He chortled. “She’d say what we tell her to say. It’s quite easy, old chap. You forced your way in, became violent, threatened Kate here… self defence.
Inspector Wilson wouldn’t take much persuading.”
“You bastard! How did Wilson get involved?”
He smirked, and held the gun level with my chest.
I cast my eyes past him, in desperation. “Kate! Kate Graveney. Are you going to sit there and watch a man murdered in cold blood?!”
Kate’s eyes were wide. She edged forward in her seat. The leather creaked. It was enough. Tony half turned to see her reaction and I threw my glass of whisky into the fire. The smash of the crystal and the burst of flames made him reel back. The gun lifted and I hit him with everything I had in a desperate shoulder charge. He went over backwards into Kate’s lap. The gun exploded in a huge roar that started Kate screaming. The shot hit the ceiling. Before Caldwell could right himself, I had gripped his wrist and was battering it on the tiled hearth.
He was punching at my face with his free left hand but I kept smashing his wrist and knuckles on the stone till the revolver rolled free.
I grabbed it and tumbled clear. I got to my feet shaking with emotion. Caldwell disentangled himself from Kate’s legs and they both dragged themselves upright.
I had at least wiped the smiles off their faces. Tony nursed his bruised hand. I could feel blood running from an eye. He’d opened up one of Wilson’s cuts. But I had the gun.
“I wasn’t going to shoot you, Danny. Just hold you till the police got here. You know that.”
He kept his face calm but I could hear the pleading note; I liked that.
“Do I? The only thing you’re sure of when you’re looking down one of these…” I waved the gun. “… is that it would make a very big hole in you. Why shouldn’t I use it on you, Tony? You tell me I’ve killed once. It’s probably easier the second time, don’t you think?” I brought my left hand round to steady the heavy weapon. The thought went through my mind that I could do it. It would be easy, and what did it matter anyway?
Some of my thoughts must have registered on my face. Panic flooded his eyes.
“For god’s sake man! The police are probably already on their way. You wouldn’t get a hundred yards. You’d be mad to do this! You’d hang!”
I smiled. “But, Tony, I thought you’d already decided I was mad. Shooting you would be the work of a madman. They’d send me to the hospital, not the gallows.”
Kate broke her silence. “Danny, don’t. It was all a stupid game. This won’t help you. It won’t solve anything.” Her lovely face was creased in fear. Maybe it was the use of my first name; I stopped enjoying having Caldwell at the end of my gun. She pressed her advantage. “Go now, Danny. Before they catch you. The servants are probably on the phone, right now.”
Just as she said this the library door burst open and an anxious face showed round the door.
“Are you all right, ma’am, sir…?”
I cut off any reply. “They’re all right. So far! Get in here. Now!”
The servant edged in, face white. He raised his hands. He’d seen too many gangster films.
“Stand over there! And you two.” I indicated with my gun that all three should get over behind the table, away from the main door. I held the Colt on them. The firm grip and heavy barrel felt good, familiar. Gave a man confidence. I walked over to the rear door where Tony had entered, locked it and pocketed the key.
Then I headed for the main door, grabbing my coat and hat as I went, all the while covering the little group.
I could feel the fury draining from me, along with my energy. The headache was starting. My vision was beginning to go. I fumbled for the key on the main door and walked outside. I closed it and rammed the key home and locked them in. I could hear their voices rushing towards the door. Kate and Tony were furious.
Good.
“Is everything all right, sir?” Millie’s anxious little face met me halfway across the floor. She shrieked and held her hands to her mouth when she saw the gun in my hand. “You haven’t killed them, sir, have you? You didn’t…?”
“No, Millie. They’re all right. Just get the front door will you?”
She fled in front of me, darting her eyes round a couple of times in case I was going to shoot her in the back. Her chest was heaving and she was snivelling with fear. I wondered how it had been for the French girl. I shook my bursting head, pulled on my coat and stuffed the revolver into its big pocket. I jammed the hat on and stepped into the night past Millie’s terrified face. I paused.
“Show me your hands, Millie.”
Her mouth gaped and gulped, but her gloved hands came up in supplication, palms up. The white cotton was immaculate.
I took the gun out of my pocket and laid it across her stiff fingers. She held it like a dead fish.
“Don’t pull the trigger, Millie, There’s a good girl.”
She just nodded, tears streaming down her round face, her round lips pursed with terror. I almost kissed them.
I stumbled down the stairs and off into the night, wondering where I could go and how long before they caught me. For I had no doubt that Caldwell would unleash the hounds on me, and Wilson would be coming after me with glee in his vicious little heart.
EIGHTEEN
I headed north – homing instinct? – home to mother? It was starting to rain, that steady drizzle that soaks right through. Some Ayrshire clouds must have strayed south. I half-ran, half-stumbled, clinging to the park railings for support as I broke clear of Onslow Gardens, and came to the lit area round the underground at South Kensington. Two policemen were watching the crowds pouring into the station hall. Were they on to me already? I couldn’t risk it. I pulled my brim down further and detoured round the corner and away, still heading north. It was getting harder to walk straight; I saw splintered images, fractured lights through the downpour. A car blasted its horn at me.
“You drunken fool!” he shouted.
And that’s how it looked; this clown in a drenched coat and hat, crashing off railings and holding on to walls, lurching across roads, one foot forward, two to the side, in a drunken dance. Like the famous parties with the boys back home. Big Tam and Archie and me – fu’ as monkeys. The three musketeers. Here’s tae us, wha’s like us, damn few, and they’re a’ deid!
A’ deid. They’re a’ deid. And I might as well be. Valerie, Valerie, where are you? I need you.
I floundered into another set of railings. They forced me to turn off my course, pushed me to the right. Where was I? The map in my head wasn’t working. Then I saw the tall memorial, and the seated man, the golden man, shining in the moonlight. Albert. The love of Vickie’s life. It was Hyde Park. The railings were high, and I was dissolving. But I was also desperate. I found the gate which gave me easier footholds and hauled myself up and over, crashing in a heap on the other side.
I smelled grass and horse-shit, and crawled and staggered across the riding track. There were trees and shrubs, blessed camouflage but no place to spend a filthy night. I flopped across the soaking grass like a landed fish. Moonlight on water ahead. The Serpentine. The boathouse. Where Val and I walked the other day, the other life.
I felt my feet hitting boards, and clung to the wooden walls looking for a door or a window. Couldn’t be conspicuous. The park police would check later, on their rounds. Had to do it quietly and carefully. Nothing to show. There was a door. With a big padlock and a chain. I didn’t have my burglar’s kit and even if I did I didn’t have fingers that worked anymore. I kept searching. Nothing.
I smashed my shins on something, a wood bench. Cursing I sat down and nursed my pain till it ebbed. I leaned over feeling sick. When it passed I straightened up and patted the rough slats. At least I was under the shelter of the porch roof.
I had no choice. The band was tightening and the bad taste thickened my tongue.