Angel told me that he was working on finding more of the Collector’s nests, but so far he’d come up empty. Maybe we’d taken care of all of them, and the Collector was now living in a hole in the ground like a character in a book I’d read as a boy. The man had tried to assassinate someone who might have been Hitler, and failed. Hunted in turn, he had literally gone underground, digging out a cave for himself in the earth and waiting for his pursuers to show their face. Rogue Male: that was the title of the book. They’d made a movie of it, with Peter O’Toole. Thinking of the book and the movie reminded me of those holes in the ground around Prosperous. Something had made them, but what?

‘You still there?’ said Angel.

‘Yes, sorry. My mind was somewhere else for a moment.’

‘Well, it’s your dime.’

‘You’re showing your age, remembering a time when you could make a call for a dime. Tell me, what did you and Mr Edison talk about back then?’

‘Fuck you, and Thomas Edison.’

‘The Collector’s still out there. He can rough it, but the lawyer can’t. Somewhere there’s a record of a house purchase that we haven’t found yet.’

‘I’ll keep looking. What about you? Whose cage are you rattling these days?’

I told him about Jude, and Annie, and Prosperous, and even Ronald Straydeer.

‘Last time I talked to you, you were process-serving,’ said Angel. ‘I knew it wouldn’t last.’

‘How’s Louis?’

‘Bored. I’m hoping he’ll commit a crime, just to get him out of the apartment.’

‘Tell him to watch a movie. You ever hear of Rogue Male?’

‘Is it porn?’

‘No.’

‘It sounds like gay porn.’

‘Why would I be watching gay porn?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe you’re thinking of switching teams.’

‘I’m not even sure how you got on that team. You certainly weren’t picked first.’

‘Fuck you again, and your team.’

‘Tell Louis to go find Rogue Male. I think he’ll like it.’

‘Okay.’ His voice grew slightly fainter as he turned away from the phone. ‘Hey, Louis, Parker says you need to go find some rogue male.’

I caught a muffed reply.

‘He says he’s too old.’

‘Rogue Male, starring Peter O’Toole.’

‘Tool?’ said Angel. ‘That’s the guy’s name? Man, that’s gotta be porn …’

I hung up. Even ‘hung’ sounded mildly dirty after the conversation I’d just had. I made some coffee and went outside to drink it while I watched the moon shine on the marshes. Clouds crossed its face, changing the light, chasing shadows. I listened. Sometimes I wished for them to come, the lost daughter and the woman who walked with her, but I had no sense of them that night. Perhaps it was for the best. Blood flowed when they came.

But they would return in the end. They always did.

34

Morland told the board what he knew of the detective. He spoke of his history, and the deaths of his wife and child so many years earlier. He told them of some of the cases in which the detective had been involved, the ones that had come to public notice, but he also informed them of the rumors that circulated about other investigations, secret investigations. It was a delicate line that Morland was walking: he wanted them to understand the threat that the detective posed, but he did not want them to feel concerned enough to act rashly. Morland was certain that Hayley already knew most of what he had to say. His performance was for the benefit of the rest of the board, and Warraner too.

‘You say that he has crossed paths with the Believers?’ said Souleby.

There was a rustle of disapproval from the others. The board of selectmen had been in existence in Maine for longer than the sect known as the Believers, and it regarded them with a mixture of unease and distaste. The Believers’ search for their brethren, for lost angels like themselves, was of no concern to the citizens of Prosperous. On the other hand, neither did the town wish to attract the attentions of others like the Believers, or those in whose shadows the Believers toiled. The Believers were only one element of a larger conspiracy, one that was slowly encroaching upon the state of Maine. The board wanted no part of it, although unofficial channels of communication with certain interested parties were kept open through Thomas Souleby, who retained membership of various clubs in Boston, and moved easily in such circles.

‘He has,’ said Morland. ‘All I’ve heard are whispers, but it’s safe to say that they regretted the encounters more than he did.’

Old Kinley Nowell spoke up. He had to remove the mask from his face to do so, and each word sounded like a desperate effort for him. Morland thought that he already looked like a corpse. His skin was pale and waxen, and he stank of mortality and the medicines that were being used to stave it off.

‘Why has the detective not been killed before now?’

‘Some have tried,’ said Morland. ‘And failed.’

‘I’m not talking of thugs and criminals,’ said Nowell. He put his mask to his face and drew two deep breaths before resuming. ‘I’m not even speaking of the Believers. There are others in the background, and they do not fail. They’ve been killing for as long as there were men to kill. Cain’s blood runs in their veins.’

The Backers: that was how Morland had heard them described. Men and women with great wealth and power, like the board of selectmen writ large. Souleby’s people.

‘If he is alive,’ said Souleby, as if on cue, ‘then it’s because they want him alive.’

‘But why?’ said Nowell. ‘He is clearly a threat to them, if not now then in the future. It makes no sense for them to let him live.’

Conyer looked to Warraner for the solution, not Souleby. It was, in her view, a theological issue.

‘Pastor, would you care to offer a possible answer to this conundrum?’

Warraner might have been arrogant and conniving, thought Morland, but he wasn’t a fool. He gave himself almost a full minute before he replied.

‘They’re afraid to kill what they don’t understand,’ he said, finally. ‘What do they want? They wish to find their buried god and release him, and they feel themselves to be closer to that end than they have ever been before. The detective may be an obstacle, or it may be that he has a part to play in that search. For now, they do not understand his nature, and they are afraid to move against him for fear that, by doing so, they may ultimately harm their cause. I have listened to what Chief Morland has to say, and I confess that I may have underestimated the detective.’

This surprised Morland. Warraner rarely admitted weakness, especially not in front of Hayley and the board. It caught Morland off guard, so that he was unprepared when the knife was unsheathed and used upon him.

‘That said,’ Warraner continued, ‘Chief Morland underestimated him as well, and should not have brought him to the church. The detective should have been kept far away from it, and from me. I was forced into a situation where I had to answer questions, and I dealt with them as best I could, under the circumstances.’

Liar, Morland wanted to say. I saw you preening. You fool: I will remember this.

‘Chief?’ said Hayley. ‘Is this true?’

She was amused. Morland could see it. She enjoyed watching her pets snap at each other. He felt her willing him to grow angry. The small humiliations that she had aimed at him earlier had not been enough to make him lose his temper. It might be that she already had someone else in mind to succeed him, but Morland did not believe she had thought so far ahead. She knew only that he was beginning to doubt her, and she wished to retain her position. If she had to sacrifice him to survive, then she would.

But Morland said only ‘I did what I thought was best,’ and watched with some small satisfaction as disappointment clouded the old woman’s face.