‘Well, of course. You can kiss that bitch goodbye. And now I’m going to kill you. It’s been fun, Mallory. Really it has.’

The boy was raising the gun.

‘Look, kid, the gun won’t fire,’ she said. ‘The safety is on.’

‘A revolver doesn’t have a safety. Good try, Mallory. What else have you got?’

‘Have you ever heard that old standby “Look, someone’s coming up behind you”?’

‘Once, I think. It was a television rerun from the seventies.’

Charles Butler was standing in the foyer on the far side of the room, which seemed miles wide to her now. Markowitz’s Colt was in his hand. His head was turned to the side and down as though he were distracted by someone or something unseen. What was wrong with him?

Charles, don’t fail me now.

‘So if I tell the guy behind you to shoot you, there won’t be any hard feelings?’

Charles was staring at her now, eyes wide, head shaking slowly from side to side.

Charles, don’t fail me.

The boy was smiling. ‘They’re your last words, Mallory. Say what you like.’

The barrel was rising, aiming at her face when she yelled, ‘Charles, shoot him!’

Charles raised the Colt and fired on the boy, not once, but pull after pull on the trigger, walking the length of the room on shock-slowed feet, firing and firing.

The boy’s head had turned quickly with the first click of the empty gun, and now he stared at the crazed giant with the wide eyes, sad eyes, advancing on him, clicking and clicking and clicking.

Mallory moved and the boy’s head snapped back. She watched his eyes making choices. He was opting for the larger threat. The barrel was turning to Charles as the cat ran out from under the couch and stepped lightly, delicately on its hind legs, dancing up to the gun. The boy stared. Mallory dived for the gun. It went off. The bullet spun the cat in a wicked turn, and blood splattered the rug.

Kipling’s body went limp as his eyes rolled back, lids closing, chin falling to his chest, mouth hanging open, all still now.

Before she and the boy hit the carpet, she had the gun in her hand.

‘Nice going…’ she said, pinning the boy neatly under one leg and looking up at Charles.

His gun hand dangled by his side, but his grip was tight and the trigger finger continued to spasm and click the misfires. And then the ammo box fell from Charles’s other hand, seal unbroken.

‘You’ve never loaded a gun, have you, Charles?’

‘No, no I never have.’

So he had gone up against the boy with no bullets in the gun, no cover, and no hesitation. And the empty gun had to be the explanation for the lack of hesitation. He couldn’t have fired so fast, not looking at a child in his sights. Civilians were not constructed that way. Charles was the soft and civilized type; such things were not done in his world. So, with his own peculiar courage and backward thinking, he had risked his life to draw fire and buy her time.

Now Riker and Martin were coming through the door, Martin first, Riker panting behind him, guns drawn. They stared at the hogtied Kipling and the boy pinned under Mallory.

Riker hunkered down beside her, panting from the run upstairs, fishing for his irons. In another moment the boy’s hands were cuffed behind his back.

‘How did you get here so fast?’ she said. It was an accusation.

‘Well, Charles caught my eye when he streaked by the car.’ Riker pulled a small device from one ear. ‘Oh, I’ve been listening in. I planted a highly illegal bug in the apartment the last time I was here. I’ve learned a lot from you, kid.’ And now he fingered the fallen drapes on the floor. ‘Very messy, Mallory. This is so unlike you.’

Martin holstered his gun. ‘The reception kept going in and out. Most of the time, all we could hear was this noise like a little engine. So Riker tells me it’s a cat snoring. He thinks I’ll buy anything.’

Riker nodded her attention toward Charles. ‘You think you could stop him from clicking that thing? It’s getting on my nerves.’

Mallory stood up and moved quickly to Charles. She used force to pry his fingers off the gun, and then she closed her hand over his to stop the finger from its spasmodic firing of a gun that was no longer there.

Charles’s eyes were locked with the boy’s. Justin was still and quiet, turning his eyes away from Charles to look inward. And it was only a little disturbing that he pouted like a real child, an angry child.

Martin was standing over the hogtied Kipling. ‘Is he dead?’

‘No,’ said Mallory. ‘He fainted when the gun went off.’

Riker and Mallory exchanged words without words. Do I know my perps? she asked with only the lift of her chin. Damn straight, he said with one thumb up.

Martin was fishing out his cuffs.

‘Naw,’ said Riker, putting up one hand to stay Martin. ‘I don’t think the cuffs could improve on Mallory’s knots. Let’s carry Kipling out through the lobby like that.’

Martin grinned. ‘Yeah, I like it.’ Now Martin stabbed his finger at the blood splatters on the carpet. ‘So, who took the hit?’

His answer was crawling slowly across the rug, pulling itself along by its front paws, crying and making its way to Mallory. At last, it lay at her feet, bleeding on her white running shoes.

‘What happened to the cat?’

‘I didn’t do it,’ said Mallory.

‘Mallory, you’re going to love this.’

Betty Hyde slipped the video cassette into the VCR. The picture was of the judge on the steps of the Coventry Arms. He was flanked by an escort of two uniformed police officers. A young woman reporter was thrusting a microphone in his face and asking him if it was true that the district attorney was planning to exhume the body of his mother.

Then the judge advanced on the woman. One fist knocked the microphone out of her hand and the other fist was flung at the cameraman. The camera lay on the sidewalk shooting the feet of the officers scuffling with the feet of the judge, dragging him back from the feet of the woman reporter. The audio portion was a woman’s screams of’You’re hurting me, you son of a – ‘.

‘About that police escort with the judge,’ said Hyde. ‘I don’t suppose you could explain that?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Mallory lied. ‘I heard a rumor that some ME investigator implicated a detective in an extortion racket. I think they just wanted to ask the judge if he had any information on the case. But you didn’t get that from me.’

‘Of course not. Thanks for the judge on a platter,’ said Betty Hyde. ‘Not that I’m greedy, but did you dig up anything else that was interesting?’

‘No,’ Mallory lied again as she continued her packing.

‘Well, I did. You were right, Mallory. I was holding out on you. Eric Franz is not blind.’

Mallory pressed out the wrinkle on a T-shirt before she folded it into her duffel bag. ‘Eric Franz told you that?’

‘Oh no, he denied it for several hours. Actually he spent most of that time getting drunk and reminiscing about Annie. That’s the strange part – he really did love her. But the accident was certainly murder if he was sighted, and he didn’t – ’

‘If Franz didn’t confess to you, then where is this coming from?’

‘I told you I have spies everywhere.’

Mallory folded a pair of blue jeans into the duffel and slowly zipped it shut. ‘Arthur, right? He was on duty the night of the crash. Is he the one who told you Franz killed his wife?’

‘Well, no. Arthur doesn’t know Eric can see. He only said that if Eric had been able to see, he could have saved his wife. But Eric’s version of the accident doesn’t match. Eric lied.’

‘How much did you pay Arthur?’

‘Fifty dollars.’

‘Well, you probably got the full treatment. I only gave him twenty.’ Mallory opened the flap pocket of the duffel and rummaged until she found the file she was looking for. ‘Arthur told you he gave the plate number to the police, and they caught the guy in an hour, right?’