The Birdwatcher (34 page)

The rush of air froze him, pinning him to the ground. The noise was unbearable. The chopper seemed to hang above him, stationary, for minutes. He thought of raptors hovering above prey, waiting to kill. They are silent at least; an owl could swoop without making even the noise of a single wingbeat. This made his whole body shake.

And then the machine peeled suddenly away to his left, lifting itself a little higher, and hung there for another few seconds before its tail raised slightly and the whole beast started to move forwards again, back the way it had come.

The noise diminished. Only when his muscles un-tensed did he realise how frightened he was in those seconds. A scared mouse.

Have they seen him? He is not sure.

TWENTY-ONE

Did Sleight register the look of shock as everything fell into place?

He looked up. Sleight’s own face was blank. Behind him, the figure was at the window of his house again, watching. South breathed in. ‘Excuse me a minute, Mr Sleight,’ he said, as calmly as he could. ‘I just need to check this message.’

‘Why don’t you come round now?’ said Sleight, unsmiling. ‘Nice cup of tea.’

South took the phone from his pocket and swiped the screen.

‘Something stronger if you like.’

It was a message from the woman who had loved Bob: ‘HE SEEN U WATCHING US’.

But he hadn’t been watching them. He had simply been in the area by chance. Until that moment, he hadn’t known that was where the woman who had called herself Gill Rayner had lived. Sleight must have seen him walking up and down the lane, waiting outside his house. Sleight was the one.

He glanced back at the window, but the figure had gone. He knew who it was now.

‘I would love to come round,’ said South, as evenly as he could. ‘But in five minutes, OK?’

His phone vibrated again.

‘Don’t go, Bill,’ said Sleight, looking around, as if checking whether South was alone. ‘Stroke of luck you being here. I’ve got a few things I need to talk about.’

Cautiously, South dropped his eyes down to the screen: ‘HE HAS GUN’. He blinked. ‘Maybe later tonight. I just have a couple of things to do.’

‘I don’t think this can wait,’ said Sleight. ‘I’ll show you what I mean if you come round to my house.’

South looked back at his car. There was no point just following him into the house; he would be walking into a situation he didn’t fully understand. He needed to call the police; to get an armed unit here as soon as he could.

‘Give me ten minutes,’ said South, trying to smile. This was the man who had killed his friend. He was sure of it now.

The phone went again. This time he didn’t even conceal his glance at the illuminated screen: ‘PLEASE!!! HELP US’.

He could feel the tension between them; each unsure how much the other knew.

Sleight frowned. ‘Who are you texting?’

South shook his head and said, ‘It’s just work. Nothing important.’ But before the words were out, his eyes had betrayed him. It was just for a tiny part of a second, a fraction of a glance up at the window of the bungalow where the woman stood. ‘Why don’t you come with me, instead?’ said South, trying to make it sound like everything was fine and they were just at one of their quarterly Neighbourhood Panel meetings. ‘I really think you should.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Sleight. And slowly he turned to look at his house. The figure at the window darted behind the curtain. Had Sleight seen South’s eyes move? Had he given her away?

And then Sleight smiled too. ‘Come round another time then, OK?’

And he turned and headed calmly back towards the house.

‘Stop,’ shouted South. ‘Vincent Sleight. I order you to stop.’ But Sleight carried on walking.

The moment Sleight was back inside the gate, South dialled his mobile.

The woman answered straight away.

He said, ‘He’s coming back. Get out of there.’

‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘He’s already in the house. I just heard him come in.’

‘And you’re sure he has a gun?’

‘Yes. He got it out when he saw you first. You’ve got to help us,’ she said.

‘Why didn’t you tell me? You knew it was him all along, that first day at Bob’s house.’

‘I’m scared,’ she said. ‘He’s my husband.’

‘Who else is in the house?’

‘Our son. Cameron. He’s in his bedroom. He’s playing a game. I tried to call him just now, but I think he’s got his headphones on.’

‘Get him and then leave the house.’ He was at the gate, crouching behind the post.

‘It’s too late,’ she said, so quietly that he could barely hear. ‘He’s here.’

And then the house went black; all its lights went off at once.

‘What happened?’ she said, her voice suddenly loud and high. ‘He’s switched the lights off.’

‘Keep calm. You need to move,’ said South. ‘I’m coming in, but you know the house better than I do. Get out of a window. Anything. Any way you can.’

‘I can’t leave my son with him.’ She was crying now.

‘You have to.’ He was keeping his voice even. ‘I will look after your son. I promise.’

‘It’s too late,’ she whispered.

‘No. It’s not. If you’re inside, you’re in danger.’

Her voice dropped lower. ‘Outside our bedroom door. I can hear him.’ He could hear the breath in her voice; it was as if she was right next to him.

‘Talk to him. Be calm. Tell him everything will be OK.’

‘He’s not like that,’ she said. ‘He’s angry with me. He says all this is my fault. I’ve ruined everything. I have to go. He’s here now.’

He heard another voice; it was controlled and even. ‘Who are you talking to, Gail, love?’

‘Hello, Vinnie,’ she said. ‘I was just . . .’

‘Don’t end the call. Keep talking,’ said South; but she had already done it. All he heard now was a long beep.

He ran towards the house, phoning the station as he did so. They picked up straight away.

‘Don’t interrupt. Just listen. Get this to OPS-one. Armed response required,’ he was saying, repeating his name, rank and warrant number into the phone as he entered the gateway. Using all the right words. Trying to sound as normal as possible in order to get things done. What was the address? the woman asked. He had visited the house, but couldn’t remember the name. ‘Ridge Lane. Registered home of Vincent Sleight.’ He spelled out the last name.

‘Say again.’

But there was no time.

Unless you’re close to them, the noise of a shotgun is not loud. Muffled by the walls of a house, this was only a dull thump. But it was unmistakeably a gunshot.

All the curtains and blinds were closed. Inside, blackness and silence.

To the left, a swimming pool and a guest house. To the right a huge, four-car garage.

He tried the front door. It was locked, of course.

‘Sleight. Let me in.’

He heard a voice say, ‘Dad. Why have all the lights gone off? I was on the computer and then it . . .’

‘Get back in your room,’ South shouted through the door. He could see nothing. He pushed the door with his shoulder, but it wouldn’t shift. There had to be another entrance.

He ran to the garage but the swing door was locked. Desperate now, he hurried round to the back door on the opposite side of the house. That too was locked. So was the side entrance towards the back of the garage.

There was a water butt on the side of the garage. He grabbed the downpipe and hauled himself onto the metal barrel, switched on the torch on his phone and shone it through the high window that ran along the wall.

Inside were three cars. A white SUV, a grey Audi estate and a green Polo. Gill Rayner’s car. The one he had seen outside Bob Rayner’s house; the one he had seen at the supermarket. There was a door from the garage into the house, but apart from the locked swing door, there was no other way into the garage.

Holding his phone in his mouth he tried to prise the window open, but it was locked.

Shit. He was losing precious time.

Jumping down he ran back to the front door again, pressed his face against it and shone the light through the glass. An empty hallway; a huge vase of dried grass by a doorway. No sign of anyone.

Then he thumped on the door with the side of his fist. ‘Sleight,’ he shouted. ‘Open the door.’

Nothing. The house felt deserted; but it couldn’t be. Somebody moved. ‘Dad?’

‘Get out of the house,’ South shouted through the door.

There, leaning against the porch wall was a bag of golf clubs. He pulled out a driver and, in the limited space he had, swung it at the bevelled glass. The first impact bounced straight off, but the second cracked it. A third smashed through.

Reaching through he found a Yale lock and twisted it. Luckily there was no mortice; the door swung open. He was in. He stood for a few seconds, listening, eyes adjusting to the dark.

‘Police,’ he shouted.

No answer.

‘Cameron. Can you hear me?’

The house seemed oddly silent. What had happened to the boy? He tried the light switch. Nothing.

There were four doors off the hallway. All were shut except for one, slightly open. He didn’t know the house. Trying to navigate it in the dark would put him at a disadvantage to anyone who lived here.

He tried to remember what he knew about the layout. He had been to Sleight’s house once; to check on Sleight’s gun safe. It was in the basement, he remembered. He guessed that’s where the fuse box would be.

If he was right, that was the door that had been left slightly open. Pulling it back he shone his phone down into the black.

‘Hello?’ he called.

Taking a breath, he walked down the steep stairs. The basement was large. There was a dartboard and a table-tennis table down there, and an old sofa against the wall. A draught blew through it; there must be some ventilation to keep the place dry, he figured.

At the back of the room, the gun safe was built into the wall. Its door was wide open. He tried to remember how many guns Sleight had had. Was it one, or two? He was shining his torch around the walls to try and find the fuse box when the door at the top of the stairs closed.

Shit.

‘Who’s that?’

No answer. The room was instantly still. The draught he had felt had stopped. He raced to the top of the stairs, club in his hand, expecting to find the door locked, but it wasn’t. Cautiously he emerged into the hallway. Wind gusted through the front door. It must have just been that breeze, he supposed, that had slammed the door on him.

He stopped again to listen. The house was bizarrely quiet. What had happened to the son?

He looked at his watch. How long would it take for the police to arrive? In theory an armed unit was always ready to move, but there were protocols. The Ops One officer would have had to sign off on it.

Golf club still in his right hand, he turned left into the living room. He remembered; he had not been invited into it when he visited last time.

The living room seemed empty. He looked around.

She was there above the mantelpiece. The woman he had met as Gill Rayner. In a family portrait, painted more than competently in oils, she was there in the centre. He shone his light on her. This was not the dowdy middle-aged woman he had met at Rayner’s house; here she wore a low-cut bright green dress and wide smile. This was the trophy wife of a successful businessman. Sleight was behind her, grinning in an open-necked brightly striped shirt, his hand laid on her shoulder. Moving the torch beam to the right, it fell on a dark-haired boy who looked about fourteen, standing in front of them. It must have been painted a few years ago; the boy was at least twenty-one now.

The room which this happy family looked out onto was comfortable, wealthy. There was a cut-glass decanter full of some spirit on a table, a flower print on the wall.

And then, unmistakeably, the sound of a door closing. South tensed.

He inched back to the hallway. Head back against the wall, he called, ‘Who’s there?’

Nothing.

At the top of his voice, he shouted, ‘Armed police are on their way. Show yourself.’

There was a long corridor that ran down through the centre of the house. Keeping flat against the wall, he edged down it, trying to guess which door would be the master bedroom’s.

He redialled the last number. It rang. At the end of the dark corridor a song started to play. ‘
Some day, when I’m awfully low . . .
’

Fred Astaire’s voice was coming from the room at the end of the corridor. It was her ringtone, he realised.

‘
When the world is cold . . .
’

He moved towards the door, golf club raised, pressing himself up against the wall. With his left hand, he twisted the handle and then kicked the door open.

‘
And the way you look tonight . . .
’

Was he still in there with her? He had to risk it.