“Yeah. Yeah, little brother. That’s right.”
“Where was the night landing at? Off of what point on the shore west of here?”
Spinsie gave him the coordinates, or near enough.
“And you didn’t tell anyone about this?” Hayes asked.
“No. Spinsie keeps his mouth shut. Never says anything he doesn’t need to.”
Hayes nodded. “All right,” he said.
Spinsie glared at him. He took his cup of tea and tossed it back violently. Then he slammed it down on the table and said, “ ‘All right.’ All right, he says. Like he knows everything. You don’t know everything, you know that, little brother? Just ’cause you’ve been around. Just ’cause you managed to get out before I could. That doesn’t make you any better.”
“There’s no need to be angry,” Hayes said.
“I think there is. I think there’s plenty need. Always one step ahead, aren’t you, little brother? Always smarter than everyone else, always need to show it. How’s the god, Hayseed? How’s the little god that sits on your shoulder and tells you what to do? Very Socrates, that.”
“Enough,” Hayes said.
“You’re not always smart. Weren’t when I found you. Don’t think you are now. What put you on the streets? What about that girl you knocked up all those years ago, if you remember?”
“Enough,” Hayes said angrily.
But Spinsie kept talking, speaking louder with each word. “You didn’t see that coming. Didn’t see her putting the knife to her wrists, did you?”
“Enough!”
“Didn’t see daddy dearest tossing you out of house and home, did you, Hayseed, my little brother? Did you see that? Did you see that?”
Hayes rose and strode over to Spinsie and gave him three quick slaps. Spinsie recoiled and felt his lip and stared up at Hayes, stunned.
“You always were an ass, Spinsie,” Hayes said fiercely. “A stupid, ignorant ass. The reason I was always on land and you were at sea was that no one could ever stand you. You can’t even stand yourself. It’s the reason you were alone then and it’s the reason you’re alone now, and it’ll be the reason you’re alone for the rest of your damn days.” He turned around and waved to Samantha and said, “Come on.”
He marched out the front door with Samantha following. She hurried up to him and said, “Mr. Hayes, your friend, shouldn’t you-”
“He is not my friend, Sam.”
“But he-”
“He’s an idiot old man living an idiot old man’s life. I’m content to leave him here. Come on. Back up to the road.”
They were almost to the fence when she heard the shouting. She turned and saw Spinsie on his knees in his doorway, screaming at them to come back, come back, he had done a bad thing and he was sorry, just please come back. He waved his arms and then dropped them to his sides and sat there on the ground, watching them leave.
“Mr. Hayes?” she asked.
But Hayes did not hear her. He walked on until they could find a phone station and call a cab.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
It took Garvey more than three hours to get to Collins among the desks of the Department. It was much the same as it had always been in his absence, even painfully the same. Same stale scent of coffee. The sting of cheap aftershave and old cigarette smoke. The other police watched him with a medley of expressions, surprise and disdain and frowning sympathy. Garvey waited quietly in one of the chairs witnesses occupied so often, the box of files balanced on his knees. Finally Collins came charging in, riding a wild head of steam and still muttering curses. When Garvey stood he stopped and said, “Holy hell. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” said Garvey.
“We don’t need to talk to you,” said Collins. He turned away. “Go talk to someone else.”
“And to show you something.”
“You don’t need to show me anything. Go home, Garvey.”
“Please, sir. Just listen to me.”
“No. No, no. Go home, Garvey. Just go home.”
“You need to see this.”
Collins squinted at him over his shoulder. “Would you bet your career on it?”
“I’d be willing to bet my life,” Garvey said simply.
Collins led him to his office. It was famously messy, covered in little cities of files and papers and paperweights, old clothes and shoes he had had to change in and out of in the depths of a case. They sat and Collins took out a pipe and read over the file as Garvey spoke, just like any other case, like any other day. With each word his lieutenant’s eyes became wider and wider. Eventually he turned off the light as if he didn’t want to see any more and they both sat in the dark.
“You’re sure about this?” said Collins.
“Positive. That’s McNaughton records. Right there. You can see the M.”
“How did you get these?”
“They were given to me,” said Garvey. “I’m not sure how they got them.”
“And you have a witness? That guy in the cabin? Out west?”
“I think so. And Colomb, if we can find them. We can make them testify.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, I don’t. Not for sure. But we have to try. We have to try.”
Collins sat there, not moving, pipe ticking up and down in his mouth like the pendulum of a clock. “And Brightly was directly involved.”
“He had to have been. He’s the director of Securities there, he had to have known. Maybe the whole board did, I don’t know.”
“But Brightly. You’re sure.”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Collins looked out onto the Murder office. Then he said, “Go home, Garvey.”
“But-”
“I know. I know. We’ll do something. We’ll do something soon. Tomorrow. Just go home for now. Where I can contact you. And we’ll do something. Okay?”
“Do you think we can win it? Make it stick?”
Collins sighed. “We’re already gearing up for this denner war, Garvey. You didn’t give me anything on the murders, and that’s what we’re concerned with. We got enough on our plate right now. But just go back home and come in tomorrow. All right?”
“All right,” said Garvey. He reached for the file.
“I’ll hold on to this,” said Collins sharply.
Garvey stopped. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay, that’s a good idea. That’s only half of it, though.”
“Half?”
“Yeah. I kept the rest. For security. I don’t like traveling with it.”
Collins looked down at the file. The paper flexed as he held it tighter. “Make sure you bring it, then. Tomorrow. Make sure you bring all of it.”
“All right.” Garvey stood and said, “Good night, sir.”
“I doubt that,” said Collins.
Collins sat in his office and watched Garvey walk away quickly. Weaving through the maze of desks as he’d done a thousand times. Then Collins strode out of his office and called for a phone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
By the time they reached the ferry landing it was nearly dark. Samantha could not tell if it was raining or if it was the wind bringing the sea haze onto them. She suspected it was still raining, very slightly. Perhaps it had never really stopped.
“How far west is this again?” Samantha asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Hayes said. “I’m assuming this is the excised facility from the budget files.”
“I suppose so.”
Samantha peered into the east, where the horizon was overtaken by smoke and the city. Not more than two miles away the bridge network started, beginning with the Kulahee, which reached across to Victoria. Hayes stood along the seawall, not looking at anything, fingers of water running down his face.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Hayes said.
Samantha nodded.
“I was very young.”
“I thought you said she died because of a bastard,” she said.
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“Well. Am I not a bastard, sometimes?” He was quiet for a bit. Then he said, “Do you believe we are made, Sam?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Made. Created. Do you believe that?”
“I believe in the Holy Maker, yes. Of course I do.”