Part 35 (1/2)

Gently, Edmund lifted a pillow from beneath Cambion's head. The old man's eyes turned to him, lost in his distorted flesh.

'I am grateful to you,' said Cambion. 'For all that you have done.'

Edmund placed the pillow over his master's face, and held it there until his struggles ceased. Then he went to the closet and took down the satchel. He searched inside, and his fingers found the cloth bag of gold coins. He removed two, and laid them on Cambion's eyes.

The woman was waiting outside the bedroom. She was crouched in a corner, seemingly frozen in place, her face raised to the stairs. Edmund heard movement above his head. He walked past her to the front door, paused for a second, then unlocked it.

The Collector stood on the doorstep. His cigarette was gone, and in its place he held a filleting knife. Edmund stared at him. He was still carrying the gun, but he dropped it at the sight of the Collector, and held up the empty hand. Shapes drifted past the woman in the hall, wraiths with pits for eyes, as the Hollow Men converged on Cambion.

The Collector sniffed the air. He bared his yellow teeth as his face was transformed by rage.

'I wanted him alive!' he said.

Edmund found the first words that he had spoken in years.

'Too bad,' he replied.

And then the Collector was on him, the thin, curved blade thrusting into Edmund again and again in a blur of frustrated wrath, and the giant had never felt such pain.

At last the Collector was sated. He took a step back, his right hand red to the wrist. He barely glanced at Edmund as he slumped to the floor and the last of the life gushed from him, but the Collector did find it in himself to impart some final words to the giant.

'It was not enough to block your ears,' he said. 'It was not enough to do nothing. You should have known that we would come for you as well.'

Edmund shuddered, and the flow of blood began to slow as he died. The Collector looked beyond him to where the woman was now curled into a ball in the hallway. The noises from above had ceased. She was alone in the house. Her eyes traveled to the blade in the Collector's hand, but she did not plead or cry out. She was too far gone for that.

The Collector wiped his knife clean on Edmund's bright yellow jacket, now bibbed with scarlet, and restored it to the sheath on his belt. He picked up the satchel and examined its contents. He took one of the Swiss francs and dropped it into a pocket of his coat. It would suffice for his collection. He wanted nothing more from Cambion, or from anyone else in this place. He tossed the satchel to the woman, and left her.

67.

Parker stood by the sh.o.r.eline, near hypnotized by the waves, lost in their rhythm, the ascending moon his witness. Although he had long resided by Scarborough's tidal marshes, and had grown to love their intricate silver tracery, he understood why those who lived their lives within sight and sound of the sea found themselves unsettled when they were away from the ocean, salt calling to salt.

Despite his injuries, he had managed to walk farther than he had previously done, even though his bag of stones had disappeared and he had been forced to guess the distance. It was more progress, and progress was all that mattered, although the pain in his side said otherwise. A single white earphone was inserted in his right ear. The other hung loose over his shoulder.

He did not hear the footsteps on the soft sand until they were almost upon him. He turned slowly, his hands outstretched, Christ waiting to be taken. Werner stood before him. He was not wearing his clerical garb, but instead was dressed in paint-flecked jeans and a baggy sweater, and his white sneakers were so old that they had turned to gray. Disposable clothes, Parker thought: Werner would burn them when he was done. The gun in his right hand shone a cold blue in the moonlight.

'Pastor,' said Parker.

'You don't seem surprised.'

'I knew that someone would come, eventually. You, or another it makes no difference. Now that it's come down to it, I'm glad you came yourself. But then Steiger is dead, and I don't think you have anyone left to call upon for help.'

Werner looked puzzled.

'I've been watching you for a while,' said Werner. 'You were like a statue by the sea.'

'I hadn't realized how much I loved it.'

'The tide will soon be coming in,' said Werner. 'It'll cleanse this place of all trace of you.'

'Will you send me out with it, or did you learn from your mistake with Perlman?'

'I'm not here to answer your questions, Mr Parker. That only happens in the movies. I'm here to kill you.'

'That's a pity,' said Parker. 'I had a lot of questions.'

Werner raised the gun, and slowly, almost sadly, Parker closed his fists. He heard the shot at the same moment that the left side of Werner's head spat a cloud of blood, bone, and tissue as the bullet exited. There was hardly any wind. The evening dimness apart, it had probably been an easy shot. Parker's only regret was that Werner wouldn't talk. He had seen it in his eyes. He knew from the moment it had begun.

Parker reached beneath his sweater, killed the connection on his phone, and removed the earphone with its little mike attachment. Louis emerged from the dunes to the south. He had already disa.s.sembled the rifle, and was carrying the case in his right hand. Moments later, Angel who had been watching Werner for most of the day drove down from his perch above the bay.

Parker stepped over Werner's body, which was staining the sands red, and went to join the others. He didn't want their footprints on the beach, even with the tide coming in. The police would have to be called, and his story had no hope of standing unless the only steps visible were Werner's and his own.

'I was hoping you could have shot to wound,' said Parker to Louis.

'Like the man said, that's just for the movies.'

'I don't suppose it matters,' said Parker. 'He would have told us nothing.'

'What did you want to know?'

'What everyone wants to know: why.'

'We could search his house,' said Angel.

'No. You don't know what you're looking for, and you'd need more time than I can give you. Just get going. Don't drive through town. Head north, then cut southwest. Don't stop. Just keep going.'

'What will you tell them when you call it in?' asked Louis.

'Everything, except who fired the shot.'

'Walsh will know.'

'Did you write him a confession?'

'Yeah, I signed my name on the sand, and left my card under a stone.'

'Then let Walsh think what he wants.'

He handed Angel the burner phone. Louis did the same with his. Their use was at an end.

'You're going to be real popular here,' said Angel.

'It's okay,' said Parker. 'I was leaving anyway.'

He made the call from the porch of the house, and returned to wait by Werner's body for the first of the cars to arrive. The bullet had distorted Werner's face. He was not the same man who had served soup and said prayers only a few nights earlier. Then again, he had never really been that man.