Dark on the Other Side (30 page)

“What was he shooting at, his beloved employer?”

“He flipped,” Galen said shortly.

“I admire your technical vocabulary. Where did he go, by
the way?”

“Out and down. I didn’t think the little swine could move
that fast…. It’s possible that he was aiming at you. When the gun was
empty, he made a dash for it, and I can tell you I didn’t try to stop
him.”

“And then you walked out on a murder. In view of your
haste to leave, I gather you don’t intend to inform the police that we
were there.”

“No.”

“Why not, Galen?”

“There is no purpose to be served by such an act. Briggs
killed his employer during one of their insane rites. If the police
wish to question Mrs. Randolph, she has been with me. No problems.”

“What a nice bloody liar you are,” Michael said
admiringly. “It all spells Merry Christmas, doesn’t it? Satisfies you
completely?”

“I’ve explained everything.”

“Yes, you have. Galen—what did you see? Honestly?”

There was a pause. Finally Galen said,

“Drop it, Michael.”

“But if you—”

“Drop it, I said.” Eyes steady on the road, Galen drove
on. “I saw what I wanted to see. Collective hallucination is a
catchword, but it satisfies me. I don’t want any glimpses of the dark
on the other side.”

“Only one problem,” Michael said.

“What’s that?”

“They’ll do an autopsy, of course. On Randolph’s body.”

“Naturally.”

“Which gun fired the shot that killed him, Galen?”

Galen didn’t answer immediately. When he did, it was not
in words. Michael took the object that was passed to him. To his
overheated imagination, the barrel still felt warm.

“Are you sure?”

“Not of which shot killed him, no. I fired at Briggs. He
was spraying bullets around like a machine gun, and I thought he was
aiming at you. But people were moving pretty fast.”

“They’ll be able to tell, if it was a bullet from this
gun.”

“They won’t find either gun. Briggs took his with him,
and if he has a grain of sense he’ll destroy it.”

“And this one?”

“I’ve got to go back to Europe next week.”

“Some convenient lake in France, or a ditch in
Holland…Nice.”

“What do you suggest I do, hand it over to the police?”

“Don’t lose your temper. I’ll never be able to thank you
for what you’ve done tonight…. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“It was a bullet from this gun that killed Randolph.”

“That wouldn’t keep me awake nights,” Galen said icily.
“But how do you know?”

“There was only one bullet in it.”

“So?”

Michael put his head down on his arms. His bad arm ached
and he was sick with exhaustion. But tonight he would sleep without
fear, or remorse.

“It was a silver bullet.”