The phone ignored him, persistent in its attempt to gain his attention.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ He threw back the covers and swung his legs onto the floor. He stood up, slowly, carefully, staggered over to the desk in the corner and reached over for the telephone. ‘What?’
‘Dan, it’s Sarah – I need your help.’ She sounded like she was out of breath, traffic going past in the background. Dan grabbed hold of the receiver tight, sobering up in an instant.
‘Slow down. Where are you? What happened? Are you alright?’
‘The man who killed Peter – Dan, I know it was him! The house exploded – there’s nothing left!’ Sarah broke off, choking back a sob. ‘He saw me – he tried to stop me!’ she broke off. ‘I think he’s looking for me.’
Dan thought quickly. ‘Sarah, listen to me. Listen to me! Twenty-seven Coltsfoot Street – got that? Right – I’m here. You can park on the driveway – it’s sheltered from the street and the car won’t be seen.’
‘I can’t!’
‘You can, Sarah. You have to. You’ve got to get out of there. He’s got a car too and he’s going to be looking for you. He must’ve realised you have a connection with that house.’
‘I know, I know. Okay Dan. I’ll leave now. Please don’t go anywhere – wait for me!’
‘I will. Now, get going.’ Dan replaced the receiver.
After a thirty-second shower, he dressed in faded jeans, black t-shirt, black sweater and his favourite boots. He walked down the hallway and into the spare bedroom. Opening a walk-in wardrobe, he groped around on the top shelf until his fingers found what they were looking for. Pulling the box closer, he reached up and pulled it towards him, lowering it to the ground. Lifting the lid, he pulled out his passport and looked at the fading immigration stamps on the yellowed pages. He put it back, lifted up a bundle of papers and checked – the gun was still there, unloaded, oiled and ready, the bullets wrapped in cotton wool at the bottom of the box.
The sound of a car pulling into the gravel driveway interrupted his thoughts. He put the gun back in the box, closed the wardrobe door, then hurried downstairs to open the front door.
Sarah stopped the engine and got out. She closed her car door, ran across the driveway and into the house in one fluid movement. She was shaking. Dan wasn’t sure whether she was frightened or angry.
‘He nearly got me, Dan! Oh my god, the bastard nearly got me too!’
He squeezed her arm. ‘It’s okay, you’re alive, you’re safe here,’ he said.
He looked over her head at the car. The bonnet and front panels were peppered with shrapnel from the blast – pieces of red brick, glass, wooden splinters from a telegraph pole. The driver’s side window was completely shattered, shards of glass hanging loosely in the frame. A headlamp hung from its fitting, the clear plastic casing torn from its setting from the force of the explosion.
He let go of Sarah and stood back from her, looking. ‘Are you hurt anywhere? Any blood?’
Sarah looked down at herself. ‘No – no, I think I’m alright. A few scratches on my leg.’
Dan moved closer. Taking her face in his hands, he looked down at her. ‘It’s alright. Come on, let’s get some antiseptic and clean you up,’ he added, leading her into the house and closing the door.
Sarah followed him through to the kitchen. Dan gestured to the breakfast bar. ‘Grab one of those chairs and sit down. I’ll make something strong for you to drink.’ He slid a box of tissues across to her. ‘And you look like you could use those.’
Sarah managed a small smile. ‘I can only imagine what I look like,’ she mumbled, blowing her nose.
‘Not too bad for someone who just avoided getting herself blown up.’ Dan grinned. ‘Have something strong to drink, and then you can freshen up.’
Sarah nodded. ‘That sounds good.’
Dan stood up. ‘Hang on – I’ll stick the news on, find out what they’re reporting.’ He flicked on an old battered radio perched on a shelf and turned up the volume. The station was playing a series of commercials. He wandered over to the sink and began to fill the kettle with water. Switching it on, he turned back to Sarah. ‘The news should come on after those commercials. I’m going to get that antiseptic. Yell if they report anything.’
Sarah nodded and watched him as he left the room. He walked through the hallway and ran up the stairs to the bathroom. As he pulled out cotton wool and antiseptic lotion from his first aid kit, his mind wandered. First, Peter is mugged – almost certainly murdered. Then, his study is blown up, nearly taking down the whole house and destroying any documents that might have been lying around.
He tugged at the cotton wool, pulling it apart. ‘What the hell did you find out, Peter?’ he muttered, ‘and what am I getting myself into?’
A shout from downstairs made him jump.
‘Dan, the news – it’s on!’
Dan picked up the antiseptic and ran back down to the kitchen. The sonorous tones of a radio announcer, placid in the line of duty, finished reading from a mediocre script. ‘…and now we cross to our reporter, Jan Newbury, who’s at the scene.’
‘Thank you, John. The street here is a scene of complete devastation. Fire crews arrived at the house soon after the blast and had the blaze under control very quickly. Police have joined them here and a forensic team is currently searching the premises for the cause of the fire. They have confirmed no-one was in the property when the explosion occurred and no injuries are reported.’
The radio announcer interrupted. ‘Jan, are the police giving any indication as to what may have caused the explosion?’
‘John, at the moment the police say it’s very early on in their investigation but so far, the evidence leads to a gas leak.’
‘Bullshit!’ exclaimed Dan. ‘That wasn’t a gas explosion!’ He turned down the radio and handed the cotton wool and lotion to Sarah.
‘What makes you say that?’ she asked.
‘It was too controlled.’