«Do you want to question this one?» Tiarella asked, gesturing at Whitley.

«No.»

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Whitley started screaming again as the coils round him flexed sinuously. The sound was swallowed up by the crack of snapping bones, a sickeningly wet squelching. Eason looked away, jaw clenched.

«I'll take their boat out and scuttle it,» Tiarella said. «Everyone will think the storm capsized them. You can bury the bodies. Somewhere where Althaea won't find them, please.»

• • •

«She asked me how old I thought you were,» Rousseau slurred, then burped. «I said thirty, thirty-five. Around there.»

«Thanks a lot,» Eason said. He was sitting with the old man, their backs against a fallen tree trunk on the lagoon's beach as the gloaming closed in. A bottle of Rousseau's dreadful home-brew spirits had been passed to and fro for over an hour. Eason wasn't drinking any more, though he made it look like he was.

«You're a good man. I see that. But Althaea, I love her. The two of you together, it's not right. Who knows how long you're gonna stay, eh? These people, your enemies, they could find you. Even here.»

«Right.»

«She would cry if you left her. She would cry more if you were taken away from her. You understand? I couldn't stand to see her cry. Not my little Althaea.»

«Of course. Don't worry. I like Tiarella.»

«Ha!» He coughed heavily. «That's a mistake, too, my friend. She's a harsh, cold woman, that Tiarella. Cracked up completely after her Vanstone died. Never shown a single emotion since, not one. She won't be interested in you.»

Eason grunted his interest and passed the bottle back. A sheet of low cloud hid the stars and moons. Balmy warmth and serenity were a profound contrast to the storm of the previous night. «She loves Althaea, that's an emotion.»

Rousseau took a long swig, his eyelids drooping. «Crap. Loves nobody else, not even her own children.» He took another swig, the liquid running down his stubble. «Gave one away. Said she couldn't afford to keep it here. I pleaded, but she wouldn't listen. Damn ice woman. Never thanks me for what I do, you know. Kept Charmaine going, I have. All for my little Althaea, not her.» He started to slide over, the bottle slipping from his fingers.

Eason put out a hand to steady him. «Gave one what away?»

Rousseau only mumbled, saliva bubbling from his mouth. His eyes had closed.

«Gave what away?» Eason shook him.

«Twins. She had twins,» Rousseau sighed. «Beautiful twins.» Then every muscle went limp; he sprawled on the sand as Eason let go.

Eason looked at him for a long moment. Pathetic and utterly harmless. But he was a liability.

He scanned his retinal amps round the edge of the lagoon, searching for the tell-tale rosy glow that would reveal Solange watching him. All he could see was the black and grey of the tangled trees.

Rousseau was so drunk he didn't even react to having his head immersed in the water. Eason held him under for two minutes, then waded out and started to sweep away the incriminating tracks in the sand.