Hand In Glove Part 70

"I did what I was paid to do."

"Including planting the stolen Tunbridge Ware in Colin Fairfax's shop?"

"Yeh. So what?"

"Your dismissal for drunkenness was just a charade?"

"I didn't take much persuading. What Maurice had in mind was preferable to touching my forelock to this b.i.t.c.h." He nodded at Ursula.

"Maurice must have paid you well."

"Not well enough. I'm here to collect what's still due to me."

"Unfortunately," said Ursula, "you're not going to be able to."

"Want a bet? If you won't give it to me in cash, I'll have to take it in kind."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'll get a life sentence if they do me for murder-which they will if I'm caught. But I can't serve life twice, can I? A second murder-or a third-wouldn't make much difference, would it?"

"Of course it would," said Charlotte. "You may be able to persuade the court you didn't mean to kill Beatrix. You may-"

"Shut up!" Spicer marched towards her and pushed the gun against her cheek. The coldness and the shock of it made her flinch.

Tears started into her eyes. She had been so happy and carefree only a few minutes ago that the danger she was now in seemed monstrously unfair. She had thought it was all over, the last problem solved, the last risk run. But it was not. And this time there was absolutely nothing she could do.

When Spicer spoke again, Charlotte was aware he was talking to Ursula, not her. "Listen to me, Ursula." He stressed each syllable of her name equally in mockery of her accent. "I'm glad your sister-in-law's turned up, because she makes this a whole lot simpler. She may not know where Maurice's loot is, but you b.l.o.o.d.y do. So, either you tell me now or I pull this trigger-and make a real mess of your sofa."

426.

R O B E R T G O D D A R D.

"Spicer-"

"Where is it?"

"I don't know!"

"You're lying."

"No. For G.o.d's sake-"

Ursula stopped speaking and a fraction of a second later Charlotte realized why. The front doorbell was ringing. And only she knew who was ringing it.

At the same moment, in Galicia, Derek emerged from the terminal building at Santiago Airport and walked across to the Land Rover, where Frank was waiting for him, seated at the wheel.

"Well?" the old man enquired.

"I'm booked on a flight to Madrid leaving in just over an hour. It connects with one to Heathrow. I should be home by early evening."

"I'll leave you to it, then. It's a long drive back to Wales. I'd better make a start." He turned the ignition and the engine spluttered into life.

"Frank-"

"What is it?"

"About Delgado . . ."

"Don't say it, boy. Whatever it is won't bring Vicente back to life-or his murderer to justice."

"I know, but . . . well, Charlotte was worried you were coming for . . ."

"Revenge?" Frank nodded. "It was in my mind."

"Is it still?"

"Yes. But that's where it'll stay."

"For Beatrix's sake?"

"For all our sakes-the living and the dead."

"Would it have been different if you'd met him on the bridge instead of me?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. If he'd stood in front of me and admitted torturing Vicente to death, I might not have been able to keep my hands from his throat. But what then, eh? What about you and the girl? If I'd avenged Vicente, who would have avenged Delgado? In the end, somebody has to call a halt. I don't know whether I'd have been able to. And I never will now, will I? Nor will you." He jerked the H A N D I N G L O V E.

427.

Land Rover into first gear. "I must go. When you see Charlotte, send her my regards."

"I will. But I'm sure she'll want to thank you in person."

"What for? In the end, it was you who pulled it off. Pretty neatly, too." One end of his mouth curled up in a concession to a smile. "Go home and make her happy, Derek. It's good advice-for both of you."

With that, and the faintest of farewell nods, he released the clutch and moved off towards the exit road.

Derek stood watching the Land Rover until it had vanished from sight. It was, he rather thought, the first time Frank had addressed him by his Christian name. If the purpose was to emphasize his parting piece of advice, it was hardly necessary. One reason for flying home was to see Charlotte as soon as possible. And he did not intend to do so simply in order to say goodbye.

What was Charlotte doing now? he wondered as he made his way back into the terminal building. Colin would have conveyed the good news to her long since. Perhaps they were sharing a celebratory drink.

Or perhaps not. Either way, he felt sure he would be able to persuade them to share one with him. There was, after all, a great deal to celebrate. For the first time in months, not a cloud was to be seen on any of their horizons.

"They're not going to give up, are they?" said Spicer, as the doorbell rang for the fifth or sixth time. "Who the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l is it?"

"I've no idea," said Ursula. "I'm not expecting anybody."

"Well, you'd better get rid of them. Stand up, Miss Ladram. Very slowly."

With the gun still only an inch or so from her face, Charlotte rose from the sofa. She did not know what to say or do and could only obey dumbly. There had to be a way out, surely. The conviction was almost as strong as her fear. After all that had happened, it made no sense for her life to end like this, snuffed out in a moment of panic and stupidity. Yet why should it make sense? To expect it to was perhaps her greatest fallacy. And perhaps also her last.

"Walk ahead of us into the hall," Spicer said to Ursula, stepping behind Charlotte and twisting back her left arm with his own while pressing the gun into the nape of her neck, where she could feel the barrel cold and hard against her skin. Ursula moved past them and a prod of the gun told Charlotte to follow. The door-bell rang yet again 428 R O B E R T G O D D A R D.

as they edged out of the lounge. "Open the d.a.m.n thing! But only wide enough to tell whoever it is to sod off. Remember: try anything stupid and I'll put a bullet through your sister-in-law's head."

Ursula hesitated momentarily, then started towards the door. A vague and bulky shape could be seen through the panel of frosted gla.s.s above the letter-box. There was no doubt in Charlotte's mind who it was. But Ursula would not recognize him. Nor would Spicer-unless he identified himself. The door was fitted with a chain, but Ursula left it hanging where it was as she turned the handle and moved to block the narrow opening.

"Mrs Abberley?" Charlotte heard Colin say.

"Yes, but-"

"Where's Charlotte?"

"She's not here. And I don't know who you are, but-"

"Colin Fairfax-Vane."

"What?" Spicer's grip on Charlotte's arm tightened. He too had heard the name.

"Look, I know she's with you. I saw her go in. Why don't we stop playing games?"

"This isn't a game. Please leave."

"I've no intention of leaving." Ursula tried to close the door, but without success. Colin's weight was more than sufficient to prevent her. Then, as he pushed and she pulled, the handle slipped from her grasp and the door flew wide open, bouncing back against its stop.

"All I want to do is-" Colin's lips froze as he barged past Ursula and looked down the hall.

"I've got a gun," said Spicer. "And I'll use it if I have to." He was frightened. Charlotte could tell as much by the panting of his breath in her ear and the vice-like intensity of his hold on her arm. He was frightened because the odds had changed, because events were running out of his control, because there was too much for him to watch and consider.

"Who . . . Who are you?" asked Colin.

"He's Brian Spicer," said Ursula from close behind him. "The man who framed you for Beatrix's murder."

"What?" Colin's frown of incredulity changed as Charlotte watched, disbelief hardening into anger. And Spicer too was watching, reading the same emotion in his face. In as many seconds as it had taken Ursula to speak, Charlotte's frail hopes of a peaceful outcome H A N D I N G L O V E.

429.

had vanished. Why had Ursula done it? Why, unless she no longer cared what happened to anyone except herself ?

Just as this conclusion entered Charlotte's mind, Ursula seized her chance. She pushed Colin hard between the shoulders. Caught off balance, he stumbled forward. As he did so, Spicer, clearly believing he was about to be charged, hurled Charlotte to his left and raised the gun. He fired as Charlotte fell. She heard the explosion somewhere above her as she struck the newel-post at the foot of the stairs and crumpled to the floor. Then, as she twisted round to look, she saw Colin spinning back against the opposite wall, clutching at his side, grimacing with shock and pain. Ursula had ducked out through the doorway and vanished. But Spicer, who must have realized she was the only one of them likely to know where Maurice's cash had been hidden, was making after her, running down the hall and swearing as he ran. Charlotte and Colin did not matter to him now. Only Ursula-and the money he had to believe she could still lead him to-figured in his thoughts.

As Spicer plunged out through the doorway, Charlotte scrambled to her feet and moved towards Colin, who had slid slowly down into a sitting position between the umbrella-stand and a console table, leaving a barometer swaying on its hook like a pendulum above him.

There was blood oozing between his fingers where he was clutching his left side, but he seemed almost to be laughing as he gazed blearily up at her.

"h.e.l.lo, Charlotte. Are you all right?"

"Of course I am." She crouched beside him, consumed by a desperate wish that he should not die. It would make a bitter waste of all their efforts-hers and Derek's and Beatrix's as well-if Colin should die now, victimized by the Abberleys to the very end. "Let me see the wound," she said anxiously.

"No. Phone for an ambulance. Better . . . use of time. Where . . .

Where's Spicer?"

"I don't know, but-"

The wail of a siren cut across her thoughts. It was near by and drawing nearer by the second. Colin heard it too and frowned at her.

"You . . . You've already phoned?"

"No. I don't understand."

"Never mind." His voice faltered as his concentration seemed to drift. "Listen . . . There's something . . . I have to tell you . . ."

430.

R O B E R T G O D D A R D.

But his words were swamped by an invasion of noise. There were two sirens now, both very close, each wail distorting and amplifying the other. Then there was a crunch of braking tyres on gravel, a slamming of doors, followed by a shout of "Put that down!" and other shouts Charlotte could not catch. A second later, Chief Inspector Golding burst through the doorway, panting hard.

"Miss Ladram! Are you all right?" Then he saw Colin and shouted over his shoulder: "Ambulance! Straightaway. One wounded.

Val! Come and do what you can."

D.C. Finch hurried past him and knelt beside Colin, waving Charlotte aside. She stood up slowly and looked at Golding, aware there was much to say and ask but too battered and confused by the rush of events to do more than gape at him.

"It's OK," he said. "Spicer's given himself up. We nearly ran him over in the drive. We moved in as soon as we heard the shot."

"Moved in?"

"We've been tailing you since we let you go this morning to see if you'd contact the kidnappers. This isn't at all what we antic.i.p.ated."

He nodded down at Colin. "Why was he with you?"

"He was just . . . trying to help. How is he?"

D.C. Finch glanced up at her. "Well, he isn't losing too much blood, but . . ." She shrugged. "Don't worry. The ambulance will be here soon."

"Hurts like b.u.g.g.e.ry," mumbled Colin. "Not that . . ." He tried to grin. "Not that I speak from experience."

"Miss Ladram," said Golding. "What was Spicer doing here?"

She was about to reply when Ursula appeared in the doorway, smiling hesitantly, as if what she had done could be atoned for with a brisk apology and an ingratiating word. "Thank G.o.d you're all right, Charlie," she said softly.

"Ask her what Spicer wanted," said Charlotte bleakly. "Ask her how she got the better of him."

Golding frowned. "Mrs Abberley?"

Before Ursula could respond, an officer Charlotte recognized as Sergeant Barrett loomed up behind her. "Sir!" he exclaimed. "Important news from Divisional HQ."