Mr. Clarinet полностью

"Yes. He stole to order, because Le Docteur Duvalier wouldn't take just any child off the street. He was very specific about who he wanted. It was different every time. Sometimes he'd need a boy, sometimes a girl. They had to be born on a certain date, they had to come from a certain region. They had to be under a certain age. Never over ten. Their souls became less pure at that age. They started developing into adults then. They knew more."

"And the spirits wouldn't talk to them as much," Max concluded.

"Yes."

"So Maurice stole these children and Gustav Carver knew all about it?"

"Yes, he did—and more than that: he was in charge of procuring the children. Le Docteur Duvalier would specify what he wanted to Monsieur Carver. Monsieur Carver and Maurice would look around the country, photographing likely subjects. They would present the photographs to Le Docteur Duvalier, who'd choose the one he wanted."

Max's blood ran cold. Her eyes weren't lying and her body language wasn't deceptive or panicked. She was telling the truth. It figured. It fit. Everyone knew Gustav Carver was close to Papa Doc, that they went back a long way. Gustav was an opportunist. He probably saw in Duvalier a ruthlessness identical to his own—and the same will to act without conscience or remorse.

"What did Papa Doc use these children—these children's souls—what did he use them for?"

"To trick his enemies."

"How?"

"We all have a guarding spirit—a guardian angel, I suppose. They watch over us, protect us. When he'd captured a child's spirit, Le Docteur Duvalier made it do his bidding. He used them to fool the guardians who watched over his enemies into giving away their secrets, see if they were plotting to get rid of him."

"And for that he got—? What did Baron Samedi give him? The presidency?"

"Yes. And once he'd got it, Baron Samedi kept him in power, gave him dominion over all his enemies—as long as he made the offerings and continued to do his loas' bidding."

"And you believe this?"

"Maurice said Baron Samedi used to appear in the room during the ceremony."

"Yeah? Sure it wasn't the same guy was in that James Bond movie?"

"You can mock all you want, Mr. Mingus, but Le Docteur Duvalier was a very powerful man—"

"—who killed children—defenseless, innocent children. I don't call that 'powerful,' Eloise. I call that weak, and cowardly and evil," Max interrupted.

"Call it what you want," she bristled. "But it worked. No one killed him. No one overthrew him—and your people never invaded our homeland."

"I'm sure there are more earthly reasons for that, and your Doc is dead," Max said. "Talk to me about Carver and Codada. The child kidnapping. At what point did it become a business?"

"Once Le Docteur Duvalier was in power, he rewarded Monsieur Carver with business contracts and monopolies. Maurice became security advisor. Many people who had originally backed the president fell out of favor with him, but this never happened to Monsieur Carver or Maurice. They were at his bedside when he died."

"Touching," Max quipped. "So Carver built his modern business empire on the backs of kidnapped children?"

"Not to begin with. It was just expansion, growth, like they cut down forests to build roads and towns. Le Docteur Duvalier needed to make his offerings to keep going.

"Maurice told me Monsieur Carver saw the business potential when a CEO from a bauxite mining company came to Haiti. The island is naturally rich in bauxite. Monsieur Carver got involved in a potential deal, but he was up against a mining conglomerate from the Dominican Republic. He hired a private detective to do some research into the company, investigate its management. The managing director was a pedophile. He liked little Haitian boys.

"He kept a young boy in a house in Port-au-Prince. During the week the boy went to a private school. He was taught etiquette—table manners, the correct way of conducting himself in civilized company—"

"Just like you taught?" Max interrupted.

"Yes."

Max could see more pieces of the awful puzzle coming together. It suited Carver's MO: he wasn't a creator, he was a parasite. He'd been born into wealth and had set about acquiring more, not through entrepreneurship but by buying or bulldozing his way into ownership of businesses others had devoted their lives to setting up and running.

He thought of the old man, his house, his bank, his money. He felt suddenly irrelevant, canceled out. What was he now? A man who did good things for bad people?

"Go on," he murmured.

"The managing director was a family man, old money, with good connections in the Dominican government. A scandal like that would have ruined him."

"So—don't tell me—Gustav Carver presented the man with the evidence and made him pull out of the deal?"