"Certainly he did on the night of the murders. He also wiped down everything he'd touched in the cabin and the car. Even the cup of tea he gave me had been polished clean. As for other items he may have handled, any prints he might have left were obscured by those of the other company members."

"He was one careful b.a.s.t.a.r.d," said Coldfield.

"There's still your testimony," I said. "And a lot of circ.u.mstantial evidence to go with it. If you found other members of the troupe, they could probably identify him just as you did."

Escott shook his head and finished the rest of his coffee; from the grimace he made it had gone cold. "Believe me, I've thought this through, and even under the most favorable of legal proceedings, it is not enough to hang him. I did not actually see the crime take place, and was in the partial thrall of morphine at the time. Any attorney he hired would get the case thrown out. Grant's too well protected, by the pa.s.sage of time and his own fame."

He didn't sound like himself at all. He was still carrying a load of liquor, though, maybe that was why he was so readily giving up before even starting.

"He's not protected from me," I said. "We get him to confess. I've done that before. Give me ten minutes with him, and he'll be marching straight to the nearest station house to give himself up. h.e.l.l, I could have him drive straight to the Elkfoot Flats station if you wanted."

Escott stopped staring at nothing and focused his eyes on me. They were the eyes of a man who's been to h.e.l.l and back and still has the stench of d.a.m.nation clinging to his soul. "Oh, my dear friend, this is not your fight."

"It is now, because I've practically invited Ike LaCelle to come over here. If I'd known about any of this, I'd have gone to see him first and stopped things."

"It's progressed too far for that."

Between this and what Dalhauser told me, I was ready to agree, but not give up. "Okay, maybe so, but at the moment you're in no shape to deal with him. When he gets here anything could happen, so you two get scarce. Go to the Shoe Box and I'll phone you there when I've got news."

"I think we're about to get a firsthand report right now," said Coldfield. "That was the front door, wasn't it?"

"Stay here and keep quiet." I hurried past him to the hall.

He'd called it right. LaCelle was just stepping inside. With him were Shep and the prizefighter, who were already in, their guns drawn. All three turned to face me.

LaCelle grinned. "Hey, Fleming! Good to see you, I got your message. What's the something I can learn to my advantage?" He'd put on his usual pose of a hearty good mood, but under it all was the sly confidence of a man who knows he has all the best cards in the deck. He wasn't afraid, and he should have been.

"Take me to see Raymond Yorke."

His grin faltered, and he c.o.c.ked his head inquiringly. "Who?"

"Can the let's-pretend game, Ike. You may hang around the talent, but none of it's rubbed off. We both know what's going on and how it's going to end. Before it does I want to talk to Yorke or Grant or whatever he's calling himself now." "What a lot you seem to know-or think you do."

"What I know or not doesn't matter, you're going to take me to him."

"Okay, okay. I'm glad you're making this easy on yourself. But that partner of yours who doesn't know how to die is coming, too."

"He's not here."

"Now who's playing pretend? His Nash is sitting right outside."

"That's my neighbor's car. Take me to Grant. After I talk with him he won't be interested in Escott."

LaCelle snorted. "That'll be the day."

Somewhere behind me I heard a thump followed by a grunt and a soft thud. What the h.e.l.l... ?

"What was that?" LaCelle had heard it, too.

"Don't move!" Escott snapped. He stood in the parlor looking out at us, and in his hands was his granddaddy crossbow. He had a bolt loaded in it, and the string was pulled back, ready to shoot.

"Ike?" Shep, uncertain of the change in the situation, aimed his gun at Escott.

"Hold it, both of you," Ike said, also bringing his gun around. The fighter continued to cover me. "No shooting."

"Yes," Escott agreed. "Let us all behave as gentlemen and no one will get hurt."

"What the h.e.l.l's that thing?" asked Shep. "Some kinda c.o.c.keyed bow and arrow?"

"It's as deadly as any gun," Escott informed him. "And has the added advantage of being nearly silent."

"It's three to one," said LaCelle cautiously. "And we've got more shots."

"True, but my one shot is aimed at you, and I'm an excellent marksman."

"He is," I added. "He practices all the time."

LaCelle thought hard, then eased back slightly. "Okay, what do you want?"

That was all I needed. "I want you to look at me, and I want you to listen to me."

"No, Jack," said Escott, breaking my concentration before I made any kind of progress. "Not that way."

"It'll be easier for us."

"I'm finishing this alone. This is my fight."

"Where's-" I bit it off. Maybe Coldfield was working his way around the outside of the house to take them from the front door. No need to reveal anything about having another player in the game.

Escott said, "Gentlemen, I shall get my coat and we will leave. You will take me to see Archy Grant."

"Charles, they're not going to do any such thing, they'll kill you first."

"I think not. Because of Gordy's protection, isn't that correct, Mr. LaCelle?"

Nonplussed at such cooperation, he gave an uncertain nod. "Yeah, that's right."

"Which is why during the shooting last night you drove the car, but did not actually pull the trigger. You left that for Grant to do, did you not?"

"Sweet, ain't it? Gordy can't hold your getting scragged against me."

I snorted. "I think you're smart enough to know Gordy won't fall for any hairsplitting like that."

"He'll have to. In the scheme of things Archy's a lot more valuable property than either of you. Archy's show's a gold mine to my bosses and d.a.m.n near legit. They're gonna want to keep him around and working. My job is to keep him happy, and he won't be happy until the both of you are bye-bye."

"But not until he talks to me?" asked Escott.

"Oh, yeah, he wants that, too."

Escott looked like he wanted to talk some himself. He had a lot of years of it saved up. Coldfield might need more time, though, for whatever he had planned. "This little job gives you quite a hold over Archy, doesn't it?" I put in.

"Must be nice." LaCelle seemed genuinely surprised. "What hold? We're friends from way back. He helps me, I help him. Tonight I help him clear up an old mess, so tell your friend to put down the fancy Robin Hood gag and you two come along quiet."

"Okay. You heard the man, Charles. Let's go for a ride."

Escott shook his head. "Not both of us. Only myself. I'm going to ask you to arrange things with this fellow so that you stay here." There was a strange note to his voice that put a chill in my spine. "And I truly mean stay here, Jack. No covert following."

So he didn't want me tagging invisibly along. Like h.e.l.l I wouldn't. Not when he looked like that. "Grant wants to see both of us. Isn't that right, LaCelle?"

LaCelle had picked up on the unspoken interplay between Escott and me and was cautious. "That's what he wants, yeah."

"Get your coat, Charles."

"This is my fight."

There was something seriously wrong going on inside his head. I could see it and even feel it, and it was important enough for me to break my number-one rule concerning friends. "Charles... listen to me."

A change came over his face, and he looked sad. "I cannot. It has to be done my way."

Oh, h.e.l.l, I'd forgotten about all the booze still sloshing around in his blood. Of course he'd be able to resist my influence. "You're not going without me."

"But I must." He was blinking a lot, and his voice was thick.

"Charles-"

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He suddenly shifted his aim and pulled the trigger on the crossbow.

No- Too late.

The bolt slammed into my chest, knocking my last draw of breath right out. I fell against the stair banister and dropped, sprawling. Pure fire blossomed through me. My helpless body twitched and spasmed, heels cracking against the floor, arms thrashing from the agony. I heard a terrible strangling, hissing sound and realized I was the one making it.

LaCelle yelped some exclamation of surprise, and I was distantly aware of his hasty backing away.

Bloodsmell. Mine.

I clawed at the thing jutting from my ribs, but couldn't get my fingers to grasp it, pull it free. The blinding pain slowed me, finally paralyzed me. The convulsions abruptly ceased; my hands slipped down at my sides, and I lay staring at the ceiling, corpse still, but fully conscious.

Burning.

Please G.o.d, make it stop!

Burning inside.

"Ike?" Shep's voice. Scared. "What do we do, Ike?"

"Gimme a minute." LaCelle. Badly shaken.

"Did you see what he did to him? He's crazy!"

"I know, I know! Just shuddup an' lemme think!"

They shut up.

Screaming.

Charles, help me!

Screaming in my head.

No one to hear. But he knows. He must know!

Escott said, "I'm putting this down now and going to get my coat." Very calm.

No one moved as he followed through. On the edge of my blurring vision I saw him shrug on his heavy topcoat.

He paused by the hall table for a minute.

"What're you doing?" LaCelle demanded.

"Just writing a little note for anyone who finds him."

"You lemme see it."

"Of course."

Paper rustled as LaCelle grabbed it from him. " 'Please remove bolt as quickly as possible-C.E.' What is this? Some kinda sick joke?"

"He's crazy, Ike. Get away from him." Shep. Nervous.

"My good man, I am not crazy, merely drunk. May I have my note back? Thank you." Escott knelt by me, his gray, hollow face coming into my line of view, and pushed the paper partway into my shirt between the b.u.t.tons. "I don't expect you to ever forgive me, but after tonight that won't matter. Talk to Shoe. He'll help you understand why." He brushed his fingers over my eyelids to close them, then stood. "Might I ask where we'll be going?"

LaCelle gave a brief, sickly laugh. "Someplace cold, dark, and quiet."

"Sounds like a grave."

"Yeah, it does. Come on."

They all trooped out, leaving me where I had fallen. My body was inert, but my senses and mind were all too aware.

Unable to act or react, but aware and furious. The only thing hotter than my anger at Escott was the searing bolt lodged between my ribs.

He was going off to die, and he knew it.

He was going off to kill.

Himself and one other-if he had the chance.

For when he came into my view he'd been tucking his pen away. It was that d.a.m.ned fat-bodied pen with the hidden hypodermic needle, and G.o.d knows what he had in the thing.