him. Ben returned his gaze all the way to the firing point. Cleaver’s face turned from white to red. Then he broke eye contact and glanced down at his feet.
They took positions. ‘You first,’ Johnson said.
Ben took his time aiming. The sun was hot on the back of his neck. The cicadas were chirping loudly all around, mixing in the warm air with the murmur of anticipation from the crowd.
The trigger broke under his gentle squeeze. The rifle recoiled harshly upwards and back, the image in the scope lost in a blur.
The crowd’s murmur grew in volume as everyone searched the target for a bullet-hole. At that short range, every mark on the paper could be seen clearly with spotting scopes and binoculars.
‘You missed.’ Johnson was grinning. ‘Way, way wide.’
‘Not even on the paper,’ someone called out from the crowd. There was a general mutter of disappointment.
Ben looked back through the scope and smiled.
‘Hold on,’ said another spotter. ‘Look down. He weren’t aiming at no paper target.’
Carl had seen it. He slipped under the cordon and walked over to Ben’s side. His eyes were wide. ‘Holy shit,’ he breathed.
Johnson had seen it too. His face went pale.
In the short grass at the foot of the target, two matches were stuck in the ground a few inches apart. One of them was lit, its pale flame flickering in the breeze.
‘He struck the goddamn match,’ someone yelled.
Carl’s mouth was hanging open, speechless.
The mutter of the crowd became an excited buzz. People were staring at him in amazement. ‘Best shooting I ever saw,’ the ref said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘One in a million. Hell, ten million.’
‘Impossible,’ Johnson said. ‘He lit it when he was over there.’
The ref shook his head. ‘No way. It’d be burned all the way down by now. That’s why you waited so long to fire, right, mister?’ He smiled at Ben.
‘To hit a match at a hundred yards,’ Carl mumbled. ‘That’s one thing. But to strike it and light it…?’ He blinked and broke into a grin.
‘Your shot,’ Ben said to Johnson. ‘Still one match left.’
‘Where the hell did you learn to do that?’ Johnson asked.
‘Old army trick.’
‘They don’t learn to do that in my army.’
‘In my army, my regiment, they did.’
The Marine sniper had laid down his rifle. ‘I can’t equal that,’ he said. ‘I’m not even going to try.’ He put out his hand, and Ben shook it.
It was over. Ben quietly packed Carl’s Winchester into its case and gave it back to him. The young guy took it in his good hand, still grinning through his pain.
Back at the cordon, Miss Vale embraced Ben warmly. ‘I thought I was going to faint with tension,’ she whispered in his ear.
‘Someone had better drive Carl to the hospital now,’ Ben said. He felt a presence beside him and looked down to see the petite figure of Maggie, gazing at him admiringly. ‘I’ll take him,’ she volunteered. ‘I think Andy already left. He felt bad about what happened.’
Ben nodded. ‘Thanks. Good to have met you, Maggie.’ He turned to Carl. ‘You take care.’
‘Man, I still can’t believe what I just saw,’ Carl said as Maggie took his elbow. As she led the young guy away towards the parking field, she smiled back over her shoulder at Ben.
Miss Vale was hanging onto his arm, gushing praise. Ben just smiled graciously. Then the ref stepped up. ‘You have to come and collect your award,’ he said to Ben. ‘The press are waiting for you.’
‘Later,’ Ben replied. He was searching the crowd. The space where Cleaver had been standing before was empty. ‘Where’s Clayton?’ he asked Miss Vale.
‘He had a phone call to make. Some pressing matter he just remembered. He’s gone back to the house.’
‘I’ll see you afterwards,’ Ben said.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Clayton and I have some business to discuss.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Up close, the Cleaver house was impressively grand, with a neo-classical facade and tall white stone columns. Ben marched up the steps to the front entrance, walked straight in and found himself in a hallway. It could have been as opulent as Augusta Vale’s, but it had the look of a place that had seen better times.
A woman darted out of a doorway. She looked like staff, maybe a housekeeper or a PA. She saw him and her eyes widened.
‘Where’s Cleaver?’ he demanded.
‘Who are you?’
‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. But the nervous glance up the winding staircase behind her told him what he wanted to know. He shouldered past her and went striding up the stairs, two at a time, ignoring her protests. Finding himself on a long galleried landing he started throwing open every door he came to.
The fourth door he opened revealed Cleaver at the far end of a room sitting at his desk. Ben slammed the door behind him and walked inside. He glanced around him and saw he was in a study. There wasn’t much furniture in the place, and blank spaces on the walls where paintings had once hung. The room had a sad look about it. Obviously Cleaver had yet to collect his share of the Vale fortune.
Cleaver stood up, a little shaky. There was a bottle of bourbon and a glass in front of him.
‘Time for our little talk,’ Ben said. ‘Had you forgotten?’
Cleaver sank back down into the leather desk chair. Ben sat on the edge of the desk, two feet away from him.
The door burst open, and two big guys in suits came rushing in. They saw Ben and tensed, ready for trouble. ‘Everything OK, sir?’
‘Send them away,’ Ben said. ‘Or be responsible for what happens to them.’
Cleaver waved his hand at them. ‘It’s all right. Everything’s under control.’
The men shot lingering looks at Ben as they filed out and shut the door behind them.
‘You’re no theology student,’ Cleaver said.
‘I am. But I wasn’t always. We all have our secrets, Clayton. And you’re going to tell me yours.’
‘Or?’
Ben reached into the canvas bag and drew out the.475 Linebaugh. He pointed it at Cleaver’s chest. ‘You just watched me take out the centre of the target at a thousand yards. I’m not going to miss you from here.’
‘All right,’ Cleaver said. ‘Let’s talk.’
‘Where’s Zoe Bradbury?’
‘I really couldn’t answer that.’
‘Think hard. You can still talk with no legs.’
‘I mean what I said. I don’t know where she is.’
‘Don’t test me,’ Ben said. ‘Not wise.’
‘What is it you think I’ve done?’
‘She was blackmailing you. You decided you didn’t want to pay.’
‘I did pay,’ Cleaver protested. ‘I paid the money without hesitation. And I’ll pay the rest, when I get it. Just like I said I would. I’m a man of my word.’
Ben raised the pistol to the level of Cleaver’s head and cocked it. The metallic clunk filled the silence of the room.
