Errand of Mercy: How far do you run, and where do you hide?

by William Walker

  “Thank God,” she said. “Something to eat.”

  “Can’t you get in trouble for doing that?” O’Brien asked.

  “Yeah,” he laughed. “The supervisors will give me a month off for not getting the Chief Pilot’s permission.” He shrugged. “Who cares, you guys will be safe and my sister will be around to irritate me for a few more years.”

  “Eric, you big, bossy, bully of a brother.” Lucy reached forward with tears in her eyes, cuffed him hard on the jaw, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  The car swerved across the oncoming lane. O’Brien grabbed the wheel as the tires screeched. He maintained his grip as the vehicle careened back to the southbound side of the road. Eric grabbed the steering wheel and straightened the trajectory.

  “Look, guys,” O’Brien said in a shaky voice after a moment. “We have to get there.”

  Lucy seemed flustered. “I was caught up in everything for a moment. Sorry, Daniel.”

  “Okay,” O’Brien said after a moment. “Any questions about what we may be facing?”

  “How strong is this bearded fellow?” Eric asked. “You mentioned he was also big.”

  “That’s Gary Starr,” Lucy said. “Forget about him. I’m going to kill him myself.”

  24

  Gina raised her head from the bound volume of Hogarth’s Tropical Diseases and listened intently. A noise seemed to come from the apartment stairwell. She cocked her head for a few more minutes. It could have been kids, or any of the other occupants of the building. Daniel and the crew weren’t due for at least another fifteen minutes, but the thought of a night in that small bedroom with him made concentrating on the medical text difficult. Lucy would also be in the apartment, naturally, but they were all adults, and she and Daniel could be discreetly quiet. That thought alone aroused her

  Her hair was washed in a lavender scent and combed down along her shoulders. She’d dabbed a touch of Jenny’s Chanel perfume behind an ear and inside a thigh. If that didn’t excite Daniel, well, it was certainly exciting her. She wore a soft, cream-colored, three-quarter sleeved Henley along with a dark, pleated skirt that Charlie and his wife had brought by earlier. They couldn’t seem to do enough for her after the hospital intervention on behalf of their daughter.

  She pulled her hair back and tucked her feet under her cotton skirt. Only two of the five buttons on her blouse were fastened, and she could see a peek of her lacy, ivory half-bra designed to not quite cover anything. Now all she had to do was wait.

  She adjusted the table lamp and returned her attention to the medical journal. “The viral structure of Marburg is typical of filoviruses, with long threadlike particles varying in length from 800 nanometers to 14,000nm with peak infectious activity at about 790nm. The disease can be initially symptomatically confused with brucellosis with unexplained tachypnea, hemophagocytic indications, and pulmonary thromboemboli...”

  There it was again—the noise outside the flat. This time the sound had a heavy, plodding resonance. She was put in mind of a clumsy dance partner trying to be coordinated and quietly graceful, and not succeeding at either. The sound raised goose bumps on her arms.

  She placed the book on the sofa table, came to her feet, and stepped quietly to the door. The peephole at eye level was dirty and almost impossible to see through clearly. This one abruptly went black as she looked through the small viewfinder.

  She jumped back, startled. A thrush of fear pounded in her chest. Either someone had just taped the other side, or they’d unscrewed the light bulb in the hallway.

  She stepped to the kitchenette and flipped on the light strip over the stove. More light. She wanted more light. The rental flat was practically dark at night. There was no overhead illumination anywhere in the place and only a few table lamps.

  Gina returned carefully to the door, pressed her ear against the wood and concentrated on the slightest sound from the other side. A low voice came through. She pulled back. Her racing pulse throbbed in her temples and chest. Could they have found the place this quickly?

  She moved rapidly into the living area and grabbed the telephone. There had to be a 911 service here just like in the States. Her fingers were shaking as she punched in the three numbers. A telephone book was on the lower shelf of the table and she reached for it with the other hand.

  The doorknob turned. It was an oversized, brass fixture done in a decorator style and she could plainly see the movement from where she stood. A hand on the other side rotated it counterclockwise and back against the locking mechanism with a barely audible click.

  There was no connection signal in the telephone handset. Shit! She hit the disconnect button and tried 811. Nothing. Gina scanned the inside page of the book and found the number 999 clearly printed in boldface type. She pounded the digits hard with an index finger.

  The knob was being pushed and pulled from the outside with a noisy rattle, as if no one cared anymore how much commotion they made.

  A ring tone came through the handset, then several more. Come on, come on! An instant later she heard a male voice answer ‘Sussex Police Department’. Gina drew in a breath to answer at the exact second the door lock shattered with the splintering noise of tearing wood.

  Murdock followed the other two men through the destroyed entryway. The German reached the woman in four steps. He slapped a hand roughly over her mouth as she began to scream. A muffled, strangled sound slipped through his fingers and he tightened his grip. She kicked out at the thin plywood of the kitchen bar with her bare feet. The hollow pounding reverberated with the concussion of a bass drum.

  “Udo, stop her!” Murdock shouted. He moved to the telephone, slammed the handset back onto the cradle, and watched as the German wrapped his other heavy arm around her lower body. She was a tidy parcel, feisty and smart with her bare legs kicking about. She knew exactly what she was going on about with all the noise.

  “I hafe her,” Udo said. He entangled her like a boa constrictor and pinned her arms and legs.

  Murdock stared at her for an instant then turned to examine the entry door. He stepped back and pushed it closed against the frame, but without a latch it swung open partway. The mortised bolt receiver had been completely separated from the jam when they crashed through. He decided to ignore it, and he turned his attention to the flat. The place was small, easy to inspect, and in two minutes he’d checked all the rooms and closets.

  He came back to Starr. The doctor was standing in the kitchen. He was squirrely, jumpy, as if he was going to leg it through the door if he got the chance. Possibly he would have tried something already if the German had not been along.

  “Now’s your big opportunity with the woman, doc,” he said. “Talk to her.”

  Starr stepped over to the German, who was obviously enjoying his catch. “Where are the diamonds, Gina?” he said. “I put them in your carryall going through customs and they’ve somehow disappeared.” He shuffled his jaw back and forth. “I know that you or Lucy or Daniel have them and I want them back. I’ve already killed an old lady, and I guess you know by now I’ll kill you if I have to.”

  She stared at him with a dark, direct focus, and her eyes never wavered. The remainder of her face was buried in the German’s huge hand.

  Murdock motioned to Udo. “Let her speak.” And to the woman, “I warn you that if you scream you’ll be hurt. Understand?”

  She nodded and Udo peeled his fingers away from her mouth.

  “Gary, for God’s sake!” the woman cried out in a full-throated voice.

  “Not so loud!” The ugly man pointed a finger. “The last time I warn you. Understand?” He stepped next to her and slapped her face with the back of his hand.

  She cried out and took a short, convulsive breath. Murdock raised his hand again. “I have no idea where the diamonds are,” she spit out. “We discovered them on the train and I didn’t even know what they were.”

  “But you know now I would imagine,” he said.

  The woman didn’t s
eem in the least bit cowed. She laid her eyes on him in the direct manner of a dare. He flashed his hand forward with a hard slap that knocked her head to the side. He hit her a third time with a backhand.

  She gagged and screamed. Her voice had a high-pitched resonance that cut through walls. Udo smothered her mouth, kicked her legs out from under her, and threw her on the floor. She grunted and lay without moving. Blood began to seep from the corner of her lips.

  The Briton knelt down slowly and wet a finger in the trickle of blood. “Such a pretty woman,” he sighed. “And you don’t seem to understand. Your colleague here suffocated a bloody, stupid old lady just because she wouldn’t tell us where you blokes had all run to.” He wiped his finger on the neckline of her blouse and looked with interest at her cleavage.

  She turned her head toward Starr. “Everyone knows about you, all of you. For one thing we know that the real Gary Starr died in Austin, Texas four years ago. Did you murder him too?”

  “Well now,” Murdock said glancing up at Starr. “Maybe we’ve been underestimating you.” Dried mucous was set like glue into the doctor’s dark beard. He actually smelled worse than the German. “Tell her about it, Mr. Starr, or better yet, tell her about the old woman you murdered.”

  Starr cleared his throat. He began to speak and stopped.

  “I said tell her, doctor. Tell her exactly how you squeezed the life out of the old hag.”

  “I suffocated her,” he said in a strained voice. “And I’ll do the same to you if you don’t tell us where the diamonds are, Gina.”

  Murdock added, “And when you’re still alive, barely breathing, the big German here gets his chance to have some fun.” He ran a finger into her cleavage. “It won’t be pleasant...unless you like that sort of thing. So you see, it’s better for everyone if you just tell us what we want to know.”

  Gina swallowed. “I took them out of my bag last night. That’s the last I saw of them.”

  “And where were you when you did this?”

  “Right here in the apartment. I put them on the kitchen counter.” She nodded upward.

  The Briton stood. “Okay doc, let’s start looking here in the kitchen. We’ll move to the other rooms afterward if we need to. We’ve got all night.”

  “Gary, I can’t believe you’re a part of all this.” She spit the words at him. “We worked together!”

  “That’s enough,” Murdock said.

  Murdock opened the top cabinets and drawers in the galley kitchen. He found nothing but cheap plates, glasses, and pressed-metal eating utensils. He watched Starr carefully as the man worked through the lower cabinets, pulling out cooking pans, a large box of laundry soap, and cleaning supplies.

  Starr looked up at him. “No luck here. Maybe she’s lying.”

  “Check inside the oven, look behind it.”

  The woman yelled. “Get your fucking hands off me!”

  “Udo, stop it!” Murdock commanded.

  “Yeth, okay. I can get a chance?”

  “Yes, later, after we find diamonds.”

  Starr came to his feet. “Nothing’s here.”

  “Well shit, doctor. I think it may be time for your suffocation routine on the woman. Let’s see if she’s telling us the truth.”

  Emergency vehicles flashing red and blue lights surrounded the wreckage of a small sports car blocking the intersection of London Road and the A-23 motorway. The road was jammed with backed up traffic and Eric slowed the car.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” O’Brien said. He checked left and right and spied the exit for Viaduct Road. “Take the exit on the right.”

  “Where does it go?” Eric asked.

  “It doesn’t matter, we can’t get through this way.” The wail of a siren cut the night as another emergency vehicle came up rapidly behind them. Eric took the exit as the flickering strobes of the truck passed their position.

  “Take a left on Viaduct and we should connect with Richmond Road up ahead,” O’Brien said over the noise of the emergency vehicles. “That’s if my memory’s any good.”

  “You sound like you’ve spent some time here,” Eric said.

  “He’s got family here,” Lucy put in. “Daniel used to spend his summers in Brighton. And how long ago was that, Daniel?” Lucy asked.

  He made a blank face. “I don’t know. My memory’s not that good.”

  Eric downshifted behind a slow-moving lorry. The rear panel of the truck was brightly illuminated in their headlights. The words Chelsea Provisions and Victuals were embossed in large gold letters against a dark green background. In smaller script in a semicircular arc ran the words Sausages, Teas and Cakes, Shortbreads, Crisps and Snacks, Crumpets.

  They stared at the back of the truck.

  “What’s a crumpet?” Lucy asked.

  “Kinda like a biscuit,” O’Brien said. “The British take them in the afternoon, usually with an assortment of teas. It’s a pick-me-up.”

  “The French do the same thing,” Eric added, “only with coffee and croissants. I’ve seen them chowing down in the cafes.”

  Lucy kicked the back of their seats. “That’s enough. You both know I’m starved out of my mind.”

  “Now the Germans,” O’Brien said, “They go with coffee and a wedge of strudel in the afternoon, maybe with a peach or an apple filling. I’ve seen them put ice cream on the whole works, then top it off with a beer.”

  “You’re cruel, Daniel. I just never realized how cruel.”

  Eric glanced back. “Sis, you’re looking good. Really. Just stop eating for a few more days.”

  Viaduct Street joined Richmond a mile further on and Eric immediately increased speed as he pulled onto the wide, four-lane boulevard. “Now we’re talking,” he said.

  They passed the train station. “We’re looking for Edward Street,” O’Brien said. “It’ll be a left hand turn coming up, and about a mile after the turn you’ll see Queen Anne Street on the right. I’ll point it out.”

  The moon was coming up in a clear night sky, and O’Brien caught a glimpse of the silver disk between the buildings. Standing water from the earlier rain covered depressions in the street pavement. The Lanes would be crowded tonight.

  Eric slowed again as the road congestion increased. They passed Stilton Place, Saint George Street and Cheddar Court all in that order. “These people must name everything after cheese or saints,” he said.

  “Don’t forget royalty. Half the streets in England are named after kings or queens,” O’Brien said.

  Queen Anne Street was dark as they made the turn. “Our building is at the end of the street,” O’Brien informed Eric. “Hope everything’s okay up there.”

  “We may be over-worrying the whole thing,” Lucy said.

  O’Brien sat on the edge of his seat. “Eric, pick a spot. Anywhere you can find to stop will be fine.”

  There was no place to park. The usual assortment of Toyotas, Vauxhalls, Fords, and a Mini Cooper or two crowded the street. A carelessly parked BMW 750 Series sedan stood out. O’Brien recognized it immediately. He had owned one several years before, and the vehicle came with a hefty price tag. The driver had wedged the car with the inside tires mashed against the concrete cuff of the sidewalk. Other vehicles had closed in front to back, and now the owner wouldn’t be able to move until one of the other cars pulled away. O’Brien ran a hand over sandpaper stubble. No one would scuff the expensive tires and wheel rims of his own car in that manner. The BMW had to be a rental and driven by someone who didn’t give a shit about the car. That fact raised the hair on the back of his neck.

  “There’s no place to park,” Eric finally stated.

  “Double park. Now! Leave it right here.” O’Brien flung open the door and scrambled out of the car. He glanced at the entrance. “The lights are out in the stairwell,” he yelled. A surge of adrenaline hit him. His blood pounded as he looked up at the back window of their third floor flat. He caught the fade of a heavy shadow moving past the curtains. His heart sank as he bro
ke into a sprint. Was he going to be too late?

  “They’ve already found the place! Need some help, Eric,” he barked.

  “Right behind you,” the man called out.

  O’Brien heard the footsteps in back of him as he reached the stairwell. He took the steps two by two and heard Eric’s shoes hit the risers a second after his. The sound and vibration on the flat steel rungs was going to make a racket throughout the building, but there was nothing he could do about that.

  O’Brien cleared the first landing and swung to the second just ahead of Eric. “One more after this.” He hauled in a breath. “Fourth door down on the left.”

  Halfway through the third series of steps a scream echoed into the stairwell and was cut short, as if Gina was giving them a warning. O’Brien saw red through a freeway of pounding blood in his body.

  They reached the third floor together. The corridor had low-wattage, neon filaments recessed into the ceiling. Odd numbered flats were on the right, even numbers on the left. Their temporary apartment was on the left side.

  “Watch for a gun,” O’Brien warned.

  “Let’s just hit the door,” Eric growled back at him.

  “Wait!” O’Brien grabbed him with a strong arm and held him short of the apartment entrance. The lockset had clearly been ripped from the doorframe. He heaved the words, “I’m going to kick in the door and back off. They know we’re coming now. We might dodge a bullet that way if one of them has a gun.”

  “Let me,” Eric said. He swiveled forward in a rapid motion and threw his weight past the entrance. O’Brien hardly saw his foot move as the door exploded inward.

  Two shots rang out, thundering blasts with heat and noise that left wood particles erupting from the wooden frame.

  Neighboring apartment doors opened on the floor. O’Brien yelled at a man peering at them with an opened newspaper in his hand, “Call the Sussex police! Tell’em Murdock and the German Udo Kerschner are trapped in this building. These men are wanted.” And then to Eric, “That’s got to get’em moving. This is the only exit.”