by A. B. King
Chapter Twenty-Seven. Saturday Night.
The door and its handle were coated with the dust and cobwebs of many years. It sported a large, rather old-fashioned lock, exactly like the other doors in the house, and the key was still in-situ. He brushed the dirt to one side and seized the key with both hands. As he fully anticipated, the lock was stiff, but eventually yielded to the pressure he exerted, and turned with a subdued squeal of long un-lubricated mechanism. He tugged at the door, and after a few moments it moved outwards, protesting loudly on dry hinges. A puff of stale, musty air washed over him as he pulled the door open wider, revealing an empty interior under the slope of the staircase, with the far reaches lost in gloom.
“We will need lighting,” he said, peering inside the opening. “Do you have any torches or lamps available anywhere?”
“There’s a torch in the kitchen,” June volunteered, “and I think there is a paraffin lamp at the back of one of the cupboards as well. I’ll go and see what I can find.”
She vanished into the kitchen to reappear a few minutes later with a torch and a lamp that gave the impression it hadn’t been used in a good many years.
“I’m not even sure how these things work,” she said passing the items over, “but judging by the noise it made when I rattled the lamp there is still fuel in it I’ve brought some matches as well.”
“I can tell you’ve never been a boy scout,” he chaffed, taking the lamp from her. He’d used others like it years ago, and within minutes he had got it to work, and presently it started hissing away quietly as it emitted an encouraging stream of light.
“Right,” he said, straightening up with the lamp held ready in his hand and the torch rammed into his pocket in case of need, “let’s see what we can discover. Are you ready?”
She nodded quickly, and stood up from where she had been crouching as she had watched him working at getting the lantern to light up. Without realising what she was doing, she caught the edge of the panelling they had just removed, and before she could prevent it, the whole thing toppled over to land with a loud crash on the floor.
“Oh, *!+*#!” she exclaimed. It was the only time Martin had heard her swear, although in the circumstances he felt it was quite understandable!
“That’s torn it!” he agreed, putting the lamp down on the floor by the cupboard as he helped June to pick up the panelling. “The girls must be wondering what the hell is going on, we’d better get up there and reassure them before they start piling down the stairs to investigate!”
Together they swiftly ascended the stairs and along the upper hallway to the girl’s room. They opened the door, expecting to see two alarmed teenagers peering at them from their beds, but to their astonishment neither of them appeared to have stirred.
“Well, I’ll be-” Martin started to say, but June pushed past him and went up to the beds, and then turned to face him, with alarm on her face.
“They’re not here!” she exclaimed in sudden alarm. “Look, they’ve put spare pillows under the covers to make us think they were!”
It took him a couple of seconds to take in what she was saying. “The tree house,” he exclaimed suddenly as realisation dawned. “I might have guessed it! They knew they were going back to the school tomorrow, and they’ve decided to spend one last night out there!”
“Oh God, Martin!” she cried in alarm.
“You mustn’t worry; they’ll be all right,” he hastened to assure her. “I remember doing a similar daft thing when I was their age.”
“You really think it’s safe not to worry?” she asked with an almost accusatory look on her face. “Not so long back you were telling me that a ruthless murderer will be targeting this place almost any time, and there are now two defenceless young girls out there in the dark who have no idea of the potential danger they could be in! No, Martin, I think we should get them back in here where we can keep an eye on them, and the sooner the better!”
“Maybe you are right,” he agreed. “I’ll go and fetch them in before we start on other things, they will probably complain like mad, but as you say, better to be safe than sorry.”
They left the room and hurried back to the stairs.
“Not a word to them about what we have discovered,” he cautioned, “if they once get a sniff of that we will never get them back to bed, and the less they know about things the better.”
“I quite agree,” she said. “I could kick myself for being so clumsy, but at least it alerted us to the fact that they are outside. You get them in while I get the kettle on to make them a hot drink.”
They descended the stairs together, and halfway down June suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and gasped. At almost the same moment Martin saw what had startled her. Standing in the hallway close to the foot of the stairs was the figure of a man! A tall man, with blondish hair and somewhat cherubic features; Martin knew instinctively that he was looking at Paul Collins!
Seeing any form of intruder in the house at that hour of the night was shocking enough, seeing June’s husband there was even worse, particularly as Charles had assured him that he was no longer in the Wellworthy area. Martin had been so wrapped up with the more serious threat posed by the unknown killer that he had completely dismissed the man from his mind following the solicitor’s assurance. Assurance or not, he was there, and he had had the nerve to actually break into the house! With an angry snarl he launched himself down the remaining stairs with the intention of tackling the fellow in a particularly violent manner. It was an impulse that died almost as it was born, he pulled up short as he saw the wicked glitter of a large knife held firmly in the man’s hands. There was no mistaking the intent in his eyes either; he was big enough and strong enough to do a lot of damage with that knife.
“I’d think twice before you do something stupid if I were you,” the intruder snapped at him.
Martin stood there a pace in front of June, glowering angrily at the man who had created so much misery for her.
“How the hell do you get in here, Collins?”
The man smiled at him, an evil sort of smirk. “Ah, so you know who I am, do you?” he sneered. “That saves me the trouble of explaining it to you I suppose. To answer your question, I came in the same way your daughter left; through the back door. Oh yes, very obliging girl you’ve got there.”
It was like receiving a sudden blow between the eyes. The thought of his daughter falling into the hands of a pervert like Collins came close to making him throw caution to the winds
“What the hell have you done with Beverley; if you’ve touched her, I’ll kill you with my bare hands, knife or no knife!”
“Oh dear, I’m trembling with terror now,” Collins responded sarcastically. “You can stop panicking, because she’s all right; for the moment that is. I have her somewhere quite safe.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Nothing very much.”
Collins glanced up to where June stood transfixed with horror.
“Just a straight trade;” he added, with light menace in his voice. “My whore of a wife for your currently innocent daughter.”
Martin heard the strangled gasp from behind him.
“And if I don’t agree?”
Collins shrugged. “Maybe it’s time to have a young lass to comfort me in my old age. I must say she has a nice round arse on her; now that I come to think about it, maybe it won’t be so bad after all?”
He looked at Martin with cold eyes.
“But she’s only a child,” Martin protested, but even before the words were out of his mouth he knew it was a complete waste of breath. If Paul Collins, who was out on licence after being convicted of a whole catalogue of horrendous crimes had Beverley secreted somewhere, then he was helpless to prevent him dictating any terms he liked. It was time to quell his inner rage and start thinking. “How do I know you will keep your word?” he asked.
“You don’t,” Collins agreed, “On the other hand I can promise you that if you thwart me here,
I will certainly make the kid pay for it.”
“It’s o.k. Martin,” said June suddenly, overcoming her shock and stepping down just ahead of him. “I’ll go with him, it’s the only way.”
He put out an instinctive restraining hand.
“You can’t do that,” he protested, “you know what it means!”
“And if I don’t, what happens to Beverley?” she countered. “Isn’t much choice, is there? I always knew it would end like this one day.”
“But don’t you see? He isn’t going to hang around here once he has you outside! You’ll be dragged into a car and spirited off to god-knows where! Sooner or later he will torture you, and then he will kill you to keep you silent, and he will kill Beverley also. You can’t go!”
“I’m sorry; it’s the only hope for her. If I go with him willingly, he will let her go, I promise you he will. Martin, I’m nothing to you, but she is your daughter!”
“I’m not going to allow you to sacrifice your life to no purpose!” Martin snapped. “He won’t do anything if you refuse to go; he’s too much of a coward. He knows I will hunt him down and kill him slowly with my bare hands if he so much as lays a finger on her!”
He reached into his pocket for his mobile phone, intent on calling the police. All at the same moment Collins suddenly lunged forward and grabbed June, pulling her savagely forward so that she sprawled face down on the floor with a cry of fear and pain. Even as Martin dropped the phone to spring forward to her aid Collins had twisted her over and pushed the knife tight against her throat.
“Stop where you are!” he shouted. “You even touch me, and she’s dead!”
Martin was within inches of him, and he could see the terror in her eyes, but there was no mistaking the intent of the knife that was already pushed against the flesh of her throat.
“Now back off!” Collins snarled.
“You harm, her and I’ll break your neck!”
Collins laughed contemptuously. “My, who’s the big hero? Listen mister, even if you had the guts to do anything, it’s a question of whether her life, and your daughter’s, is worth mine isn’t it? Without me I promise you that you will never find your daughter. She’s out there with a friend of mine who quite fancies her, and come to think of it, if I’m not back soon, he might just try her for size, if you know what I mean? Now as it happens, I’ve a real score to settle with this treacherous bitch, which is no bloody concern of yours. So, I’m going to walk out of here, she’s coming with me, and you are going to do nothing. I’ll phone you in an hour and tell you where you can find your daughter. Try being a hero, and this one’s dead, and as like as not you will be soon afterwards. That will just leave me with a youngster to amuse myself with. The choice is yours.”
Neither man moved as June lay petrified on the floor with the knife pressed firmly against her throat.
“Maybe you think I haven’t the bottle to do anything,” Collins snapped. “Perhaps if I slice her ear off now you will be convinced?”
He glowered at Martin, and for the moment there was no doubting who had the whip hand. He eased back a little, watching Collins like a hawk.
“Right, so get back over there, against the wall,” Collins spat savagely at him. “Now, or I’ll cut her anyway!”
Martin knew that he had no choice, and reluctantly he took a couple of slow paces backward, every muscle tensed, looking for that slightest lapse on Collins’ attention that would give him the chance to leap on the man and disarm him. Collins watched him all the time, and presently he started to get back on his feet dragging June up with him, holding her tightly with one arm whilst the knife remained pressed against her throat.
“That’s right,” he said. “Now, down on your belly; Mr Hero!”
Martin glared at the man and saw the knife tighten against June’s throat and knew that he still had no choice. Slowly he lowered himself down, still watching for that one slight lapse that would be all he needed.
“Good,” said Collins when finally he saw that Martin was flat down. “Now I’m going to leave. Remember; don’t do anything for an hour if you want to find your daughter alive. I will phone you then, and you will know it’s all over.”
He backed slowly towards the front door, still holding the terrified woman tightly in his grasp. It gave Martin a tiny glimmer of hope. To open that door he would either have to use the hand the held the knife, or the one that held June. It would be just about sufficient for him to launch himself across the intervening space. He tensed every muscle ready for the split second that was all the time he would get. Collins continued edging towards the door, his gaze still fixed on Martin. Martin in turn watched every move, and suddenly he saw the front door moving slightly behind his quarry. It wasn’t even closed; his one chance was slipping away! But Collins had claimed that he had entered the building from the rear? Before he could think or do anything there was a sudden loud crack, and a flash from the edge of the door.
For a brief moment that seemed to last for many seconds yet was much less, the three of them remained in a frozen tableau. Collins stood transfixed for maybe a second, and then slowly crumpled to the floor. As the restraining arm fell away from her, June staggered to one side, and Martin scrambled on to his feet in an automatic effort to get to her. At exactly the same time the door opened wider, and another man walked calmly over the threshold.
“Good morning,” said the second intruder calmly, stepping casually into the hallway. “It would seem that my arrival was quite timely.”
He glanced over his shoulder, “Come in my dear,” he called, “it’s all quite safe now.”
Martin stared in disbelief as he recognised the bearded figure of Peter Buxted, and then a wave of unutterable relief flooded over him as Beverley appeared from behind him, and rushed over to fall sobbing in his arms.
“Oh Dad,” she sobbed. “I’ve been so frightened!”
“It’s all right, your safe with me now,” Martin said mechanically as Buxted calmly stepped over the inert figure of Collins without as much as a glance.
June suddenly recovered the power of volition and sprang back to join Martin and the terrified teenager.
Buxted stopped a few paces away and looked at the small shocked group facing him.
“I’m a bit early for our appointment,” he remarked conversationally as if nothing out of the way had happened. “Still, as I was in the area, and as it is only just past midnight I thought I would drop by on the off-chance you were still up an about. It seems it is as well I did. I came across this young lady being detained by a most unsavoury ruffian who will not be troubling anybody else for a good while now. When I released her she mentioned this other fellow here. It seems he intended coming into the house to relieve you of your housekeeper. Not much liking the sound of the situation I naturally escorted her back to the house to check on matters. I neglected to tell you when I was last here that I have a key to the door, and upon opening it carefully I was in time to witness a rather uncivilised scene. In the circumstances it seemed a bit risky speaking to our late friend if I wished to prevent him carrying out his rather uncivilised intentions. I do apologise if my intervention startled you; still, at least he will not be giving anyone any more trouble I’m pleased to say, so all is well.”
Although shocked by the suddenness of everything that was happening, Martin listened to the man with increasing incredulity.
“You’ve just killed a man in cold blood!” he exclaimed, “and you talk about it as if it was nothing more important than passing the time of day!”
“From the expression I observed on your face as I looked in through the open door, you would have liked to have done much the same thing,” Buxted observed. “I think you will agree that the situation was extreme, and in my book that calls for extreme measures. As I saw it, it was his life or hers, and as I happen to carry a gun the sensible thing to do was use it. Anyway, I happen to know that the man is a common criminal of the poorest quality, so why get so worked up about such a use
less piece of rubbish like him? I’ve done you a favour, and now that I come to think of it, I’ve also done Mrs Collins a favour as well!”
“It was still deliberate murder, Mr Burton!”
The killer looked at him with an expressionless face for a moment. If he was at all surprised that Martin now knew his true identity for certain, it didn’t appear to surprise him in the slightest.
“I wondered how long it would take you to work that out,” he remarked at last. “Oh well, small matter, I suppose there was always the chance it would come out sooner or later. Perhaps it is for the best; it saves me a certain amount of tedious explanation.”
“I wouldn’t have thought explaining two, if not more, murders could be considered ‘tedious’!”
“Not for you perhaps,” he said without the slightest degree of surprise or concern, but rather as if it was of little consequence that Martin was referring to a twenty-five year old crime of utter ruthlessness and brutality, “but this whole business has become increasingly ‘tedious’ for me. I’m afraid your own stubbornness has done you no favours. If you had agreed to sell the house to Carl Bremner, we would both have been saved a lot of unnecessary grief, and nothing much else would have become necessary.”
“I trust I’m not expected to feel sorry about that?” Martin asked sarcastically.
“It is of little consequence to me how you feel, although possibly you may feel that way before our business is completed.”
“If you are contemplating yet more murders you will be wasting your time,” Martin snapped, “I’ve acquainted too many people with the facts of the case. Your only chance of escaping justice is to flee the country!”
“I note that you have found the access to the cellar as well,” Burton remarked blandly, ignoring Martin’s comments as being of no consequence, “What a busy little bee you have been. Such a pity you could not have been as co-operative as your late uncle was for most of his life, but there it is, no good me wailing over spilt milk.”