“Is this man a Believer?” I asked.

“Why would you say that?” said Reid.

“He had a mark on his arm. It looked like a grapnel. Neddo told me that they marked themselves.”

“But do you even know what a Believer really is?” said Reid. There was something skeptical, almost patronizing, in his tone that I didn’t care for.

I kept my voice low and even. It took a lot of effort.

“I don’t like it when someone assumes my ignorance, and by implication dangles the promise of enlightenment in front of me,” I said. “I don’t even care for it when people tease dogs with treats, so don’t overstep the mark here. I know what they’re looking for, and I know what they’re capable of doing to get it.”

I stood and retrieved the book that I had bought in South Portland. I threw it to Reid, and he caught it awkwardly with both hands, splaying the pages. I spit a volley of words at him as he examined its pages.

“Sedlec. Enoch. Dark angels in corporeal form. An apartment with human remains yellowing in a piss-filled bath. A basement decorated with human bones, waiting for the arrival of a silver statue with a demon trapped inside it. A man who sits placidly in a burning car while his body turns to ash. And a young woman’s skull, trimmed with gold, left in an alcove after she’d been murdered in a purpose-built tiled room. Are we any clearer now, Father or Brother, or whatever it is you like to be called?”

Reid had the decency to look apologetic, but I was already regretting my outburst in front of these strangers, not merely out of shame at my own loss of temper, but because I didn’t want to give anything away in my anger.

“I’m sorry,” said Reid. “I’m not used to dealing with private detectives. I always tend to assume that nobody knows anything and, to be honest I’m rarely surprised.”

I sat down once again at the table and waited for him to continue.

“The Believers, or those who lead them, are convinced that they are fallen angels, banished from heaven, reborn over and over in the form of men. They feel that they are incapable of being destroyed. If they are killed, then they roam in noncorporeal form until they find another suitable host. It may take years, decades even, before they do so, but then the process begins again. If they are not killed, then they believe that they age infinitely more slowly than human beings. Ultimately, they are immortal. That is what they believe.”

“And what do you believe?”

“I don’t believe that they’re angels, fallen or otherwise, if that’s what you’re asking. I used to work in psychiatric hospitals, Mr. Parker. A popular delusion among patients was that they were Napoleon Bonaparte. I’m sure that there is a good reason why they favored Bonaparte over, say, Hitler, or General Patton, but I never really cared enough to find out what that might be. It was enough to know that a forty-year-old gentleman from Pakistan who weighed two hundred pounds in his bare feet was, in all probability, not Napoleon Bonaparte; but the fact that I didn’t believe he was who he claimed to be made no difference to him. Similarly, it doesn’t matter whether we go along with the convictions of the Believers or not. They believe, and they convince other weaker souls to adhere to that belief. They appear particularly adept at the power of suggestion, at planting false memories in fertile ground, but they and the people with whom they surround themselves are no less dangerous for being deluded.”

But there was more to them than that. The circumstances of Alice’s death gave clear evidence that these individuals were infinitely more unpleasant, and more powerful, than even Reid was prepared to acknowledge, at least here, and to me. There was also the matter of the DMT, the drug found in Alice’s remains and in Garcia’s body. It wasn’t just force of will that bound people to them.

“What did he mean by telling me that I was ‘found’?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s your prerogative.”

I let it go.

“What do you know about a company called Dresden Enterprises?”

It was Reid’s turn to be surprised.

“I know a little. It’s owned by a man named Joachim Stuckler. He’s a collector.”

“I’m supposed to meet him in Boston.”

“He contacted you?”

“He sent one of his flying monkeys to make the arrangements. In fact, he sent three flying monkeys, but two won’t be taking to the air again anytime soon. They tried to play clever too, incidentally.”

Reid looked uneasy at the implied threat.

“I’d remind you that we are also stronger than we appear, and that just because we wear collars doesn’t mean we won’t try to defend ourselves.”

“The men who stomped Stuckler’s envoys are named Tony and Paulie Fulci,” I said. “I don’t think they’re good Catholics, despite their heritage. In fact, I don’t think they’re good anythings, but they take a certain pride in their work. Psychotics are funny that way. I have no qualms about setting the Fulcis on you, assuming that I don’t decide to make your lives difficult myself, or hand you on to someone who makes the Fulcis look like missionary workers.

“I don’t know what you think is going on here, but let me explain it for you: the young woman who was killed was called Alice Temple. She was the cousin of one of my closest friends, but ‘cousin’ doesn’t explain the obligation he feels toward her, just as ‘friend’ doesn’t communicate the magnitude of my debt to him. We’re looking for the men responsible, and we will find them. You may not care much for my threats. You may not even be troubled by the possibility of being stomped by six hundred pounds of misplaced Italian-American pride. But let me tell you something: my friend Louis is infinitely less tolerant than I am, and anyone who gets in his way, or holds back information, is playing with fire and will get badly burned.

“You seem to be looking at this like it’s some kind of intellectual game with information as the forfeit, but there are lives involved, and right now I don’t have time to trade with you. Either help me now or get out and accept any consequences that arise when we come looking for you again.”

Bartek looked at the floor.

“I know all about you, Mr. Parker,” said Reid, haltingly at first. “I know what happened to your wife and your daughter. I’ve read about the men and women whom you’ve hunted down. I also suspect that, unknowingly, you’ve come close to these Believers before, for you’ve certainly destroyed some who shared their delusions. You couldn’t make the connection, and for some reason neither could they, not until recently. Perhaps it is to do with the difference between good and evil: good is selfless, while evil is always self-interested. Good will attract good to itself, and those involved will unite toward a common goal. Evil, in turn, draws evil men, but they will never truly act as one. They will always be distrustful, always jealous. Ultimately, they seek power for themselves alone, and for that reason they will always fall apart at the end.”

He smiled a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I have a tendency to wax philosophical. It is a consequence of dealing with such matters. Anyway, I know too that you have a partner now, and a little girl. I don’t see any trace of them here. There are dirty dishes in your sink, and I see in your eyes that you’re troubled by things that have nothing to do with this case.”

“That’s none of your business,” I said.

“Oh, but it is. You’re vulnerable, Mr. Parker, and you’re angry, and they’ll exploit that. They’ll use it to get at you. I don’t doubt for one moment that you’re prepared to hurt people who frustrate you or who get in your way. Right now, I don’t think you’d even need much of an excuse to do it, but believe me when I say that we were being cautious in our answers for good reason. Maybe you’re right, though. Maybe the time has come to be more honest with each other. So let me begin.