Red Crystal (51 page)

What had the thud meant? The cry? He must have caught a foot on some wire and fallen.

She took another careful look.

Nothing.

Then she remembered the
other
side. The house side.

He might be creeping up
there
…

Go and look!
But suppose she met him at the corner?

Oh God!

She forced herself to creep along the back of the shed to the opposite corner. Bracing herself, she thrust her head out.

Nothing.

What now?

Should she wait here – or go back to the other corner?

No: stay still. Wait for him to make a sound.
Wait
.

She kept as still as she could, her senses reaching out into the darkness, listening for him, watching for him. She had a desperate need to know
exactly
where he was.

The silence grew, punctuated only by her own breathing and the rustle of the grass in the wind. Somewhere far away a night creature called.

She thought: Perhaps he’s gone. Perhaps he’s hurt himself. But how was she to know? He might be waiting at the far end of the shed, waiting for her to reappear, or he might be circling in a wide loop, expecting her to make a run for it across the kitchen garden. Or he might have returned to the house. He might be – anywhere.

Perhaps she should move. Perhaps she should try to reach the house and find a gun. Immediately she thought: Hopeless. There wouldn’t be guns lying about. Not just like that.

No: she
had
to know where he was.

She had a terrible urge to run into the middle of the yard and shout, so as to end the appalling uncertainty.

She stiffened.

A faint snap.

Where from?

She took another look down the side of the shed facing the house. Definitely not there.

Infinitely slowly, she moved herself round the corner.

Again.

A footfall.

Where?

From the
other
side.

The fear leapt into her throat. She moved quickly away, down the side of the shed nearest the house, until she was back in the yard.

Where now?

The interior of the shed, gaping blackly, beckoned to her: a place to hide. She slipped inside. The tractor sat hugely in the centre. She went deeper into the darkness, feeling her way quickly round the bulk of the vehicle, taking small anxious footsteps in case of obstacles.

At the back of the tractor she paused, listening hard. Almost immediately, she heard him. Through the side of the shed, the faint crunch of feet on earth, moving slowly, following her route, heading for the yard.

The footsteps faded, then halted altogether. And restarted.

And then he appeared, a black figure silhouetted in the wide doorway.

He was coming in.

Very slowly, she began to move, keeping the bulk of the tractor between her and the slowly advancing figure. The footsteps halted again. She pressed herself against one of the massive rear wheels.

There was a long silence which seemed to whine and jangle in her ears.

Another footstep, but very faint. He was treading more carefully.

She put out a foot to move further round and began to transfer her weight. Her heel pushed against something – something
loose
– something she had inadvertently shifted slightly. She began to withdraw her foot.
Too late
. The object rocked back, making a minute sound. She froze. The sound seemed to hang for ever in the roar of the silence.

She clenched her teeth.

She heard him coming round the back of the tractor. She ducked down behind the immense wheel, retreating under the body of the machine. In the faint light from the doorway she became vaguely aware of what her foot had touched – a heap of objects on the floor beside her: metal, abandoned tools, cog wheels.

The outline of a long metal bar showed grey in the darkness. She reached for it, grasped it, and felt a tiny spark of confidence. Yes – he wouldn’t get her without a fight!

A sudden wild courage made her pick it up and back quickly under the tractor until she was standing on the other side. Her footsteps echoed loudly. There was a moment of electrified silence, then he moved.

He moved quickly, darting towards the doorway to cut her off. But she sprang round to the back of the tractor again. And waited.

He came more confidently this time. He called softly, ‘Vittoria, I have a gun – come out or I must kill you.’

She thought: He still thinks I’m a fool.

She waited for him behind one of the large rear wheels. As he approached, she braced herself, then, with a small cry, she leapt out at him, swinging the metal bar wildly from side to side, viciously, violently, advancing on him, wanting only to hurt him, hating him. She caught him off-balance and he retreated slightly, his arm up to deflect the blows. Then, finding his feet, he brought a hand up, pointing something at her. A weapon.

She thought:
No! No, you bloody don’t
.

She swung again with all her strength. She felt the bar glance off his arm. There was a clatter as something hard hit the ground. He gasped and his hand went up to clutch his head. Exhilarated now, she swung again, scenting the possibility of another hit. But she missed. He grabbed for the bar. She spun it downwards, out of his reach and up again the other way, up until it was raised high above her head. With all her might, she brought it down again. He reached for it, ducking at the same time, but she pulled sideways, so that the downwards motion became an arcing sideways loop. His hand snatched at the bar and missed. In the split second before the bar hit him, she realized with a raging triumph that he had not ducked far enough.

The bar hit him. He fell back.

Then she swung the bar with cold calculation, going for his arm, and then his back, and then a part of his head that he wasn’t covering with his hands. Recovering, he lunged for her, but she sprang out of his reach. She felt all-powerful now, as if the bar in her hand was a mighty weapon quite independent of her. She swung wildly, back and forth, back and forth. Suddenly there was a soft thud. She’d got him again! She could have laughed. It was a satisfying feeling, hitting him. She wanted to do it again.

He was on one knee now, moaning loudly.

She danced behind him and, with one last massive effort, she raised the bar and brought it winging down on to the top of his head. He toppled over and fell to the ground. She swung the bar back and forth in the air, waiting for him to come up, longing for him to try to catch her again, so that she could
hit him harder
. Massively hard.

‘Come on, come on!’ She hovered impatiently. ‘
Come on!
’

It was only after several minutes that the wild elation left her and she realized that he was not going to move. She felt a sharp disappointment.

Eventually she became aware of the silence and the passing of time. She looked down at the hunched outline on the door. He was utterly still. She blinked, not understanding …

It took several more moments for her to realize that she was free, and there was nothing to stop her leaving. But something nagged at her mind, something that she had to do. What was it?

Henry.

She staggered out of the shed towards the back door of the house. She heard a clacking sound and realized it was her teeth chattering. She was suddenly very cold.

The door was open and she lurched into the kitchen. She was shaking like a leaf. She felt very disorientated. She leant against the dresser. No – that was wrong. She must get on. She realized she still had the metal bar in her hand. Putting it on the kitchen table, she went through into the hall. The door to the cellar was open, the light still on.

She must tell Henry. No –
first
she must telephone. That was by far the most important thing.

Leaning heavily against the wall, she picked up the receiver and listened. A comforting buzz sounded in her ear. She put a shaking finger in the nine and began to dial.

She dialled the final nine and allowed herself a small glimmer of hope. In some extraordinary way everything was going to be all right after all. She sighed shakily, half-way between tears and laughter.

A split second later she knew nothing was ever going to be right again.

Her hair was being wrenched backwards off her skull. It must surely come
off
. She screamed out in pain and fell heavily backwards, falling against the doorframe.

As she fought for breath she heard the receiver being dropped firmly back into its cradle.

G
ABRIELE TOOK HOLD
of the girl’s hair and pulled hard. ‘Where’s Giorgio?’

‘I don’t know.’

Gabriele let the girl see the short grey barrel of the Skorpion and repeated in a low voice, ‘
Where is Giorgio
?’

‘He went away.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He said so.’

‘Did he give a reason?’

‘No. He just said he wanted to go away. He didn’t say why.’

Gabriele thought furiously.
Why
would he have gone away? It didn’t make sense. She asked through tight lips, ‘But why would he bother to tell
you
that he was going?’

The girl shook her head violently. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know. He just
did
.’

‘How did you get out?’

There was a whimper. ‘I – I just did.’

Gabriele pulled the hair harder, jerking the girl’s head from side to side. The girl yelped with pain. ‘I – used a wrench.’

The girl was lying. There had been no wrench. She gripped the hair more tightly. ‘Try again. This is your last chance.’

The girl’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. Gabriele loosened her grip. Eventually the girl gasped, ‘There
wa
s a wrench. I found it in a corner – when we first came. I hid it – and then when Giorgio left I levered the lock off. I
did
.’

Letting go of the girl, Gabriele considered. It was just possible, about the wrench: the lock was dented and pulled at an obtuse angle to the wood. It was
possible
… ‘Where is it now?’ she demanded.

‘I – left it in the kitchen.’

Gabriele went into the kitchen, dragging the girl behind her. A metal bar lay on the table. The food Giorgio had bought earlier in the day sat on the draining board, along with the whisky and cigarettes. Most of the weapons were still there – her own Kalashnikov, as well as Giorgio’s. However there was no sign of either Giorgio’s Skorpion or his handgun, a Makarov. He must have taken them when he went out.

If
he had gone out.

She desperately tried to think. Nothing made
sense
.

The van …

What was the van doing abandoned at the top of the hill?

Something must have happened. He must have been on his way somewhere when the van broke down. But where had he been going? There was plenty of booze and cigarettes. And why, when the van broke down, did he set off on foot? This bloody place was miles from anywhere: he couldn’t have gone far without transport.

None of it made sense.

Unless—

There was a pub in the village. Brightly lit, inviting. But she immediately dismissed the thought. Not even Giorgio would go wandering off to a pub at a time like this. Going back into the hall, she turned off the lights and, pulling open the front door, stared into the darkness.

The night was silent. She looked up towards the woods where the road passed through the avenue of trees. She had left the car up there beside the van. When she’d first seen the van she’d thought something really dreadful had happened: that the police had discovered them and Giorgio had been trying to escape. But there had been no signs of life, no other cars, nothing else to suggest that something had gone wrong. So she had run silently down the drive, the gun in her hand. As she’d neared the house she’d heard a sound – a door closing – and thought it must be Giorgio. But then she’d looked through the window and seen the girl at the telephone and realized something
had
gone very wrong after all.

But
how
wrong, that was the question.

She snapped on the hall light and put the barrel of the gun to the girl’s forehead. ‘How long have you been out? Did you make any other calls?’ She pushed the barrel hard into the girl’s head. The girl shrank against the wall and closed her eyes.

‘I was only out for a minute,’ she blabbed. ‘I didn’t make any other calls, I swear it. I swear it …’

Gabriele prodded with the gun once more. ‘The truth!’

‘It is,
it is
. It’s the truth,
honestly
.’ She started to cry, sobbing quietly, her face contorted like a small child’s. She was pathetic, Gabriele decided. And probably telling the truth.

But even if there was no immediate danger Gabriele was filled with a deep instinctive unease.

She came to a decision: she had to get out. It was too risky to stay here. She would go to Chelsea. And Giorgio would meet her there, sooner or later.

This place would have to be tidied up then, made secure. Gabriele eyed the girl. She was a nuisance. Gabriele had never wanted to bring her; it had been Giorgio’s idea. Now the girl was a threat as well as a nuisance. She might break out again. She would have to be dealt with.