EG02 - The Lost Gardens (30 page)

Now they could all hear the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

‘Come back, Jamie—here,’ Kingston whispered. ‘There’s a room just behind us on the right.’

The three retraced their steps and stumbled into the empty room.

‘Quick, put the lamp out,’ Kingston said in a stage whisper.

The three stood like statues in the pitch-black stillness behind the half-open door, the trunk beside them. The footsteps, part running, were now very close. In seconds, a faint glimmer of bouncing light illuminated the rectangular gap of the door. It grew brighter to where they could read each other’s expressions, all tense, fearful. Rooted to the spot, they heard the footsteps pass and the glow from Fox’s flashlight gradually diminished.

‘Let’s get out of here fast,’said Kingston, gripping one of the trunk handles. ‘It’s only a matter of minutes before he discovers we’ve gone and comes charging back.’

Jamie bent down to pick up the lamp.

‘Forget it, Jamie. Just use your flashlight.’

They darted from the room half running, half stumbling and made their way along the last stretch of corridor. Up ahead, at last, they could see daylight coming through the trapezium-shaped opening of the pew.

Jamie was first to the top of the steps. She shone the flashlight down so that Kingston and Roger could have as much light as possible as they heaved the trunk up. Roger helped lift the trunk up on to Kingston’s shoulder where Kingston steadied and adjusted it for a second, then started up the narrow steps. On the fifth step he faltered. The trunk was slipping off his shoulder. He leaned forward trying to correct it but knew he could not prevent it from falling. ‘Quick, grab the trunk, Roger,’he said. ‘I’m going to drop it.’

As the trunk slid unchecked off his arched back, Kingston turned to see Roger caught off balance on the step immediately behind him, grappling with it. For a brief moment he had a grasp of the trunk but couldn’t hold on, more because of its bulk than its weight. Falling backwards, he let go of the trunk, pushing it away from him, and fell hard on the stone floor. Kingston cringed as the trunk crashed down inches from Roger’s head and did a cartwheel before coming to rest, upright and undamaged.

Kingston rushed to his side, Jamie right behind.

‘Are you okay?’ Kingston asked, kneeling by Roger’s side.

Roger had slowly raised himself and was half sitting supported by an outstretched arm with one leg tucked awkwardly under the other. For a horrible moment Kingston thought his leg might be broken.

‘I think so,’ he replied, rubbing the back of his head. He shifted his position slightly and winced. ‘Bloody hell. I’m sorry.’

‘Let’s get you up and out of here,’ said Kingston. ‘Put your arm round my neck.’

With Jamie supporting him on one side and Kingston on the other, they got Roger to a standing position.

‘I think I’m fine,’ said Roger taking a couple of tentative steps.

‘Thank God for that,’ said Jamie. ‘That trunk came awfully close.’

Kingston had a grip on one of the trunk’s leather handles and was starting to drag it toward the steps. Jamie and Roger watched and waited silently as Kingston reached the bottom step.

‘That’ll be far enough. All of you, stay right where you are.’ The hollow voice came from behind, echoing off the walls.

Fox stepped out of the darkness of the corridor. In one hand he held a flashlight, in the other his gun levelled at Kingston.

‘Quite a trick, doctor. I have to give you credit.’ He came closer, motioning to Jamie and Roger to move away from the trunk. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like the real paintings. I take it they’re in there,’ he said, his eyes glancing to the trunk.

‘We don’t know,’ Kingston replied.

Fox laughed. ‘You don’t
know?
Don’t patronize me. You’d hardly be dragging that thing with you if it didn’t contain something valuable, now would you?’

‘I told you, Fox. We have no idea
what’s
in there. We haven’t opened it.’

Fox’s eyes darted back to the trunk and the padlock.

‘Why don’t you just do that now, then? You seem to be adept at drilling locks. Or do you have the key?’

‘There is no key,’ said Kingston.

‘Liar!’

‘There is no damned key,’ Kingston shouted.

For a moment, Fox looked flummoxed. He looked at Jamie. ‘Where’s the drill?’he snapped.

‘Up there,’ Jamie replied, pointing to the top of the steps.

‘Then get it.’

Jamie turned and started up the steps.

‘Wait!’ Fox said. ‘Don’t be stupid and try to make a run for it, woman. If you do, you may never see these two alive again.’

Jamie ran up the steps and returned with the tool bag.

‘Okay, doctor,’said Fox, ‘open the padlock.’

Kingston took the drill and triggered it on and off quickly. The small carbon bit was still in there. Gripping the lock with his left hand and twisting it into a fixed position to stop it from slipping, he started to drill. In less than a minute the shackle came free.

Fox moved closer, the gun in one hand trained on Kingston’s back, the flashlight in the other aimed at the trunk. ‘Open it up,’ he said.

Kingston gripped the lid with both hands and lifted it.

Looking down into the trunk, he smiled.

Chapter Twenty-five

‘Take it all out, damn it! Empty the bloody thing!’ Fox shouted, inching closer.

Kingston glanced briefly over his shoulder and started to remove the contents of the trunk, two and three pieces at a time. Soon, on the floor beside him was a growing pile of framed pictures. A glittering assortment of sterling, ivory, wood, gilt, bronze and silver finish frames. Nearly all of them held photos of individuals or family groups. A number of the subjects were men in military officer uniforms. Next, Kingston started to remove all manner of documents. Some looked like letters, bundled together with string or elastic bands. There were folders, cigar boxes and document cases filled with old papers. When the trunk was empty, Kingston stood and turned to Fox. ‘That’s all of it,’ he said.

Fox motioned with the gun for Kingston to move aside and stepped up to the trunk and looked down. ‘It’s impossible, ’ he muttered. He swung round and stepped to within a foot of Kingston, glowering at him, fuming. ‘Where are the goddamned paintings? What have you done with them?’

With Fox’s face now inches from his and the gun pointed at his stomach, Kingston fought to stay calm. ‘There were three canvases in the crate back there,’ he said staring into Fox’s menacing dark eyes. ‘That’s all. And we gave them to you.’

‘You’re a liar, Kingston! I saw one of those paintings and it’s not any of the three you handed over—that worthless trash. Tell me now or you’ll regret it. Where the hell are they?’

‘He’s telling the truth,’ Jamie cut in.

‘Shut up!’
Fox snapped.

‘You might as well give up,’ Ferguson interrupted. ‘Let us all go.’

Fox didn’t answer right away. He had stepped away from Kingston and was sizing him up, looking at his jacket. It was evident that the two outside pockets were far too small to contain the canvases, even ones that were tightly folded.

‘Unzip your jacket,’he said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kingston saw Jamie flinch but Fox hadn’t noticed it.

Slowly Kingston unzipped the jacket.

‘Open it up, all the way, so I can see inside.’

Kingston did so, revealing the lining and the two inside pockets on either side, both small and obviously empty.

After a second or so Kingston let his hands fall to his side.

‘So, you’re not going to tell me where you hid them? Is that it?’

Nobody answered.

‘They’re back there somewhere, aren’t they?’

Silence.

‘Answer me, damn it!’

‘Why don’t you go back and take a look?’said Kingston.

‘Don’t be smart with me.’

‘Okay, we’ll come with you but let Jamie go.’

‘Let her go?’he scoffed. ‘You really think I’m that stupid?’

Kingston was now determined to get Fox riled up. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen Roger slip the weighty ten-inch long black flashlight from his jacket pocket and conceal it behind his back. His intent was clear and it worried Kingston. If Roger was going to make an attempt to take Fox out it could be extremely risky and he’d only get one chance at it. Kingston needed to distract Fox and the only ways he could think of doing that were either to get him as infuriated and paranoid as possible or gain his attention by hinting where the paintings might be.

‘Yes, I do think you’re stupid. And let me tell you why.’ Kingston turned away from Fox and stepped back, looking at the trunk. He needed to get Fox into a position where he wasn’t looking straight on at Roger, while bringing the two of them closer.

‘First of all, even if you do find these fictitious paintings—which we don’t have, by the way—do you really think you’re going to walk out of here scot-free? How are you going to do that? You’ve already committed more than one capital crime down here, enough to put you behind bars for a long time. Are you going to commit more?’

‘I’ve had just about enough of you, Kingston,’ Fox hissed. ‘We’re staying here till I get those paintings.’

Kingston was ready to play the only card he could come up with.

‘You may be overlooking something.’

‘What might that be?’

‘Well, if I were concealing something valuable in a trunk I wouldn’t lay it on the inside where everybody could see it.’

Fox glanced at the trunk, brows furrowed. ‘What are you getting at?’

‘Come on, Fox, use your bloody imagination, man.’

Fox edged a little closer to the trunk. Off to the side, Roger inched a couple of feet closer to Fox.

For a few seconds, Fox’s attention was focused entirely on the trunk but the gun was still levelled at Kingston and his hand wasn’t wavering.

Fox took his eyes off the trunk and looked at Kingston. ‘A false bottom. It’s got a false bottom. Is that it?’

‘I don’t know. I’m just guessing.’

‘Turn the trunk on its side, so I can see, then
you
examine it.’

Kingston leaned down and upended the trunk so that the inside was visible to Fox then stood back. In the split second that Fox’s attention was on the trunk, he flashed a quick look at Roger who was now within striking distance.

‘Well, don’t just stand there, examine it, man,’ Fox said impatiently.

Kingston approached the trunk and knelt down, peering inside and tapping the base and the sides as if he knew what he was doing. He could tell, looking at the dimensions, that a false bottom was unlikely. He was about to stand and explain that to Fox when he heard the loud thump of the heavy flashlight striking Fox, followed by an ear-splitting scream of pain. Unknown to him, Roger had missed his target. The flashlight had struck Fox’s shoulder near the neck. When Kingston turned, he saw Roger and Fox on the ground struggling for the gun still in Fox’s grip. The flashlight was close by, too risky for him or Jamie to retrieve. She had backed off knowing that any second Kingston would become involved.

‘Run for it, Jamie!’ Kingston shouted. ‘Call Chadwick.’

She didn’t hesitate, leaping up the steps and disappearing into the chapel.

As Kingston was about to join the fray, waiting for the right moment to dive into the mêlée, the gun went off.

The blast, reverberating down the corridor, was followed by the thwack and whine of the bullet as it ricocheted off the stone floor and walls. For an instant the three of them ducked and froze, Kingston praying that the errant bullet would stray harmlessly. The brief moment was enough to allow Fox to roll free, gun still in hand. He took a wild swing with it, the barrel glancing off Roger’s forehead. Roger cried out and rolled over on his side, clutching his head. Before Kingston could grapple with Fox, Fox was on his feet running up the stairs after Jamie.

Kingston helped Roger to his feet. The gash on his forehead was oozing blood but he insisted that he was all right. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Kingston said. ‘Fox isn’t stupid enough to let us escape, too. He’ll be back here any moment.’

Roger nodded, touching his bleeding forehead, taking a handkerchief from his pocket.

‘Take your time, Roger, keep the flashlight, I have to stop that bastard from getting his hands on Jamie.’ He turned to run up the steps when a shot rang out from above.

‘Jesus!’ Kingston breathed.

Roger was staring up the steps holding a handkerchief to his forehead, his face ghostly. He looked as if he wanted to say something but the words wouldn’t come.

Kingston bolted up the stairs into the chapel.

‘Not so fast, doctor.’

Kingston stopped in his tracks.

Fox was midway down the aisle, gun in hand.

‘Did you really think I’d leave you two before I got what I came for?’

‘What did you do to Jamie?’ Kingston snapped.

‘Never mind. Start worrying about your own health, because it’s not looking so good right now. Tell me where those paintings are and just maybe we can strike a deal.’

‘First, I want to know where Jamie is and if she’s all right.’

‘We seem to be going round in circles and frankly I’m getting tired of it. I’ve waited a long time for you to find these paintings and I want them—
now!
’

Gripping the pew next to him, Kingston stared him down and said nothing.

Fox waved the gun at him. His eyes were boring into Kingston’s, his face a mask of pent-up rage. ‘All right, if you want to play this kind of game you may end up paying a big price—all three of you. Makes no difference to me.’ He held the gun steady. ‘Well, say something
goddamit
!’

‘I’ve said all I’m going to say,’ Kingston answered in a level tone. ‘Tell me about Jamie and then we can talk about the paintings.’

‘Listen, Kingston. I’ve been waiting years for this moment and I’m going to get them whatever it costs. Do you understand?’

Kingston didn’t reply. Fox had told Jamie that he had learned about the paintings right after Ryder died. What did Fox mean by waiting years?

Fox spoke again.