Darren Shan - Hell's Horizon

“The what?”

“Manco Capac was an Incan god. After hundreds of years, somebody’s decided to raise an effigy of him. It’s going to be one of the most incredible monuments ever constructed. It will put this city on the architectural map. You must have heard about it — reporters have been discussing little else since it was commissioned.”

“I don’t pay much attention to the news.”

“No matter. I only pointed it out to show what a real mark of respect for the dead is like. Sticking people in the ground or running them through a furnace… I’d rather be jammed away in a dark corner of the Fridge or left outside to rot.

“Come,” he said. “This conversation is veering toward morbidity. Tom Jeery has been dead far too long to shed any tears over. Let’s return to the corpse in question — Miss Hornyak. I don’t like it when people use my facilities for their own ends. Her murderer made a fatal mistake when choosing the Skylight.”

He returned to his chair and picked up the file he’d been studying earlier. I took my seat again and concentrated on what he was saying. I’d think about my father later, on my own time.

“Any idea who killed her?” he asked.

“No.”

“No enemies? Jealous ex-boyfriends? Business rivals?”

“She wasn’t in business. She comes — came — from a wealthy family. Lived off inherited income. No enemies that I was aware of. Old boyfriends…” I shrugged. “She was beautiful. Rich. Exciting. Something of a tease. I guess there’s lots of disgruntled exes hanging around, but none that I’m aware of.”

“How did you meet? Miss Hornyak was a woman of means. Elegant. Sought after. You’re not what I would consider a catch.”

“We met at AA.”

“She was an alcoholic?”

“Not really. She didn’t talk much about it, but from what I picked up, her brother controlled the purse strings — her parents died when she was young, which was one of the things we had in common — and he felt she’d been drinking too heavily. He made her go. Threatened to cut her off if she didn’t.”

“So you got talking, one thing led to another, you realized you were two of a kind…”

“I wouldn’t say that. Nic was in a different class. I knew nothing would come of our fling. We just fell into each other’s lives for a while. It was a complication-free relationship — my favorite kind.”

“Did you tell her what you did for a living?”

“Sure.”

“Before you started dating or after?”

I thought back. “Before, I guess.”

“You told her you were a Troop?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. Ever consider the possibility that she was after more than sex?”

“I don’t follow.”

He tossed a large photograph across the table. It was of Nic’s carved back. There was a lot of blood, so it must have been taken in the Skylight or just after she’d been delivered to the Fridge. I didn’t touch it.

“Not very pretty,” The Cardinal said. “You noted the design in the center?” I nodded. He fished something out of the file and threw it on top of the photograph. It was a golden brooch. I’d seen it on Nic a couple of times. At its center was a symbol of the sun.

“Recognize it?”

“Yes.”

“She was wearing it the night of her murder. I don’t think it’s coincidence. Nicola Hornyak moved in dangerous circles. She became involved with men of violence. Perhaps she anticipated an attack of this nature. If so, would she not have sought protection? Found a strong boyfriend adept in the ways of death? A solider maybe… or a Troop?”

“She never mentioned any of this to me. We spent very little time together. It’s possible…” But I wasn’t convinced.

“I want to know who killed her,” The Cardinal said.

“I do too,” I breathed softly.

“Excellent!” he boomed, startling me. “That’s what I hoped to hear. When can you start?”

“Start what?” I asked.

“The investigation. I want you to track down her killer. Find him, kill him, bring me his bones to pick my teeth with.”

“But I’m not a detective.”

“You are now,” he grinned, eyes twinkling, “ shamus .”

I spent twenty minutes trying to convince him I was the wrong man for the job.

“I know nothing about that line of work,” I insisted. “I’ve been trained as a guard, to function as part of a unit. I know about lines of fire and body searches, how to spot trouble and deal with it. I don’t know shit about trailing people, planting bugs or research.”

“That’s irrelevant,” The Cardinal said. “I’ve had experts on the case since Saturday and they’ve uncovered nothing. You know the time frame for catching a murderer in circumstances such as these? Seventy-two hours. Three days to extrapolate from clues, interview witnesses and crack suspects. If you’ve turned up nothing by then, chances are you never will. That’s what my experts tell me.”

“Then why set me on it? If the case is dead, what’s the point?”

“A case never dies, Al. People die. Empires die. Never mysteries. I want to find Nicola Hornyak’s killer. It’s not a major thorn in my side but it irritates me. The experts had their crack at it. Now it’s time to do things another way.

“Do you know what Frank Weld did before starting work for me?”

“He was in the army.”

“No. That’s a misleading rumor I circulated. He executed pigs.”

I couldn’t prevent a skeptical smile.

“I’m not bullshitting you. He worked in an abattoir. Put a stun gun to their heads and fried their brains. Lost his job when he was found interfering with the livestock.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” I laughed.

“All right,” The Cardinal smirked. “That last bit was a joke. But he did work in an abattoir. Before that he worked in a fish factory. Before that he was a bouncer in a club. Before that he served nine years for killing a man in a brawl over a prostitute.”

“Is this on the level?” I asked, sobering up.

He nodded. “Not the stuff generals are generally made of, wouldn’t you say?”

“So how’d he end up head of the Troops?” It was the question he’d been angling for.

“You’re aware of my nocturnal informants?”

“Sure.”

The Cardinal had a personal herd of gossipmongers. They came every night from various sectors of the city, men and women with secrets to impart. What they told him and what he did with that information, only he could say.

“Mr. Weld was one of them. He told me he’d caught his boss in the clutches of a young migrant worker. A juicy piece of trivia I’d normally have filed away and left to simmer. But there was something about Mr. Weld. Behind the shabby clothes, unkempt hair and bloodstained hands I saw a man of means struggling to emerge. So I took him into the fold, set my best groomers on him, and within months he was up and running.

“I work on hunches. I place little faith in systems or rules. I build on people. It’s why I’ve flourished while so many others have fallen. The ability to see inside a man, to know what he’s capable of, even if he doesn’t know it himself… therein lies my secret.

“Do you know what true power is? It’s the ability to manipulate other people and bend them to your way of thinking. To do that, you must first understand them. I understand people. I understand you . You don’t seek responsibility because you know what you could do with it. You’re afraid of who you could be. You don’t mind getting your hands dirty as long as you’re not making the decisions, because you believe that leaves your soul clean of blemish.”

He paused a moment, allowing me time to challenge him. Shaking my head and lowering my gaze, I didn’t.