Behind the houses was scrubland that terminated at a post and rail fence, with farmland beyond. On the other side of the fence, running parallel, was a gully.
They climbed the fence and walked along it, just their heads visible to anyone who might have been in one of the buildings. They walked slowly because the ground was littered with trash and rocks. Karl led, with Liz bringing up the rear. He was cold and wished he’d selected more than just a T-shirt for the trip. Then again, he hadn’t expected to be traipsing around some field. They walked in silence. It didn’t take long. Times flies when you’re walking into the unknown.
The back of the house had an extension that looked like a kitchen. The light was on and the chimney poured smoke. People sometimes went out and left lights on, but surely not fireplaces burning away. Karl had hoped Gold would be in. Now he wished the guy would pop out of existence. They’d come all this way, but he suddenly had a bad feeling about this house.
To shift his mind off what lay ahead, Karl said: ‘Danny said he lost the use of his legs in a bike crash. Is that true?’
In the dark, he saw her chest vibrate. Humour, but the annoyed kind. She said: ‘You’re wondering if it was actually because of the job he did. Working for my husband. Some kind of gangland thing. Because they all die or end up in prison, right?’
He nodded. ‘Understandable, right? Look what we’ve been through today, Liz.’
‘Danny wasn’t tortured by a rival gang, he didn’t get shot during a bank robbery and a home-made bomb didn’t explode while he was fixing it to a prosecution witness’s car. It’s not like it appears in the movies. Okay?’
He could tell she was sick and tired of people talking about her husband’s way of life. Well, he bloody chose it. And she chose him. And Karl had been slap bang in the middle of it today. ‘Sorry I asked.’
She mellowed. ‘It was a bike crash, Karl. I admit that Danny had a role that he needed to be fit and active for. After the accident Ron booted him out. It didn’t go down well with Danny, of course. For his own good, Ron said, but that annoyed Danny. Said it made no sense. But in the end, Ron had to cast aside the caring boss attitude and become mean. He said Danny was no good to him as a cripple. But I’m glad Danny got out. He’s my friend.’
It was virtually an admission that it was dangerous to be in Ronald Grafton’s orbit, despite her response thirty seconds earlier.
‘Now let’s talk no more, because we’re wasting time.’
He turned his attention to the house again, knowing she was right. A minute wasted here meant a minute longer to get to Katie. ‘So what do we do?’
In answer, Liz climbed over the fence and, bent low, scuttled across the scrubland. She stopped at the kitchen window and looked in, eyes and forehead peeking up like some kid noseying on a neighbour. It would have looked funny, except that it proved even Liz was nervous about what they might find at the house. Their pursuers had posted men outside Karl’s house: they could have men waiting here too.
Karl shouted a whisper, trying to draw her back until they could formulate a plan. But when she tried the door and it opened, he cursed and followed her.
They stood at the open door, bathed in light, and waited, listening. No sounds. He didn’t want to walk inside, even just one step. His instinct was screaming at him not to.
‘Through the kitchen door there’s a hallway. Three doors and some stairs. A waiting room, a study, and the office. Bedrooms upstairs. Normally he lives in the study with his books and iPad, but if he’s waiting for us then he’ll be in the office. Second door on the right, just past the stairs.’
Karl forced himself to enter the house. Big, confident steps, although he wasn’t sure that they’d look that way to anyone watching. The kitchen floor was carpeted, which helped kill the sound of their footsteps. The door in the far wall was ajar and he put his head through. Slowly. No one chopped it off. As promised, a hallway beyond. Dark, but faint yellow light flickered on the ceiling.
A door in the right-hand wall was wide open. Outwards, just eight feet away, and hinged on the side nearest to him which meant he couldn’t see the room it belonged to and, worse, it blocked his view of the entire right side of the hallway. And whoever might be hiding there with a knife. On the left side was a wooden staircase, rising towards him, which meant he could only see the underside of it. Cardboard boxes were neatly stacked underneath. Gold’s files, no doubt. There was a door by the foot of the stairs, shut, with a plaque that said: WAITING ROOM.
His two choices were: backtrack and flee into the night, or step out and face what was behind that door.
He scuttled quickly to the door blocking the hallway, leaned close and peeked through the gap. A lamp on a table shed enough light for him to see most of a study. It was empty of life. He shut the door and tried not to convince himself he did it to clear an escape route.
Now the rest of the hallway was exposed. No masked madman. Two more doors: the front door in the far wall, and one at the end of the right-hand wall. The office. The door was open like an invitation. The flickering yellow light, surely from a fireplace, oozed from beyond. The last place to check, because Karl had already decided he wasn’t going upstairs. Gold expected them, and if he wasn’t waiting down here then something had gone badly wrong. But he could spare three more seconds, make a few more steps, to know for sure. He was tempted to call out for the man, but didn’t. Always safer if— He was within two steps of the doorway when he sensed it: the unmistakable feeling of another presence.
* * *
McDevitt was sitting on the stairs, near the top, where he’d been invisible until right about now. Waiting for his prey to step right into the trap.
Spotting Mick, Karl tensed, ready to grab Liz and run back towards the kitchen. Half the hallway was a blind spot for the gun because of where Mick sat: three steps and he would have no angle to fire at them. It was the very reason they hadn’t seen him as they walked the hallway. But he could fire before they took one step.
The gun moved back and forth between Karl and Liz. As if he was unsure of who to shoot first. But the giveaway was that his eyes didn’t move from Liz. Karl figured he would shoot him first, to rid himself of the bigger threat.
But Mick didn’t fire, and he didn’t speak. Karl realised he was awaiting their move. He wanted to see how his trapped rats would react.
So, Karl made a move, hoping to delay what now seemed inevitable. He said: ‘We can work this out, Mr McDevitt, sir. There’s no need to hurt Elizabeth or me. I just want to go home to my pregnant wife.’ A pleading tone, the use of an honorific, and an attempt to humanise Liz and himself, because he’d read about that tactic. All to appease the man.
But Liz, clouded with sudden rage in the presence of her nemesis, wasn’t on the same page and cut him right off with: ‘You killed my husband, you pathetic animal’.
Karl expected the gunshot and tensed; McDevitt’s response was a smile. Her outburst had broadcast her inner anguish, and he was clearly pleased by this. He shook his head slowly.
‘His bloody, chopped-up body was the last stop on a route of self-destruction. And his suffering isn’t done yet. When I go to Hell, he’s got more coming. You’ll be there to watch.’
He stood up. While Mick was rising to his feet, Karl hissed run and jabbed his arms hard into Liz’s back, forcing her forwards. She was propelled along the corridor into Mick’s blind spot. He turned and grabbed the doorframe and hauled himself around it. The ploy worked: no gunshot; though Karl did hear footsteps thudding down the stairs as he slammed the door.
Beyond the door: shouting… thudding… still no gunshot.