On Harrow Hill

He then opened the video of Aspern approaching the conservatory in his Tate disguise. He was holding the mallet in his right hand. But Gurney recalled Aspern being left-handed.

“Do you realize what time it is?”

He was startled at the closeness of Madeleine’s voice. She was standing in the kitchen just a few feet away. It was 4:25, at least a half hour before dawn.

“I was having trouble sleeping,” he said.

“Are you coming back to bed?”

Her tone made it sound more like an invitation than a question.

He followed her into the bedroom. One thing led to another, and he finally sank into a real sleep.

He awoke around eight when Madeleine left for the clinic, drifted back to sleep, and awoke again suddenly at nine thirty with his phone ringing on the night table. He blinked, squinting at the screen. It was Jack Hardwick.

“Wake up, you fucker. You sound drunk.”

“You have news?”

“Yeah, I have news. The kiddie-banger had two cousins. One’s a nun, the other died of AIDS twenty years ago. No relatives with a beard or a big bad motorcycle.”

“You got this from his ex-wife?”

“No. The ex-wife wouldn’t say a word about him. Still hates the ground he walked on. But she did give me the name and address of his brother. The brother didn’t like him, either. Referred to him as a drunken sleaze who deserved to be dead. Had less than no interest in the circumstances of his death. Said if Hanley got iced he’d shake the hand of the iceman. But at least he was willing to give me the cousin data.”

“So the guy who claimed to be Bullock’s cousin was lying.”

“Fact that he wasn’t Bullock’s cousin doesn’t make him a Patriarch.”

“But it does make it more likely.”

“More likely don’t mean shit. But for the sake of argument, let’s imagine you’re right. What’s your hotshot scenario for how it all went down?”

Gurney sat up on the edge of the bed and took a few moments to organize the sequence in his mind.

“The way I see it, it all starts when Angus Russell, for whatever reason, decides he wants Hanley Bullock dead. He makes his desire known to Silas Gant. Gant sends one of his trusted Patriarchs down to Crickton to deal with it in a way that creates the fewest possible waves. Maybe the guy invents a story that gets him invited into the apartment. Or maybe he just knocks on the door and blackjacks him as soon as he opens it. Once he’s inside he finishes Bullock off quietly, probably by strangling him. He spends the night there—playing music, laughing, making whatever sounds the Flaccos say they heard. In the morning Gant shows up—the neat little ‘doctor’ with the silver-gray hair. After spending some time in the apartment, he comes out and gives George and Clarice the sad news about Mr. Bullock’s fatal heart attack. A little while later an accomplice shows up in a hearse, the body is bagged and removed from the premises, and everybody disappears over the horizon. No obvious evidence of any crime. Bullock had no one in his life who cared enough to look into the situation. The perfect crime, right down to the hearse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Even if it got stopped for a traffic violation and the cop found the body in it, there wouldn’t have been a problem. It’s a hearse. There’s supposed to be a body in it.”

“Very smooth. Assuming it’s true. But all it means, at the most, is that Angus had a criminal relationship with Gant—ten years ago. You’re trying to link a possible old Angus-Gant relationship to the current craziness with Aspern. The hell kind of link could there be?”

“Maybe none. But the more I learn about Larchfield, the more it seems that everything is wired together.”

“Maybe it’s time for dynamite. Just blow the fucking place off the face of the earth.”

“Always an option. But I’d like to get answers to a few bothersome questions first.”

“Like what?”

“Hold on for a minute.”

Gurney went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face, then slipped on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt before returning to the phone. “You still there?”

“Waiting patiently for your questions.”

“Okay. On the roof of St. Giles Billy Tate was using his left hand. In the mortuary video he was using his right hand. How would you explain that?”

“He fell off the fucking roof. Maybe he broke his left hand.”

“Okay. How about Aspern? In the video of him approaching the Russell house, he’s carrying a mallet in his right hand. But when I met with him in his office I’d swear he was left-handed.”

“So he was ambidextrous. Lot of people are. Or maybe his left hand was occupied with something the video didn’t catch. What else is bothering you?”

“The tire marks next to my barn—forensically ID’d as belonging to the same BMW model that Aspern drives, one that’s extremely rare around Walnut Crossing. In fact, in my five years here I’ve never seen a single one. So it seems he took a very large risk, compared to very little reward. What does that tell us?”

“You’re the one that keeps thinking about it. What does it tell you?”

“That we may need to reevaluate our suppositions.”