Nick Stone - Mr. Clarinet

What he couldn't understand was what Gustav had been thinking, getting outsiders in to investigate Charlie's disappearance. Hadn't he thought that they might find out about his business along the way? Hadn't he at least considered it a risk?

Of course he had, Max concluded. You don't stay on top of your game for as long as Gustav had by flying close to the sun. People like Gustav never took blind risks; they took informed risks. They didn't just look before they leaped, they knew every single millimeter of the ground they'd land on.

But then, like all absolute tyrants, Carver had always had his own way. He'd never met a challenge he hadn't flattened. So what if he got found out? What could one person do against Carver and his network of contacts who, even if they were a fraction as powerful as Eloise had suggested, would wipe that person clean off the face of the planet? Carver considered himself untouchable, and with good reason.

Had Gustav Carver been behind what had happened to Beeson and Medd? Had they got too close? No. Max didn't think so. At least definitely not Beeson. Beeson would have tried to blackmail Carver and Carver would have had him killed. Why leave him alive so he could tell people what he knew?

So what about the reason he'd originally come here? Charlie Carver? What had happened to him?

He didn't know for sure, but he suspected Charlie was dead.

What about Eddie Faustin? What part did he play? He'd definitely been trying to kidnap the boy the day he was killed. That was beyond doubt. Faustin had been waiting for the kidnappers to come and get Charlie at a prearranged rendezvous, and then the mob had turned up and things had gone badly wrong.

Or had it?

Maybe Eddie had been set up, double-crossed by the kidnappers. It was possible. They'd paid the mob to start a riot around the car and kill him. It would make sense if the kidnappers wanted to avoid being identified-or suspected.

Yet Codada had said that Faustin was loyal to Gustav Carver, that he loved Carver like a father. Why would he betray Carver? What had the kidnappers offered him? Or maybe they hadn't offered him anything at all-maybe they had something on him. That wasn't hard-an ex-Macoute with bloody hands, now working for the head of a child sex ring.

How much had Faustin known about Gustav's business? Was the kidnapping related to it?

But that still left Charlie unaccounted for and unexplained.

What was there to go on?

He didn't know. He'd hit a dead end.

Where to now?

Half an hour later, Paul came out to join him in the street.

"She's given me the location of the place in La Gonвve. They've got about twenty kids in there now. They used a cargo boat to get them over there. Every month they filled the hold up with new kids," Paul said. "We'll be getting them out tomorrow evening."

"What about the military here?"

"It'll be a joint operation with the UN. I have a good friend there," Paul explained.

"What about Gustav?" Max asked.

"You bring him in."

"Me?"

"Yes, you, Max. Tomorrow. I want to avoid casualties. If we go up to the Carver estate his people will start shooting. The Americans are stationed quite close by and they'll come to investigate. Knowing them, they'll kill all of us and tell Carver to have a nice day."

"He's got a lot of security."

"You'll have plenty of backup, if you need it. Our guys will follow you up to the estate and wait close by. You'll have radio contact with them."

"Assuming I get him out, where do I take him?"

"Get him out on the main road. We'll take him from there."

Max didn't want to do it. He'd never had to bring a client in.

"Make sure you tell Francesca so she's out of the way. Allain too."

"It's in hand," Vincent said and started heading back to the house.

"What about them-Codada and Eloise?" Max asked. "You gonna let them live?"

"Would you?"

THE NEXT MORNING Max woke up with the phone ringing in his ears.

It was Joe. He was all apologies. He said he'd been too busy to work on the stuff Max had asked for.

Max told him he needed to talk to Clyde Beeson. Joe said that was the main reason he was calling.

Beeson had been found dead in his trailer. Forensics estimated he'd been there at least two weeks. His pit bull had eaten away one leg and was working on the second when the cops had broken down the door. Although the postmortem report had yet to confirm it, it looked like suicide. Beeson had opted out with his Magnum.

Max took the news quietly, bitterly disappointed that he hadn't had a chance to have a detailed talk with Beeson about the case that had ruined his life.

He wasn't surprised that Beeson had died bad. He'd had it coming. He'd scored impressive results and made a small fortune off the back of them, but he'd pissed off a lot of people along the way; Max had been one of them, Joe another. He'd come within a hair of ruining their lives. They'd come within a hair of killing him.

Max had loathed and despised him.

"Anything you want to say about the late Clyde Beeson?" Joe asked.

"Yeah. Adiуs, motherfucker."

GUSTAV CARVER SMILED warmly when he saw Max walk into the living room, his great gargoyle face turning into something straight out of a horror cartoon as it registered, processed, and displayed his pleasure: his eyebrows creased into upward arrowheads, his brow furrowed disjointedly like the spring bands on a collapsed chest expander, and his lips thinned to pale pink rubber bands as they stretched and curved toward his earlobes.

"Max! Welcome!" Gustav shouted to Max across the empty space.

They shook hands when they met. Carver overapplied his grip and accidentally pulled Max forward into him. They bumped shoulders, awkwardly, jock-style by default, neither knowing the drill. Carver, who had been using his other hand to balance himself on his silver-topped black cane, staggered back and threatened to keel over on his back but Max grabbed hold and steadied him. Gustav righted himself with Max's help, took in the remains of the minor panic in Max's expression, and giggled almost coquettishly. He smelled strongly of booze, cigarettes, and musky cologne.

Max noticed a tall Christmas tree in the corner of the room, not too far from Judith Carver's portrait. It had fiberoptic lights hidden among the branches, which morphed continuously into shades of red, purple, and blue before stopping at a steady all-white and then repeating the color changes. The rest of the tree was decorated with twinkling gold and silver streamers, hanging baubles, and a golden star at the top. It was surprising to find something so tacky in Carver's tasteful surroundings.

Gustav seemed to read Max's thoughts.

"That's for the servants. Those damn lights fascinate them, simpletons that they are. One night of the year I let them use the room. I buy presents for them and their children and they go and find them. Do you like Christmas, Max?"

"I'm not sure anymore, Mr. Carver," Max said quietly.

"I hate it. It's when I lost Judith."

Max stayed silent-not out of awkwardness but because nothing in him was moving in the old man's favor.

Gustav looked at him curiously, brow tensing, eyes narrowing and crinkling at the corners, a hostile wariness about his expression. Max met his gaze with a blank look, giving nothing away except his indifference.

"How's about a drink?" Carver insisted rather than offered. He wafted his cane over the armchairs and sofas. "Let's sit."

He sunk into the armchair one haunch at a time, his bones creaking and popping with the strain. Max didn't offer to help him.

Gustav clapped his hands and barked for a servant. A black-and-white-uniformed maid stepped out from the darkness surrounding the doorway, where she had probably been standing the entire time. Max had neither seen nor sensed her until she appeared. Carver asked for a whiskey.