Part of him wanted to apologise, tell her he should have done more to keep her out of it, made a stronger case for leaving everything with the police. But really, that was a sentiment for his benefit: cure some guilt, or perhaps inoculate against a future dose. Stupid to show up here trying to make himself feel better. And anyway, this was Erin—pro-invasion Erin—the Erin who told him never listen if someone claims you made a wrong decision. He wondered if that philosophy had survived all this.

She opened her eyes. ‘No. The most important thing is, did you get them?’

Vincent nodded. ‘Delroy’s gone.’ He thought about his next line for a moment, but just couldn’t help himself: ‘Andre caught the train, too.’

‘Happy ending, then.’

‘Yeah. Although, there’s someone else I think we should visit.’

FORTY

FORTY

It was December before they made the drive. Vincent rented a car at the SLO airport, and they departed at five pm on a Wednesday afternoon. The direct route was around ninety minutes, a south-easterly bearing, more or less. Vincent diverted south and followed the 101 along the coast for the final half-hour stretch, the ocean looking clean and blue and settled, and the hills that sloped down to meet it revitalised to green by the winter.

When they reached Santa Barbara the sun had set, and it was full-dark as they ascended into the hills. He found Stanwood Drive, and they followed the curves to 1501. Vincent pulled up outside the iron gate, headlights sending gently angled bar-shadows across the driveway on the other side. No one in the guard booth. Locke had told him the man clocked off at six.

Vincent said, ‘You still want to do it?’

Erin nodded. A small movement edge-lit by dashboard glow. ‘Give it a try.’

Vincent lowered his window and used a knuckle to touch the intercom button labelled CROW.

A long pause, and then a click, and a woman’s voice said, ‘Yes?’

‘Mrs Crow, it’s Vincent. We met a couple of months ago. The day Eugene Lamar was killed.’

No answer. Then a click.

Vincent pressed the intercom button again.

A shorter wait this time: ‘Do I need to call the police?’

Vincent said, ‘I was going to ask you the same question.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You told me it isn’t courteous to go walking onto someone’s property uninvited. This is me asking for an invitation. And if now isn’t a good time, I can come back.’

Click.

‘All right. Can’t say I wasn’t polite.’

Vincent opened the glove compartment and removed the remote fob he’d taken from Gutierrez on the train. He aimed the device at the guard booth, and clicked the button.

Nothing for a second.

Then something hummed, and the gates began to separate.

Vincent took his foot off the brake. They rolled through.