‘I give you my word,’ said Spiridon, ‘on this relic.’ He removed a very old Serbian cross from under his shirt, the links of its chain damp with his sweat. ‘If you kill yourself, I will let them go. I want to see you take your own life. I want to watch you dishonor yourself in this world and damn yourself in the next.’

De Jaager swallowed once, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

The hammer fell. The gun clicked emptily.

For a moment there was silence, and then Spiridon Vuksan began to laugh. He was joined only by Zivco Ilić, for Radovan Vuksan had already left the room. The only people not laughing were Paulus, who was dead, and De Jaager, who soon would be.

‘That was a good joke, eh?’ said Spiridon.

He slapped De Jaager on the back and removed the gun from his hand. De Jaager did not resist. He did not even look up. His eyes were already fixed on the afterlife. There would be pain, but he was an old man and pain was not unfamiliar to him. He wished only that he could have spared others their agonies and, like Christ, added their sufferings to his own.

‘I am a man of my word,’ said Spiridon. ‘You failed to kill yourself, so I don’t have to let your women go. Come, come.’ He took one of De Jaager’s arms, and Ilić grabbed the other. Together they lifted the old man to his feet. ‘Let’s go upstairs. I have something I want you to see …’

Chapter VI

Angel and Louis ordered from Saiguette on Columbus Avenue. They got extra for Mrs Bondarchuk, although they did not invite her to join them and she did not ask. They ate grilled lemongrass pork shoulder banh mi and crispy shrimp, accompanied by half a bottle of German Riesling. When they were done, Louis washed up while Angel sat in his favorite armchair and read a book entitled I Await the Devil’s Coming. Parker had originally recommended it to Louis, but he set it aside after two pages on the grounds that he had no interest in the affairs of nineteen-year-old girls; never had, never would. The book dated from 1902 and had been written by Mary MacLane, the nineteen-year-old girl in question, a native of Butte, Montana. Angel hadn’t yet journeyed very far with MacLane, but he liked her already. She was a thief, but one with a coherent criminal philosophy.