Chapters (62)
- Cover
- Other Books by This Author
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Part One: The Orphans of Murder
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Part Two: In the Absence of Justice
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Part Three: At Any Cost
- Prologue
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- Acknowledgments
“The big military hardware has all been rendered more or less unfireable. I also have some interesting smaller pieces that do work. But I’m not a dealer. Dealers need federal licenses. So I’m not a dealer. I’m what the law calls a hobbyist. And sometimes I sell something in my personal collection to another hobbyist. You get my point?”
“I think so. What kind of guns do you sell?”
“Unusual guns. And I have to feel in each case that it’s the right match for the particular individual. I make that perfectly clear. If all you want’s a fuckin’ Glock, then go to fuckin’ Walmart. That’s my firearms philosophy, and I’m not shy about it.” The brogue was creeping back in. “On the other hand, if you want a Second World War Vickers machine gun, more or less deactivated, with a matching antiaircraft tripod, we might have reason to converse, assuming you were a hobbyist like myself.”
Gurney pivoted lazily around on the bench so he could look out over the brown water of the marsh. He yawned and stretched, then smiled at Clinter. “So tell me, do you actually know anything about the Good Shepherd case, as Kim thinks you do? Or is that all just a bunch of bobbing and weaving and bullshit?”
The man stared at Gurney for a long time before he spoke. “Is it bullshit that all the cars were black? Is it bullshit that two of the victims went to the same high school in Brooklyn? Is it bullshit that the Good Shepherd murders tripled the ratings and profits of RAM News? Is it bullshit that the FBI erected a total wall of silence around the case?”
Gurney turned his hands up in bafflement. “What’s that supposed to add up to?”
“Evil, Mr. Gurney. At the bottom of this case, there is an incredible evil.” His hands were squeezing, releasing, squeezing, releasing the exercisers with movements so rapid they appeared convulsive. “By the way, did you know there are some fucked-up people in the world who have orgasms watching films of car crashes? Did you know that?”
“I think someone made a movie about it back in the nineties. But that isn’t what you think the Good Shepherd case is about … is it?”