Fever Dream - Douglas Preston [103]
“What about the Black Frame? Was that you who chased us?”
“Yes, it was. Blast egged you on about the Black Frame. He wanted you to find it, figured you might be just smart enough to succeed where he’d failed. You impressed him. But the cops are going to know all about this if they don’t already, all that bullshit you pulled at the Donette Hole. Believe me, if I disappear they’ll be all over this place with hound dogs.”
“They’ll never connect me to Blast.”
“Of course they will! Blast told me you accused him of killing your wife. You’re up to your neck in the investigation already!”
“Did Blast kill my wife?”
“He said he didn’t, had nothing to do with it.”
“And you believed him?”
Hudson was talking as fast as he could, his heart racing painfully in his chest. “Blast was no saint, but he wasn’t a killer. He was a weasel, a con man, a manipulator. He didn’t have the guts to kill someone.”
“Unlike you. Hiding in my garage with a gun.”
“No, no! This wasn’t a hit, I was only looking to make a deal. I’m just a PI trying to make a living. You’ve got to believe me!” His voice cracked in panic.
“Must I?” Pendergast slid the gun away. “You may get up, Mr. Hudson.”
He rose to his feet. His face was wet with tears and he was shaking all over, but he didn’t care. He was overwhelmed with hope.
“You’re slightly more intelligent than I had assumed. Instead of killing you, shall we go back inside, enjoy that sherry, and discuss the terms of your employment?”
Hudson sat in the sofa next to the hot fire, sweating all over. He felt drained, exhausted, and yet alive, tingling, as if he’d been born again and was walking the earth as a new man.
Pendergast sat back in his chair with a strange half smile. “Now, Mr. Hudson, if you’re going to work for me, you’ve got to tell me everything. About Blast, about your assignment.”
Hudson was only too grateful to talk. “Blast called me after you visited him. You really scared him, with your talk of illegal furs. He said he was putting his whole operation on ice, indefinitely. He also said you were on the track of the painting, the Black Frame, and he wanted me to follow you around so that if you found it, I could get it away from you.”
Pendergast nodded over tented fingers.
“As I said, he hoped you’d lead him to the Black Frame. I followed you, I saw that business you pulled at Pappy’s. I gave chase but you got away.”
Another nod.
“So I went back to report to Blast, found him dead. Shotgun at close range, tore him up real nice. Owed me over five grand in time and expenses. I figured you killed him. And I figured to pay you a visit, take back what was owed me.”
“Alas, I did not kill Blast. Someone else got to him.”
Hudson nodded, not knowing whether to believe him or not.
“And what did you know of Mr. Blast’s business?”
“Not much. Like I said, he was involved in the illegal wildlife trade—animal skins. But his big thing seemed to be that Black Frame. He was half crazy over it.”
“And your own employment history, Mr. Hudson?”
“I used to be a cop, got put in the back office because of diabetes. Couldn’t stand a desk job, so I became a PI. That was about five years ago. Did a lot of work for Mr. Blast, mostly looking into the backgrounds of his… business partners and suppliers. He was very careful who he dealt with. The wildlife market’s crawling with undercover cops and sting operators. He mostly dealt with some guy named Victor.”
“Victor who?”
“I never heard the last name.”
Pendergast looked at his watch. “It is dinnertime, Mr. Hudson, and I’m sorry you can’t stay.”
Hudson felt sorry, too.
Pendergast reached into his suit and pulled out a small sheaf of bills. “I can’t speak for what Blast owes you,” he said, “but this is for your first two days’ employment. Five hundred a day plus expenses. From now on you work without a firearm and you work only for me. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There’s a small town called Sunflower, just west of the Black Brake swamp. I want