； light from the landing shining on his wide； smooth brow。 Luther recognized the face； from the funeral perhaps？ Behind him； in shadow； was a heavier figure。
〃I'd like a word；〃 said the first。
〃How did you get in here？ Who the hell are you？〃 〃Just a word。 About your employer。〃 〃Are you from the press； is that it？ Look； I've told you everything I know。 Now get the hell out of here before I call the police。 You've got no right breaking in here。〃 The second man stepped out of the shadows and looked up the stairs。 His face was made…up； that much was apparent even from a distance。 The flesh was powdered； the cheeks rouged： he looked like a pantomime dame。 Luther stepped back from the top of the stairs； mind racing。 〃Don't be afraid；〃 the first man said； and the way he said it made Luther more afraid than ever。 What capacities might such politeness harbor？
〃If you're not out of here in ten seconds…〃 he warned。
〃Where is Joseph？〃 the polite man asked。
〃Dead。〃 〃Are you sure？〃 〃Of course I'm sure。 I saw you at the funeral； didn't I？ I don't know who you are…〃 〃My name is Mamoulian。〃 〃Well； you were there； weren't you？ You saw for yourself。 He's dead。〃 〃I saw a box。〃 〃He's dead； man；〃 Luther insisted。
〃You were the one who found him； I gather；〃 the European said； moving a few silent paces across the hallway to the bottom of the stairs。
〃That's right。 In bed；〃 Luther replied。 Maybe they were press； after all。 〃I found him in bed。 He died in his sleep。〃 〃e down here。 Furnish the details； if you would。〃 〃I'm fine where I am。〃 The European looked up at the chauffeur's frowning face； felt； tentatively； at the nape of his neck。 There was too much heat and dirt in there； he wasn't resilient enough for an investigation。 There were other； cruder methods； however。 He half…gestured toward the Razor…Eater； whose sandalwood presence he smelled close。
〃This is Anthony Breer；〃 he said。 〃He has in his time dispatched children and dogs…you remember the dogs； Luther？…with admirable thoroughness。 He is not afraid of death。 Indeed he enjoys an extraordinary empathy with it。〃 The pantomime face gleamed up from the stairwell； desire in its eyes。
〃Now； please；〃 Mamoulian said； 〃for both our sakes； the truth。〃 Luther's throat was so dry the words scarcely came。 〃The old man's dead；〃 he said。 〃That's all I know。 If I knew any more I'd tell you。〃 Mamoulian nodded； the look on his face as he spoke was passionate； as if he genuinely feared for what must happen next。
〃You tell me something I want to believe； and you say it with such conviction I almost do。 In principle I can leave； content； and you can go about your business。 Except〃…he sighed； heavily…〃except that I don't quite believe you enough。〃 〃Look； this is my fucking house！〃 Luther blustered； sensing that extreme measures were needed now。 The man called Breer had unbuttoned his jacket。 He wore no shirt underneath。 There were skewers threaded through the fat of his chest； transfixing his nipples； crossways。 He reached up and drew two out； no blood came。 Armed with these steel needles； he shuffled to the bottom of the stairs。
〃I've done nothing；〃 Luther pleaded。
〃So you say。〃 The Razor…Eater began to mount the stairs。 The unpowdered breasts were hairless and yellowish。
〃Wait！〃 At Luther's shout； Breer paused。
〃Yes？〃 said Mamoulian。
〃You keep him off me！〃 〃If you have something to tell me； spit it out。 I'm more than eager to listen。〃 Luther nodded。 Breer's face registered disappointment。 Luther swallowed hard before speaking。 He'd been paid what was to him a small fortune not to say what he was about to say； but Whitehead hadn't warned him that it would be like this。 He'd expected a gaggle of inquisitive reporters； perhaps even a lucrative offer for his story to go into the Sunday papers； but not this： not this ogre； with his doll's face and his bloodless wounds。 There was a limit to the amount of silence any money could buy； for Christ's sake。
〃What have you got to say？〃 Mamoulian asked。
〃He's not dead；〃 Luther replied。 There： it wasn't so difficult to do； was it？ 〃It was all set up。 Only two or three people knew： I was one of them。〃 〃Why you？〃 Luther wasn't certain on this point。 〃I suppose he trusted me；〃 he said； shrugging。
〃Ah。〃 〃Besides； somebody had to find the body； and I was the most believable candidate。 He just wanted to make a clean getaway。 Start again where he'd never be found。〃 〃And where was that？〃 Luther shook his head。 〃I don't know； man。 Anywhere； I suppose； where nobody knows his face。 He never told me。〃 〃He must have hinted。〃 〃No。〃 Breer took heart at Luther's reticence； his look brightened。
〃Now e on；〃 Mamoulian coaxed。 〃You've given me the motherlode； where's the harm in telling me the rest？〃 〃There is no more。〃 〃Why make pain for yourself？〃 〃He never told me； man！〃 Breer took a step up the stairs； and another； and another。
〃He must have given you some idea；〃 Mamoulian said。 〃Think！ Think！ You said he trusted you。〃 〃Not that much！ Hey； keep him off me； will you？〃 The skewers glittered。
〃For Christ's sake keep him off me！〃
There were many pities。 The first was that one human being was capable of such smiling brutality to another。 The second that Luther had known nothing。 His fund of information had been； as he'd claimed； strictly limited。 But by the time the European was certain of Luther's ignorance the man was past recall。 Well； that wasn't strictly true。 Resurrection was perfectly plausible。 But Mamoulian had better things to do with his waning stamina； and besides； letting the man remain dead was the one way he could pensate for the suffering the chauffeur had vainly endured。
〃Joseph。 Joseph。 Joseph；〃 Mamoulian chided。 And the dark flowed on。
X Nothing； and After
54
Having secured himself all he needed for a long vigil at the house on Caliban Street…reading material； food； drink…Marty returned there and watched through most of the night； with a bottle of Chivas Regal and the car radio for pany。 Just before dawn he deserted his watch and drove drunkenly back to his room； sleeping through until almost noon。 When he woke his head felt the size of a balloon； and as stalely inflated； but there was purpose in the day ahead。 No dreams of Kansas now； just the fact of the house and Carys locked up in it。
After a breakfast of hamburgers he returned to the street； parking far enough away to be inconspicuous； yet close enough to see the ings and goings。 He spent the next three days…in which the temperature rose from the high seventies into the middle eighties…in the same location。 Sometimes he'd catch a few minutes of cramped sleep in the car； more often he returned to Kilburn to snatch an hour or two。 The furnace of the street became familiar to him in all its moods。 He saw it just before dawn； flickering into solidity。 He saw it in midmorning； young wives out with children； business in their walk； in the gaudy afternoon too； and in the evening； when the sugar…pink light of a declining sun made brick and slate exult。 The private and public lives of the Calibanese unfolded to him。 A spastic child at Number Sixty…seven； whose anger was a secret vice。 The woman at Number Eighty…one who weled a man to the house daily at twelve…forty…five。 Her husband； a policeman to judge by shirt and tie； was weled home each night with a ration of doorstep ardor in direct proportion to the time wife and lover had spent together at lunchtime。 More too： a dozen； two dozen stories； interlocking； dividing again。
As to the house itself； he saw occasional activity there； but not once did he glimpse Carys。 The blinds at the middle windows were kept drawn throughout the day and only lifted in the late afternoon； when the strongest of the sun was past。 The single top…story window looked to be permanently shuttered from inside。
Marty concluded that there were only two people in the house besides Carys。 One； of course； was the European。 The other was the butcher that they'd almost faced back at the Sanctuary； the dog…killer。 He came and went once； sometimes twice； daily； usually about some trivial business。 An unpalatable sight； with his cosmeticized features； his hob