“Bobby dear, we have a problem.”

“You, maybe. I’m doing just fine.”

“Be nice.”

“I’m done being nice.”

“I like it when you talk fresh. It means there’s still a spine buried

in all that mush. There was a young man in Laszlo’s firm named Malcolm. In exchange for keeping an eye on the old goat, I promised him a job with the senator. And I always deliver on my promises.”

“Not always.”

“Don’t be bitter, it’s unbecoming. You haven’t held up your end of the bargain the way I had hoped. But there is still time. Now, this Malcolm received his new job as promised. Quite a step up for the young man. But since he started, he hasn’t been taking my calls.”

“Perfectly understandable. He doesn’t need you anymore.” “It is simply rude, Bobby. And I don’t tolerate rudeness, of any form. I have it on solid information that this young man had some sort of conference with our Kyle Byrne. But now Malcolm is avoiding me. I can’t get in touch with him, which means I haven’t been able to learn what the conference was about.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? It means the kid found the file, or at least is pretending to have found the file. He wants to trade it for money. He’s trying to set up a meeting to lay out his terms.”

“But where, Bobby? Where?”

“A sk Fra ncis.”

“No, dear, no need to trouble him with such trifling matters. I want you to ask Malcolm.”

“He might not like the question.”

“I don’t care what he likes, as long as he gives an answer.”

It was an assignment to his taste. Bobby Spangler had waited outside the senator’s office until this Malcolm left for the day. The cleaners and then home and then out for a run along a secluded path in Wissahickon Park. A perfect place for Bobby to ask his questions. And he had gotten his answers, too. Quickly, actually. Malcolm caved at the first sight of the blade. That should have been satisfactory, but Bobby was rarely satisfied these days.

So now he stood over the kitchen sink, in his white Jockey shorts and T-shirt, trying to scrub out the blood. But no matter how much he rubbed the detergent into the cloth, filling the sink with bubbles, the dark blotches wouldn’t disappear. Gouts of blood staining his shirt for all eternity. And his soul, too. Which he didn’t mind so

BLOOD AND BONE 283

much. There was no turning back from what he had become. But the stains on his shirt were a different matter entirely. It was European cut and almost new. And it would be Kyle Byrne who paid.

Byrne was meeting the senator at a dive in Queens Village at four o’clock. When Bobby had told her the location and time, she had given him orders not to interfere. All she wanted to know was when the senator went into the bar and when he left. The rest she preferred to take care of on her own. She was pushing him aside. But these days he cared little for her preferences. He had given Kyle Byrne his best and heartfelt advice, and Byrne had shown him only the back of his hand. Go to hell, Mr. O’Malley, the boy had said. And, in his way, Bobby had. And now he’d take the Byrne boy with him.

After the near miss at the house, Bobby decided this was no time for the subtlety of his .38 automatic. His aim wasn’t what it once was. So he had bought himself a Remington 870 Express HD twelve-gauge pump-action shotgun from the Wal-Mart with a tube-type magazine and a dozen boxes of high-velocity loads.

Pump and squeeze. As simple as that. At the distance he expected to fire, the shot pattern would be as wide as a small dog. Pump and squeeze.

The Remington and his automatic were in a bag on his bed, cleaned and loaded, ready for Byrne. Along with the knife he’d used in the park. He glanced at his watch. Plenty of time. Enough time to keep working at the stain before he took the bag to the car and headed to the bar.

Bubba’s. What a dump. He had cased the place after he had hidden Malcolm’s body with brush and leaves in the park. He hadn’t gone inside the bar—he would be recognized, of course, from his previous visit. Yes, the fire had singed his skin and burned off his hair, but Bobby had made some additions and didn’t now look much different than he had before. As soon as they saw him inside, they’d know what was up.

So he had checked the streets and alleyways front and back to figure out the best place to wait. And he had found his spot, where he’d be facing the entrance almost head-on. He’d sit in his car, and when the senator left, he’d call her and let her know, and then, against her firm instructions, he’d follow the Byrne boy. If he followed him long enough, the boy would take him to the accomplice Bobby had seen go into the house before he burned it down. It was the accomplice who would be holding the file. Then he could take them both out and have the file for himself.

Pump and squeeze and pump and squeeze.

And that would be just the start. Because Bobby was in charge now, no longer sitting back and waiting for her orders. Whatever she thought about Robert—how she could exert her control over him, how she could offer him everything and deliver nothing and he’d still kneel at her feet panting for more—was now obsolete. Robert was gone, and Bobby was in his place, and Bobby had every intention to run free like an arctic wolf, to rut like a goat, to dance along the knife’s edge, to rampage. He would kill the Byrne bastard and his accomplice, he would grab the file for his own, and then the rampage would begin. And it would start at her doorstep.

He was still scrubbing the shirt, scrubbing as his hands turned raw and scaly, when he heard the footsteps in the hallway and then—

Knock, knock.

His head turned so fast his neck cramped.

Who the fuck is there?

CHAPTER 44

KNOCK, KNOCK.

Ramirez heard some sort of snarl inside, like a ferocious cat protecting its food. And then the creak of the floorboards as something approached. As she took out her badge, she placed her free hand on the grip of her revolver, knocking off the leather holster strap with her thumb.

“Mr. Spangler,” she called out through the door.

She saw the light from the peephole disappear. “Yes?” came the voice through the door.

“My name is Detective Ramirez, from the Philadelphia Police Department. I have a few questions to ask you.”

“You do?”

“Do you mind if I come in?”

“A police officer? Really?”

She stepped back and put her badge up to the peephole. “Just a few questions. Can you open the door, please?”

“Of course. Just wait one moment, will you? It would be a scandal if I open the door now. I need to dress for guests.”

Ramirez didn’t like the sound of that. This Spangler’s voice was strangely familiar, soft and almost effeminate. There was nothing threatening in it, but still he was going off to find either a pair of pants or something a bit more deadly. She backed to the side of the doorway, took out her gun, and wished she had waited for Henderson to come along. It had seemed like a wild-goose chase, not worth wasting two detectives’ time on, but that didn’t mean the chase didn’t have its dangers or the wild goose a .44.