She heard the taxi before him. She cut herself short in her description of how it was to be married into the Service. She had been sitting on the sofa, her ankles tucked up beside her, her skirt tight above her knees.
The taxi drove away. She had stopped talking and her head was raised, listening. The cat hadn't moved. The cat didn't care who came, who went, as long as the lap was warm. Erlich heard the scraping of a key at the front door. He had to grin… James Rutherford coming home, and not able to get his key in the hole.
Hell of a start to your evening home. The third failure with the key, and she swung her legs off the sofa and stamped out into the hall in her stockinged feet.
Erlich heard the front door opened.
He listened.
'Hello, darling.'
'You're pissed.'
'Good cause, darling.'
'Always a good cause.'
'Blame the D. – G. '
'Come the other one.'
'Honest, darling, he had me in, really. He had me in, he poured me a killer.'
The softening in Penny Rutherford's voice, anxiety. 'Are you in trouble?'
' Y o u don't get half pints of Scotch if you're in trouble.'
'What did he want?'
' Y o u won't believe it…'
' T r y me.'
' H e wanted to talk about Buffalo Bill…'
Erlich heard the relief of her laughter.
'Who?'
' Y o u know, chap in your bath, Erlich.'
'What did you tell him?'
Erlich heard the bright chime of Penny Rutherford's giggle.
'I said that he was impetuous, more. I said he was too scholarly for the Service, too poetical, really, and anyway, I said, you turn your back on him for the length of a cornflake and he's in the bath with your wife. No, I black-balled him, ha! ha! ha!'
'Come on in, before you fall down.'
Penny led. She had the mischief in her eyes. Erlich thought that Rutherford would be struggling out of his coat, and there was the thudding of his overnight bag onto the polished floorboards in the hall. She was beautiful, and the mischief in her was explosive.
Rutherford came in.
Rutherford stopped.
'Oh, Christ… '
'Evening, James,' Erlich said.
'What the hell are you doing here?'
Erlich said, quiet and easy with a bit of a drawl like he came from cattle country, 'I came to take a bath.'
'Come on, you two. We'll watch James have his supper. I think you've had enough to drink, darling. Go and sit down and I'll heat it. Bill, catch him if he looks like falling.'
Rutherford stood straight. He stood like he was on parade. He even straightened his tie.
'Apart from the bath…?'
'I was bringing back your laundry, for which, again, thanks.'
'Ah, yes, the laundry… I hope they haven't used starch on my shirt,' Rutherford said. 'The rest of it is fixed, by the by.
We're given carte blanche to track down Colt. This is my full-time priority. No more side-shows, you'll work alongside me because that's the way you'll get to Colt…'
Somewhat later, they both kissed Penny Rutherford goodnight, and slipped out through the front door into the street.
Rutherford let him drive. When he wasn't dozing, when he wasn't giving the directions for the turn off the M3 onto the A303 and the right-hand fork at Stonehenge, he thought of Penny.
That was the trouble, too much thinking about Penny, not enough time to do anything about Penny. Pretty Penny, the wife left at home. .. Bedrock of Curzon Street, the wives that were left at home. On his floor, in the D Branch, he knew of four men who had moved out of their suburban houses that year, and exchanged their own homes for an inner London bedsit, bachelor apartment, studio, or whatever… She could have warned him, she could have whispered and pointed to the sitting room door Perhaps it was her bit of fun, pretty Penny little laugh, to let him lead with his big foot. Actually, all jokes aside, they were washed up. All the excuses could be tripped off, But, no, she hadn't warned him because she hadn't given a toss that he had made a rude bore of himself. He just thanked his stars he hadn't given away the true gist of it. The hair rose on his neck at the thought of it. Still, some comfort there. Tight as an owl and still a good Service man. A good Service man and a piss-awful husband. Go on the way they were heading and he'd be for the bachelor flat in no time, sure.
They both pretended to be asleep, and they were both awake.
Midnight chimed on the clock downstairs in the living room.
Sara knew the problem was new. He had slept after the last session with the bank manager, and he had slept after he had come back from being held by the Establishment police. He had played Scrabble with them, and he had made sure that it was always either Frank or Adam who won. He had been like any other parent. He had been like the fathers she saw at the school gate meeting their kids. Beside her, he twisted and turned.
She reached to touch his shoulder, felt him start away from her.
'What is it, Frederick? What's happened?'
It flew from him in a torrent.
'Whatever I've done is for you and for the boys. Whatever I am going to do, is only for you and for Adam and Frank. Only for you, only for them. Whatever I've done, whatever I'm going to do, don't listen to anyone. It's only for you… ' And then nothing more.
Her questions rebounded from his angular shoulder.
The car was where it had been the last time, in the driveway of the policeman's house, left in front of his darkened windows.
This night there was more light, half a moon and broken quick moving cloud, and they had skirted the village and come to the wood from the east side.
He heard the crushing of the dead leaves.
He lay in the wood loam. He was using his bivouac as his groundsheet. There was a big wind up high. but where he was the trees shielded him from the cold. There wern't trees heaving, not this night. He hadn't heard the collapse ol a lulling branch.
It wasn't a branch, broken off, that had crushed the leaves.
Rutherford was off to his left, beyond reach IFrom where he was, Rutherford could see the front gate of the Manor House, and could look over the outbuildings of the place, what had once been the pony and trap sheds, right to the front gate. Erlich watched the light on the stair window and he could see the kitchen door.
There was a light on in the empty kitchen
He heard the cracking of a twig.
He heard a soft, dried-breath throat growl
Fast, sudden movement. The weight buckled down onto Erlich. The blow of the weight onto his shoulder, and his back.
The stab of pain at his neck. Groping lot the holsiter. The weight was on his back and heaving down on the fist that scrabbles for the handle of the Smith and Wesson. The throbbing roar in his ears, and the torn hurt in his skin. Hand on the gun, the gun clear, twisting and rolling. The weight and the pain following him as he twisted, rolled. The gun put. The gun pressed against his chest. Foul breath spilling at his lace. The growl roar, and the weight, and the pain.
