ I said, and Adam chuckled at the idea. Not only were Noah’s leather shoes ruined, but now his raincoat and suit were equally muddy. Maybe Noah sensed he was the subject of our humour, because with a drawn-out groan he stirred, before starting wildly and sitting up. His face was level with the barrel of my gun. His eyes almost crossed, focusing on what he believed was the weapon of his imminent execution. He uttered another moan and reared away.

‘Take it easy, pal,’ I told him. ‘It sounds as if we all got off on the wrong foot.’

‘You going to kill me?’ His head snapped back and forth. ‘Where’s Adam?’

‘Right there.’

Noah followed my gesture and was relieved to see his friend safe from harm. He looked back at me. ‘You knocked me out, you son of a bitch.’

‘I did. The alternative was that I shoot you. Think I made the wrong decision?’

He was still sitting in the dirt. More mud had adhered to his clothing. His hands were brown with muck and leaf mulch, but it didn’t matter because he touched his head, seeking the source of the pain. He let out a cry and looked goggle-eyed at his extended index finger. It stood off at a right angle. ‘Holy Christ! Look what you did to me!’

‘You did it to yourself by pulling a gun on me,’ I pointed out.

‘Hell, it’s broken!’

I studied the unnatural shape of his finger. ‘Hold out your hand,’ I told him.

Noah stuffed his damaged hand under his opposite armpit. ‘No way.’

‘Look, pal. If I intended hurting you, I’d be hurting you. Understand? Now hold out your hand, I haven’t all day.’ I offered my left palm, beckoning him to comply.

‘Do it,’ Adam cajoled his friend. ‘This guy really ain’t all that bad.’

Noah shot Adam a look of incredulity. It was understandable: he was the one with the thumping headache and grotesque hand, muddy and covered in crap, while Adam sat pretty in his brand new hiking gear. Still, I wasn’t kidding when I said I didn’t have much time. The longer I wasted here with these two amateur detectives, the longer Billie was at risk from someone who did mean her harm. I clicked my fingers. ‘Let me see your hand.’

‘You broke it,’ Noah groaned. ‘I need to see a medic.’

I waited a few seconds, just staring at him. My mouth was set sternly, I guess, because he grimaced at me. But eventually he took out his hand from his armpit, studied it, then turned his face away as if in disgust. Slowly he began to extend it. I waited no longer. I grasped his finger in my left palm and folded a fist around it, gave a hard jerk and let go. Noah howled, but the sound was quickly curtailed when he realised that I hadn’t torn the finger off. He held his hand in front of his face, studying it, surprised to find everything in the correct place. He made a tentative attempt at a fist, hissed, unfolded his fingers, then tried again. It was easier second time. He blinked in astonishment.

‘You’ll be fine. First chance you get, strap your index finger to the middle one, give it some support, otherwise it might pop out of joint again.’ I tossed his revolver down on the forest floor. ‘And don’t try to pick that up with your right hand. Put it away with your left.’

He looked at the gun, up at me. ‘I’m not a complete idiot,’ I told him and allowed the bullets I’d emptied from the cylinder to trickle from my hand. ‘You won’t need those, I’m not sure you’ll be firing a gun any time soon. You’ll have some tenderness in the joint for a few days, but if you take things easy with it your finger should be fine.’

‘Why’d you care?’ Noah huffed.

‘I don’t. You know, there’s a lesson in this for you. Unless you’re prepared to shoot, don’t go drawing your weapon.’

Noah scowled. He checked for where I’d put my SIG. It was in its carry position at my lower spine, and he couldn’t see it for my clothing. But he knew it was there, and most likely that I’d been holding it ready when I’d walked up on them. ‘Could say the same for you,’ he pointed out.

‘Oh, worry not. I was prepared to shoot. I just didn’t have to.’

My last was an insult I hadn’t intended, but it was too late to retract it without losing my position of dominance. I wondered if Brandon Cooper would be proud of me for restraining my killer instinct. I was pretty sure that Rink would be.

On the fallen log, Adam stirred. ‘Is it OK for me to move my hands now? Seeing as we’ve straightened out our misunderstanding.’

His friend wasn’t so sure. As far as he knew, I was some guy working for Procrylon who’d almost busted his head, dislocated his finger, then, for some reason unknown to him, reset it. Perhaps so I could dislocate it all over again.

‘You can move, but don’t go getting fresh,’ I warned Adam.

Relieved, he took out his hands and worked some blood flow into them. The skin on his hands was the same pattern as the bark on the tree, only much paler. He quickly rubbed at the end of his tickly nose with a palm, squinting in relief.

Noah took my relaxing of the rules as permission to stand. He used the fallen tree for support. Adam offered a helping hand, but Noah shrugged him off. ‘I’m not totally useless,’ he growled, but to me he was trying to convince himself rather than his friend.

‘Sit down before you fall down,’ I told him. He still looked cross-eyed from the smack round the head. He perched himself unsteadily alongside Adam. ‘We’ve established that you’re not the bad guys. For the record, neither am I.’

Noah touched his head, unsure of the sincerity of my statement.

‘That’s the thing,’ Adam said. ‘You know who we are, but you haven’t explained yourself. Are you just a friend of Billie Womack’s or something else?’

‘Can’t I be both?’

Apparently Adam wasn’t that sharp when it came to a subtle response. He frowned, trying to figure out what I meant.

To speed things up, I decided to be more forthright. ‘I’m looking after her.’ I eyed them pointedly. ‘Some strange guys have been following her around recently.’

Adam glanced at Noah, and had the grace to appear abashed.

‘He doesn’t mean us,’ Noah told him. ‘He’s talking about this “Procrylon” outfit.’

‘How long have you been here?’ I asked.

‘Here in the woods?’ Adam wanted clarification.

‘Baker’s Hole, in town.’ I swept our surroundings with an all-encompassing gesture. ‘Since leaving the city.’

‘Three days,’ Adam said.

Noah clucked his tongue at the looseness of Adam’s.

‘What?’ Adam raised his palms. ‘You’d rather he beat the truth out of us?’

‘Doesn’t look like he touched you,’ Noah pointed out. ‘Yet.’

‘I only want to know if you’ve noticed anyone else hanging around,’ I reassured them.

Noah rubbed his fingers over his scalp, wincing at the pain – whether in his hand or his head I couldn’t be certain. Then he made a quick gesture towards Billie’s house. ‘Couple of days ago some guys turned up and spoke with Billie. They looked official. Feds maybe.’

That would have been Brandon Cooper and his colleagues. Cooper had told me they’d come to the farm and spoke to Billie. That was when he’d suggested she get in touch with me. ‘No one else?’

‘Just you,’ Noah said.

I wasn’t wholly surprised. Their surveillance skills left something to be desired. I paused, peering out across the valley to where the farm buildings crouched alongside the lake. It was growing cooler and mist was beginning to rise off the water. Soon it would veil Billie’s house. Anybody could be out there watching and I’d be none the wiser, but for one thing. I got that prickling sensation that I was in somebody’s crosshairs, something I’d experienced many times in the past. When I was in the army I’d grown to believe in what was sometimes termed Rapid Intuitive Experience: the fabled sixth sense. It was nothing to do with psychic ability, just a throwback to the natural instincts we all had when we were still prey to larger animals. It warned of impending danger, and right then my hackles were raised. There was someone out there much more dangerous than Noah and Adam, and I felt that they’d show themselves soon.

11

Billie had poured herself a glass of wine. Probably not a good idea, but I didn’t say anything. If she’d reached for the bottle for a top-up I’d’ve diverted her, although the alcohol might help calm her. She was livid that her insurance company had the temerity to disbelieve her claim was lawful, and to send investigators to spy on her.

‘They’re not the only ones who believe that your husband might still be alive,’ I reminded her. There’d been a high profile case back in Britain a few years ago when a supposedly drowned canoeist was found to be alive and well and living off the proceeds from a life insurance claim lodged by his wife. I supposed there were other claimants who had got away with similar ploys in the past.

‘I buried my daughter,’ she said, her voice cold. Her statement didn’t prove the point that Richard was dead, but to her it was all that mattered. I could see her eyes glittering and it had little to do with the small amount of wine she’d consumed. Feeling a little uncomfortable, I perched myself against her kitchen counter. Billie was sitting at her large table. Once it had accommodated an entire family; now the table was far too big for a single woman. She looked like a tiny child sitting in her dad’s chair.

‘I think they’re the least of your problems,’ I said, trying to take her mind off her dead child. ‘If you made the claim in good faith, I’m not sure there’s anything they can do to get the money back even if Richard does turn up.’

‘Do you think I care about the money?’

Judging by the basic, faded furnishings that surrounded us, I took it that Billie didn’t enjoy the most extravagant lifestyle. Her belongings appeared to have been collected from various sources, primarily yard sales and thrift stores. Except, I reminded myself, she was an artist and shabby chic was probably more to her taste. For all I knew her furnishings came with a ‘retro’ price tag, and were more expensive because of it. Plus her home and adjoining land must have been worth a packet.

‘I make enough from my art to live off,’ she went on, as if having to prove her point.

I attempted another diversionary tactic. ‘You mind if I have a drink?’

‘Wine?’ She lifted the bottle.

‘Water will do. Or coffee if you have it.’

Without answering she got up from the table and joined me alongside the counter. She began spooning grounds into a coffee maker. ‘How strong do you like it?’

‘Strong strong.’

‘Do you think there’s any truth in it?’

‘In what?’ She wasn’t talking about coffee.

‘About Richard being alive.’

‘To be honest I’ve no idea. You seem pretty certain that he’s dead. That’s good enough for me.’

‘Is it though, Joe?’ She stopped what she was doing and stared at me.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Sure you do. There’s a reason Agent Cooper encouraged me to contact you.’

‘He trusted me to protect you,’ I said.

‘But there’s more to it, isn’t there?’

Billie wasn’t a fool. And I wouldn’t insult her intelligence by lying. ‘He asked me to watch out for you, but, yeah, he also asked that I watch out for Richard. I’ve to give him a heads-up if he shows his face.’

‘Priority?’

‘You. Always,’ I said. ‘If he is still alive I honestly don’t care what happens to Richard. If what I hear is right and he killed your daughter, then to hell with him.’

‘It is right.’

‘Then I’m here for you.’

Billie nodded, but from the way she hugged herself she wasn’t convinced. ‘You don’t know me. You don’t owe me anything, and vice versa. Yet, listening to you, you sound as if you’re prepared to go beyond the call of duty on my behalf.’