Mr. Clarinet

If Eddie was involved in the kidnapping, he had been manipulated into it. The mob was possibly a distraction, deliberately organized to kill Eddie and get him out of the way, while the kidnappers quietly made off with the kid. Were they part of the mob, or did they drive up and take the kid?

Wait a minute—

"Where was Eddie's body in relation to Mrs. Carver?"

"There was no body," Allain said.

"No body?"

"Just a pool of blood near the car. We think it's his."

"All blood looks the same. It could've been anyone's," Max said.

"True."

"For now I'll treat Eddie as a missing person too," Max said. "What about witnesses? Your wife?"

"She only remembers up to the mob attacking the car."

"So if Eddie's alive, then he'd know who took Charlie."

"That's a big 'if,'" Gustav interrupted. "Eddie's dead. The mob killed him, I'm sure."

Maybe, thought Max, but maybes didn't solve cases.

"What was Eddie's brother called?"

"Salazar," said Allain, glancing over at his father.

"The same one you arrested," said Gustav, as if on cue.

"You're very well informed," Max said. "I guess you also know they all got deported back here?"

"Yes," said Gustav. "Does that bother you?"

"Only if they see me first," Max said.

There was a moment's silence. Gustav smiled at Max.

"You'll have a guide," Allain said. "Someone to show you around and act as your interpreter. In fact, you've met her. Chantale."

"Chantale?" Max said.

"She's going to be your assistant."

Gustav guffawed and winked at Max.

"I see," Max said. "She doesn't look like the sort who has a ghetto passkey."

"She knows her way around," Allain said.

"That she does!" Gustav laughed.

Max wondered which of the two she'd fucked. He guessed Allain, because Allain was blushing to the roots of his hair. Max felt stupidly jealous. Carver's money and status was an aphrodisiac. Max tried to picture Chantale and Allain together and couldn't. Something didn't fit. He chased her from his mind, told himself to focus, to think of her as a colleague—a partner, a life-support unit, same as when he was a cop. That was always a passion-killer.

He ate another grillot but the meat had gone cold and rock-hard. He was still hungry. He ate some tomatoes.

"My son hasn't had a lot of luck with assistants," Gustav said.

"Father!" Allain started.

"I think you should tell Max what he's up against, don't you? It's only fair to him, isn't it?" Gustav said.

"I met Clyde Beeson, if that's what you mean," Max said.

"I was thinking more about the unfortunate Mr. Medd," Gustav said.

Allain looked uncomfortable. He eyed his father angrily.

"When did he come into the picture?" Max asked.

"January, this year," Allain said. "Darwen Medd. Ex–Special Forces. He'd tracked drug cartel members in South America. He didn't get very far before he—"

Allain trailed off and looked away from Max.

"Medd disappeared without a trace," Gustav said. "The day before he vanished he told us he was going to Saut d'Eau—it's like a voodoo version of Lourdes—a waterfall you go to purify yourself in. Charlie had apparently been sighted there."

"And you never heard from him again?"

Allain nodded.

"Do you know who gave him the information?"

"No."

"Did you follow it up—the waterfall lead?"

"Yes. A false one."

"Did you pay Medd a lot of money upfront?"

"Less than you."

"And you checked the airport—?"

"—and the ports, and the border—no sign of him."

Max didn't say anything. There were more than just official exits out of any country and Haiti was no different. The boat people who washed up on the Florida coastline every day were proof of that. And then Medd could quite easily have slipped into the Dominican Republic over the border.

But—assuming he was still alive—if he had left the country, why had he wanted to get out so quickly, without telling Carver?

"You're not telling him everything, Allain," Gustav growled at his son.

"Father, I don't think that's relevant," Allain said, avoiding looking at either of them.

"Oh, but it is," Gustav said. "You see, Max, Medd and Beeson had a predecessor—"

"Father—this is not important," Allain said, all bared teeth and fierce eyes and clenched fists.

"Emmanuel Michelange," Gustav said, raising his voice to a boom.

"Did he disappear too?" Max asked Allain, trying to draw him away from his father's orbit, hoping to divert another family explosion before it happened.

But the question caught Allain off-guard, and panic crept into his eyes.

Gustav stirred. He was going to speak, but Max quickly signaled for quiet with his index finger to his lip.

Allain didn't notice. He'd turned pale. His eyes were fixed but unfocused, his mind gone from the present, digging back through time. He didn't get too far before he drew up a bad memory. Sweat had pooled in the lines on his forehead.

"No, just—only Medd disappeared," Allain said, his voice fluttering. "Manno—Emmanuel—was found in Port-au-Prince."

"Dead?" Max said.

Allain replied, but the effort was so slight the word got caught in his throat.

"Was he split in two?" Max offered.