He wondered who had decided upon the interior decor. He also wondered how much it had cost.
As he stood in the hallway with its two suits of genuine medieval armour guarding the doorway leading to the main sitting room, he was aware of eyes upon him. Those of the man in the brown suit.
Detective Sergeant Mark Boffey was a powerfully built man in his thirties. He regarded the newcomers from Cartwright with a combination of suspicion and contempt. Something Doyle wasn’t slow to pick up.
‘How many men are with you?’ Mel asked the Special Branch officer.
Three,’ Boffey told her.‘We set up a command post in one of the smaller rooms at the back of the house. All the closed-circuit stuff’s in there.There are cameras inside and outside the house. The only place that isn’t covered is the maze. Someone will have to watch twenty-four hours a day’
‘Just because you sat around getting piles doesn’t mean we have to,’ Doyle told him.
‘This man’s life is in danger. There are certain measures that must be taken to—’
Doyle cut him short. ‘Yeah, we’re aware of that,’ he said dismissively.
‘Has there been any activity while you’ve been here?’ Mel wanted to know.
‘If you mean has anyone had a crack at him yet, then no,’ Boffey told her.
‘But it’s coming.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ Mel asked.
There’ve been some threatening phone calls, hate mail. The usual thing.’
Boffey looked at all three of the bodyguards. ‘Are you armed?’
Doyle and his companions nodded.
‘How are they coping?’ Mel enquired.
‘Pretty well. Business as usual, all that crap.’
‘It might be an idea if we met them,’ said Mel.
Boffey nodded, glanced once more at Doyle then led the trio towards a door on the right.
It was a smaller sitting room, furnished with leather sofas and chairs. Beyond it,through an open door, Doyle caught sight of a kitchen. Through the window to his left he could see out over the garden that seemed to stretch away as far as the horizon. The maze lay at the bottom of it. The glass-enclosed pool, about two hundred yards from the house, was reached via a narrow gravel path.
Doyle saw a man in a pair of black trousers and a roll-neck sweater walking along the path towards the house. He had a shoulder holster.
‘One of my colleagues,’ Boffey said, aware that Doyle had spotted the other Special Branch man.
‘I didn’t think it was one of the assassins,’ Doyle told him.
‘We do a two-hourly search of the grounds,’ Boffey said, acidly. ‘It’s best to stay vigilant.’
‘We’ll bear that in mind,’ said the former counter terrorist.
Mel shot him a questioning look but Doyle was still looking at Boffey.
There was another door adjacent to the one leading into the kitchen and it was towards this one that the Special Branch man ushered them. He knocked once and walked in.
As Doyle followed his companions inside, he wasn’t sure where to look first.
‘Jesus,’ he murmured, under his breath.
It was like walking into an armoury.
Doyle allowed his gaze to move swiftly around the room, taking in as many details as he could.
The walls on every side were festooned with a dizzying display of ancient weapons: pikes, lances, spears, halberds.
He saw maces and battleaxes of various sizes.These were arranged amongst swords, sabres, scimitars and cutting weapons of such divergence Doyle wondered which historical wars they had come from.
And then there were the bows. Longbows and crossbows. Each one with at least six of its arrows or bolts.
The former counter terrorist could only begin to imagine how many lives had been taken by this massive array of antique killing instruments.The blades of some were polished, others rusted but still intact and wickedly sharp.
The room was a testament to the savagery of days gone by.A reminder that man’s mind is never so fertile as when devising methods of butchering his own kind.
‘Call it a passion.’ The words came from William Duncan. ‘I’m a collector.’
He noticed Doyle’s inquisitive gaze and smiled as he stepped forward to shake hands.
Duncan was a tall man. Broad-shouldered and possessed of an easy smile that seemed to contradict the deep frown lines across his forehead. Doyle felt the strength in his handshake as the introductions were made.
Helen Duncan also extended her hand and Doyle shook it more gently. He could smell her expensive perfume as she leant closer to him.
She was wearing tight black trousers and a dark-blue jumper that showed off her shapely figure to perfection. Her light-brown hair cascaded as far as her shoulder blades and, when she sat down again and crossed her legs, Doyle could see that the soles of her gleaming leather boots were barely marked. He could even see the size stamped there. The number thirty-seven was clearly visible.
These were either new or she didn’t do much walking in them, he decided.
Duncan gestured for the newcomers to sit down and all three did as they were instructed.
‘I assume you know all the details,’ he said.‘And you know what you have to do.’
‘Stop you getting killed,’ Doyle offered.
Duncan grinned. That would be most appreciated, Mr Doyle,’ he said.
‘If anyone comes at you, you should try using some of those against them,’
Doyle said, nodding in the direction of the weapons on the walls.
Again Duncan smiled.
‘The people before you stayed inside the house,’ Helen Duncan said. ‘You’ll do the same. There are rooms for each of you.’
‘Feel free to help yourself to food and drink,’ Duncan told them. The kitchen isn’t off limits.’ He gestured over his shoulder. There’s a games room along the hall. Should you need to pass the time then feel free to use that as well.
I realise this job can become somewhat tedious.’
‘Is there anyone else in the house other than yourself and your wife, Mr Duncan?’ Mel asked.‘Staff of any kind?’
‘We have a cleaner three times a week,’ said Helen Duncan. Two gardeners once a week.’
‘Would it be possible for me to have a list of all deliveries or visits you’re expecting from day to day?’ Mel continued.
Helen nodded.‘I’ll see to that now,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘In the meantime, I’ll show you to your rooms.’
Doyle and his companions stood up and followed the shapely young woman towards the door.
As they reached it, Duncan also rose. ‘I’ll ask now,’ he said evenly. ‘And I’d appreciate an honest answer.’
The three security personnel turned to look at him.
‘What are our chances of getting through this?’ Duncan wanted to know.
Mel opened her mouth to say something but no words came.
Duncan held up his hand.‘It was an unfair question,’ he conceded.
‘Let’s put it this way,’ Doyle interjected.‘If they come after you, they’ll have to be prepared to put their own lives on the line. If they get to you, that means they’ve got past us. It’s not going to happen.’
Duncan attempted a smile.
That’s the most reassurance I can give you, Mr Duncan. If I said anything else I’d be lying.’
‘I appreciate your candour.’
‘Are either of you religious?’ Doyle wanted to know. ‘Because if you’re not, now might be a good time to start.’
The faulty fluorescent in the kitchen buzzed like an irritated bluebottle.
