Leland lifted the lid of the briefcase carefully. It opened toward him, so he rotated it on the table to display the contents to Christopher Shaw and then watched as the boy stared down at what was inside.
The boy was scared, of course, but Leland could tell the sight before him pulled at him regardless. Money had a way of doing that to people. This was more than most would ever see collected in one place, especially someone like Christopher Shaw. And while Leland was sure Shaw had handled countless old banknotes in his grubby lifetime, he doubted he had ever encountered notes like these ones: packed together tightly, pristine and new. Money was supposed to be crumpled and sullied; like power, it was meant to be used. And like power, it grew dirtier with every transaction. But the notes in the suitcase between them now had the innocence of a newborn baby.
But not for long.
“As you can see,” Leland said, “I am a man of my word.”
Christopher Shaw looked up at him for a second, then back at the money. Leland could imagine the calculations going through the boy’s head. Not about what he could do with such an amount—although nobody was immune from that—but about the situation as a whole. The boy was trying to decide if he had misjudged Leland. Despite his obvious nerves, he was wondering if everything was actually going to play out the way he’d hoped. And for a glorious moment, Leland could tell the boy believed it might.
But money never stays innocent for long.
As you can see, I am a man of my word.
And Leland had not been speaking to Christopher Shaw.
He glanced over the boy’s shoulder. The owner of the café was a man named Jefferson, whom Leland had arranged for Banyard to speak to yesterday. He watched as Jefferson walked slowly out from behind the counter and over to the door.
The key made only the quietest of sounds in the lock.
Leland could also imagine what was going through this man Jefferson’s head. In his experience, people had the most astonishing ability to rationalize away their faults and failings, a predictable facet of human nature that had served him well in life. Years from now, Jefferson would believe he had detached his future self from what he was doing right now. If he thought of it at all, it would seem like an action performed by another man entirely, a man who by that point was lost in the past and beyond judgment. But the truth was that God, watching us from outside of time, sees everything at once.
Leland closed the briefcase and slid it to the edge of the table—and from there, his hand clamped down on Christopher Shaw’s wrist. He could tell from the sudden shock on the boy’s face that he hadn’t expected Leland to be able to move so fast or to be as strong as he was.
Shaw stood up, fighting against his grip.
And Leland stood up with him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see their reflections in the window beside them, and the sight of them there pleased him.
Why—it almost looked like they were dancing.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Shaw said. “We had a deal!”
“The deal was for the book.”
Shaw was still trying to fight, panicking properly now, but Leland found it easy to restrain him. The boy was pathetically, contemptibly weak. But then he twisted harder, and the rose in Leland’s lapel came loose and fell broken to the floor.
“You’ll pay for that,” Leland said.
“Help me!”
“I’m sorry, kid.”
Jefferson. He had already picked up the briefcase and was moving over to the wall. Leland stared down at the remains of the rose for a moment, and then up at the reflection of himself and Shaw in the window.
And then Jefferson flicked off the light, and the two dancers vanished.
Thirty-one
Katie scrabbled in her jacket pocket for the phone.
When she found it, the screen was bright in the darkness of Hyde’s bedroom. She didn’t recognize the number there, but she canceled the call as fast as she could, then stood there in the blackness, her heart hammering in her chest.
Please don’t have heard.
Please—
But he had of course. She heard the footsteps on the landing again, faster this time, and with more purpose than before. The bedroom door opened quickly, angrily. The old man’s shadow fell across the bare floorboards for a second, and then he flicked the light on.
“Who’s there?”
There was no point hiding anymore. She moved out from behind the door into the center of the room, turning to face him. Hyde’s father was wrapped in a tattered dressing gown and looked even older than he’d sounded, his thin hair hanging limply around a small, mean face. He had planted himself just over the threshold, one wrinkled hand clutching the end of a stick he was leaning on. He peered at her, saying nothing. He seemed no more surprised to find a stranger in his son’s room than he had to see the display on the wall behind her. It was as though a part of him had expected this to happen at some point, and he was simply trying to work out who it was that had finally arrived.
Then his eyes narrowed slightly.
“You,” he said.
For a second, she didn’t understand how he could have recognized her. She’d never seen him before in her life. But then she remembered the photographs.
He would have seen her in those, of course.
Me and my family.
Katie took a step toward him. She was much younger than he was, and probably stronger, but he showed no sign of backing away.
She gestured behind her.
“You knew about all of this, didn’t you?”
“You,” he repeated.
Either he hadn’t registered what she’d said, or it meant nothing to him. He took an awkward step toward her, his eyes blazing, and this time it was she who fought the urge to back off.
The old man raised his cane slightly, gesturing at her.
“It’s all your fault,” he said. “Everything.”
“My fault?”
“Everything that happened to Michael. He was a good boy. He’s always been a good boy. Until he crossed paths with your fucking family.”
Hyde’s father almost spat the words at her. She didn’t know how to reply. It was like when she’d first seen the display. On one level, she understood what he was saying to her, but she also couldn’t make sense of it.
“Do you know what they did to him in prison? How badly they beat him?”
He took another step toward her. This time she took one back herself.
“I—”
“Don’t lie to me, you bitch.” He raised the cane again. “He never stood a chance, my boy. My good boy. All because of your bastard brother. All because of you.”
She shook her head. Whatever logic the old man was working from was so far beyond her that she couldn’t even begin to respond. Was he really blaming Chris for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Was he actually suggesting the attack had somehow been her brother’s fault?
“It’s all your fault,” he said. “You deserve everything that’s coming to you.”
And again, she started to reply. But even though what he was saying was absurd, a part of her felt the force of his words anyway.
It’s all your fault.
All because of you.
“I—”
But whatever she was about to say was interrupted by a sound from downstairs. The front door opening. Hyde’s father heard it too, and an expression of triumph flashed across his face.