“Oh, but you are, Detective. You want to question me about that nasty double murder you’re investigating. You want to know things only I can tell you. What is that but asking advice?” The black flame lit up his eyes. Lent his speech a subdued yet incandescent fury.

Finch leaned forward, into the teeth of Stark’s strength. “What do you know about the murders?”

Stark chuckled. “Finchy—that’s what Wyte calls you, I think. Finchy, I’ve been here two months. Why would you think I’d know anything about the murders, except that they occurred? Why, I’m just an immigrant, still getting my land legs. Imagine how many questions I have for you.”

Finch reached a decision. Slowly pulled the photo of the dead man from his jacket pocket. Slid it across the desk.

“Do you know this man?” The more questions Finch asked the fewer he’d have to answer. Or so he hoped.

Stark made a show of examining the photo, waved it at Bosun, who said, “Already saw it,” and went back to his whittling. Stark returned the photo to Finch.

“No. I don’t know him. But he looks peculiar. Like he’s having a very bad day, and it might get worse. Like he’s also sick of this freak show you call a city. Like he might just have decided to hang it all up and go on vacation.”

“Is that so?” Finch said, staring at the painting on the wall. “Maybe you should leave with him.” The blood. The bullet holes. Did Stark actually know anything? Tried to set aside his irritation. Knew he was just sick of Stark insulting his city.

“Don’t try to be clever—it doesn’t suit you. Here comes another one,” Stark said, glaring over Finch’s shoulder.

Bosun had finished his next carving in record time. Set it on the desk with something akin to sincerity. A man with a mushroom head. Wyte?

“What about the words bellum omnium contra omnes?” Finch asked. “Why did you ask Bliss about them?” Bosun had already seen that, too.

“Bosun,” Stark said, “did you ask Bliss about that mouthful? Bella … bella … Finchy, a little help?”

“Bellum omnium contra omnes.”

“No,” Bosun said. “Don’t know what that means. Just nailed him to a wall. Didn’t ask him anything.”

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,” Bosun said, smacking Finch across the back of the head.

Stark spread his hands in a cryptic gesture. “See, Detective? You really don’t understand who you’re dealing with at all. But now I’ve got a question: Why didn’t you arrest Bliss? Bosun says you and Wyte came out of his apartment empty-handed. When Bosun went back inside, Bliss wasn’t there. Where’d he go? Did you reach some kind of agreement with him? Except if you had, you wouldn’t be asking me where he’d hidden himself.”