Morton’s brain was racing at lightningspeed, as he tried to work out what to do next for the best. From pastexperience, fighting wasn’t a great option and so far he could see nothing inthe room that could be used as a weapon.
‘I asked you a question—you or her first?’Mark shouted.
‘Er… me,’ Morton stammered. ‘Butbefore you do it, could you answer me one question?’
‘No,’ Mark said with another laugh.
Morton was running out of time. ‘Iknow you work as a security guard at Blackfriars, so I assume the order camefrom there…’ Morton let his words hang in the air, hoping that it wouldcatch the intruder off-guard. He remembered that Juliette had said he washapless and not a very good shot. Morton had quickly assimilated a hastyplan and it relied very heavily on that information’s being correct.
‘How do you know I work there?’ Markasked, lowering the gun slightly.
‘I’ve seen you there. Was it LordRothborne that sent you to do his dirty work?’
Mark scowled. ‘No, he ain’t got aclue about none of this.’
‘Who then?’ Morton persisted.
Mark sniffed and smiled. ‘Supposethere’s something quite poetic about the last words you hear being the name ofthe person who wants you dead.’ Mark laughed again.
Morton saw his chance.
With all the power he could muster, helaunched his laptop from under his arm, aiming straight for the assailant’shand which held the weapon. The laptop flew through the air. Marksaw what was happening a moment too late, raised the gun to take a shot, justas the laptop cracked down on his wrist. He squeezed the trigger and thebarrel flipped upwards in a jerking motion, as the bullet glanced his foreheadand penetrated the ceiling. The gun tumbled from Mark’s hand and fell tothe floor. Both Mark and Morton dived for it, but Mark, being closer, hadthe advantage and his hand reached out towards the hand grip.
Morton watched as, in a flash, Julietterocked her chair from one side then to the next, sending herself crashing downonto the intruder. It was enough to buy Morton a few preciousseconds. He reached down, grabbed the gun and backed himself away to thedoor.
With a hulking shove, Mark pushed Julietteoff him; her head hit the floor with a painful thud. ‘You ain’t going touse that,’ Mark sneered. ‘Go on, shoot me.’
‘Stay where you are,’ Morton shouted.
Mark slowly began to pull himself up untilhe was standing.
‘I said don’t move,’ Morton yelled.
Still Mark ignored him, a loutish grinwide on his face and made a step towards him.
Morton knew that he had to act but he alsoknew that he couldn’t bring himself to actually kill someone. He loweredthe gun slightly and pulled the trigger.
Mark let out an agonising scream as thebullet passed into his right foot.
‘Sit down or I’ll shoot your other foot,’Morton warned, surprising himself with the commanding authority in his voice.
Mark fell to the floor clutching his foot,moaning and writhing in pain.
Morton, with the gun pointing at Mark,carefully stepped over to Juliette and removed the gag from her mouth. She gasped and drew in a great lungful of air. ‘Are you okay? Didhe hurt you?’
‘I’m fine, a little bit dazed from hittingthe floor just then,’ she said.
Morton moved behind the chair and began tountie the rope. Moments later, Juliette was freed and Morton offered herthe gun.
‘You keep it, you did a really good job,Morton. I’ll phone the police.’
‘Hang on a moment,’ Morton directed. He had suddenly became aware of the vast quantities of adrenalin rushing aroundhis body and he felt his limbs begin to quiver. He definitely was notsuited to a career in law enforcement. However, he wanted to make onefinal use of his power.
Juliette looked at him in surprise. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Shoot him and plead self-defence,’ Mortonsaid firmly.
‘But…’ Juliette began, ‘you can’t. Don’t!’
Morton aimed the gun at the assailant.
‘Stop!’ Juliette shouted.
Mark looked up pitifully, having removedhis shoe and sock he was now cradling his foot in his arm, as though it were anew-born baby. Wet streaks coursed down his cheeks. ‘Please, don’tshoot me.’
‘Who sent you?’ Morton demanded.
Mark needed no extra threats. ‘Daphne Mansfield.’
‘Why?’ Morton asked. He already knewthe answer.
‘She didn’t tell me the ins-and-outs ofit, just that she wanted to protect the next generations of Mansfields atBlackfriars. That’s all I know. Honest.’
Morton nodded to Juliette and she calledthe police.
It was game over for Mark Drury.
Fourhours had passed since the drama had ended and the police had carted Mark Druryaway. Lying in his dark bedroom with only a glimmer of moonlight creatingbizarre shadows and shapes on the ceiling, Morton was wide awake. Juliette was sleeping peacefully beside him, as if being taken hostage andthreatened with a gun was just another ordinary day. He supposed that itwas the kind of situation for which she was being trained. She had fallenasleep within seconds of her head hitting the pillow and now Morton was leftwide awake, mulling over the latest developments in the Mercer Case. Heremembered, then, that Jenny was going to send over the certificates for GeorgeMansfield’s birth, marriage and death. He could easily and quickly havechecked his emails on his phone, but he convinced himself to head back up tohis study to look at them on his laptop in the context of the whole case.
Having made himself a decaf coffee, Mortonmade his way to his study. With a slight trepidation, he pushed open thedoor and switched on the light. The violent scenes from earlier in theday, made manifest in the blood-stained carpet, replayed in his mind and heconsidered just how close he and Juliette had come to being seriously injuredor worse. Although Juliette and the armed police who stormed the houseall praised his actions and bravery, in reality he knew that his survival wasmore down to Mark Drury’s incompetence than his own gallantry.
With his laptop fired up and thankfullyunharmed from being launched at Mark, Morton opened his emails and sipped hiscoffee. Above an email with attachments from Jenny were two otheremails. He started at the top and worked his way down. The firstemail was from a Thomas Day. Dear Morton, I received your letter aboutmy grandmother,
