‘What do you mean?’
‘It reconstitutes itself. I reduced a sliver to ash, and an hour later I had the sliver again.’ He took off his spectacles and wiped his eyes. ‘I have to admit I haven’t slept much since you brought it to me. It’s intruded on my rest. But my interest is piqued. I want to know more.’
‘You know what they say about curiosity?’
‘Do you see any cats in here?’
‘Just a stuffed one.’
‘It died, but I’m alive and well. Curiosity hasn’t done me any harm.’
‘Yet.’
‘Yet,’ Johnston agreed. ‘If it’s okay with you, I’d like to keep looking into this.’
‘I can’t leave you with the book – or the insertions. You may never see them again.’
‘I don’t need them. The additions to the illustrations didn’t reproduce when I tried to make copies, but I got one of the “DD” plate inside the cover. I’ll start with that.’
‘Then find out what you can – unobtrusively.’
Johnston walked Parker down to the street.
‘Can I ask what you’re going to do with it?’
‘I’m going to trade it for a life.’
‘Sounds dangerous. You taking your friend Louis with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Probably a good idea. Tell him I wasn’t kidding about that list, if he’s looking for work.’
‘He’s semi retired.’
‘But if he finds himself getting bored.’
Parker was beginning to feel concerned about Bob Johnston, and made a mental note not to cross him at any point.
‘I’ll let him know.’
‘Appreciate it.’
By the time Parker reached his cab, the door had closed, and all the lights were out once again.
113
The proof-of-life call came through to Holly Weaver’s phone while Parker was with Bob Johnston. It was short, but confirmed Owen Weaver was still breathing, although Holly told Louis that her father sounded as though he were in some discomfort. By then Moxie had sent a driver to move Holly and Daniel to a new location, although Parker instructed Moxie not to tell Louis where they were being taken. If events went south, and it turned out Quayle was lying about his intentions toward the Weavers, Parker didn’t want either Louis or himself to be in possession of information that might put mother and child in danger.
Parker knew he might well be making the wrong call by declining to involve the police. Unfortunately, it was the only call he could make. Quayle was deliberately squeezing him, restricting Parker’s options. Neither did he doubt for one moment that Quayle and Mors would be willing to dispose of Owen Weaver before disappearing, if only temporarily. They would return for the book eventually, perhaps under new names and guises, and then the killing would commence again.
The parking lot was dark when the cab returned Parker to the Inn. Someone had broken the main outside light in the interim, casting in shadow the section of the lot in which Parker’s Audi stood. He opened the door, and noted that the interior bulbs did not activate. He said nothing as he got in the car, nothing as he drove away.
Nothing to the figure lying uncomfortably on the floor in the back, concealed by a dark blanket, gun in hand.
Quayle called Parker’s phone while he and Louis were heading toward Piscataquis County, just as Quayle had instructed him to do before leaving Salvage.
‘You have the book?’ Quayle asked Parker.
‘Yes.’
‘Then take down this zip code.’
Parker repeated the zip as he input it into the car’s GPS, which immediately began calculating the route, guiding Parker toward Waterville.
‘Is someone in the car with you?’ said Quayle.
‘No, but I’m old and I mishear.’
‘Don’t be clever, Mr Parker, not if you want Owen Weaver returned alive.’
‘If Owen Weaver dies, you’ll never see the book again.’
Quayle hung up, and Parker headed northwest. Waterville was a little more than an hour from Portland. If Parker guessed right, this would be only the first in a possible series of stops. He was pretty certain that he wasn’t currently being tailed, but he’d probably pick up a spotter when he reached Waterville: either Quayle or the woman, depending on who was watching Owen Weaver. That was how Parker would have done it, just as he would have tagged the vehicle in which he was traveling, given time, or installed a listening device; anything to gain an edge. For now Parker had no way knowing if his car had been tampered with, which was why he was staying silent. He did not want to give away Louis’s presence. Quayle might have his suspicions, but if Parker handled everything right, suspicions they would remain.
He found 1st Wave on Sirius, turned the volume down low, and let the sounds of early eighties British synth music fill the car.
He ignored the small moan of torment from behind.
Parker was skirting Waterville when the phone rang again.
‘Get off the interstate and take the 104 into town,’ said Quayle, and Parker did as instructed. Quayle stayed on the line, and told Parker to pull over across from the McDonald’s on Main. Vehicles were parked on both sides of the road and in the surrounding lots, including three or four outside the McDonald’s itself. Parker waited until Quayle gave him an address on Ash Street, farther down off Main. This time, Parker did not repeat the address aloud. Louis, who had been following their progress on his own phone, would have to trust him. Parker watched the road behind, and spotted no signs of pursuit, but at least one of the cars in the McDonald’s lot had been occupied, the shape of a driver clear at the wheel. He was prepared to lay good money on someone checking to make sure he was alone. This was confirmed when he received two more calls in quick succession, sending him back on his previous route before proceeding through a series of residential streets, until finally he was left to wait at a dead end on Butler Court.
Parker tensed. He heard Louis shift position, and the rear door clicked as it was opened slightly in case of trouble. The agreed signal was a cough from Parker, but this place didn’t feel right for a handover, or an attempt to seize the book. When the phone rang again, Parker was not entirely surprised. The delay, he felt, was probably to allow whoever had been monitoring Parker to go on ahead.
‘New destination,’ said Quayle, and something in his voice told Parker that this was it. They were coming to the end. The GPS was giving an hour and fifteen minutes to Piscataquis County as he pulled away from the curb.
And as though speaking to himself, he said:
‘Here we go.’
Daniel Weaver was asleep, lulled by the motion of the vehicle. His head lay on his mother’s lap. The driver had given her a blanket to cover him, although the car was warm. Other than to tell them that his name was Karl, inquire about the temperature, and point out the bottles of water in the side compartments of the doors, the driver spoke little to them. He was not uncaring – quite the opposite: Holly regularly caught him glancing at them in the rearview, his eyes soft – but he was careful not to intrude. The car was a Mazda Hatchback; clean, but nothing fancy. Light jazz played on the radio.
Only when they had passed Augusta did Holly ask Karl where he was taking them.
‘Bangor,’ had come the reply. ‘You’ll be safe there.’
They were approaching the outskirts of the city when Karl left the highway. He made a couple of turns before pulling up in front of a pair of houses guarded by security gates, which opened at their approach. A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway of one of the buildings. She waited for Karl to help the Weavers from the car, Daniel woozy at being woken from his sleep. It took Holly a moment to notice that the woman had Down syndrome.
‘I’m Candy,’ she said. ‘Welcome to the Tender House.’
114