by A. B. King
“You killed him too, didn’t you?”
The gun was still in the man’s hand, and although he didn’t wave it about threateningly, there was no doubt in Martin’s mind that if it became necessary, it would be used without compunction. As he put protective arms round his daughter and June, the shock was wearing out of his system. He had hoped to flush the killer out, unfortunately the man had moved much quicker than he had imagined, and for the moment he was at a total disadvantage. He felt no panic; he knew that he was facing the worst danger he had ever encountered in his life, yet he remained calm and watchful. It was pure bluff on Martin’s part to gain time by claiming everything he had discovered so far was already known to others. Burton hadn’t seemed to be in the least concerned by this, but then he wasn’t a man who showed much reaction to anything.
“It was necessary,” Burton said at last. “When your aunt died I knew that he was becoming a risk, so I decided to eliminate that risk whilst there was still time. He knew nothing about it, and he was dying anyway. You could almost say I did him a favour. However, it was an unforgivable oversight on my part to have forgotten your very existence. Your uncle hadn’t mentioned you for so many years it was something that totally slipped my mind. I admit to being rather annoyed when I discovered that matters were not going to proceed as I had hoped. Still, that is what happens at times if you take your eye of the ball, so-to-speak. However it was very stupid of him to involve you, because it isn’t going to help you at all. By superseding the will I had encouraged him to sign some years ago with a later one, I’m afraid he may have signed your death warrant. Too late now for regrets, we will all have to make the best of the situation.”
For all the emotion he displayed he might have been discussing the Stock Market instead of cold-blooded murder!
“So, what do you intend to do; shoot us down in cold blood?” Martin asked coolly. “Even though others know of your involvement?”
“Now, why would I go to all the bother of restoring your charming daughter to you if I meant to do something as crude as that?” he remarked facetiously, as if such an idea had never for once crossed his mind. “Contrary to what you may think, I am a very humane person. All I’ve done so far is to save a child from someone who’s intentions were, shall we say, slightly less than honourable, and saved your housekeeper’s life whilst freeing the world of a piece of human trash. What do you take me for, a common assassin?”
“I wouldn’t have used the word common.”
“Look,” he sighed, as if getting bored, “if it is all the same to you, I don’t intend to spend the rest of the night in the hallway of your home engaged in futile conversation. As you have so obligingly opened the access to the cellar I suggest that we adjourn there. One of you ladies can pick up the lamp that I note you have already been lit in anticipation of a bit of exploration.”
In spite of the light and easy manner in which he spoke, the deadly threat of the gun in his hand could not be ignored. Martin looked at June and Beverley, gave them a brief hug.
“Better do as the man says,” he said.
Looking at Beverley he suddenly wondered what had happened to Georgie. Was it possible she had been overlooked? Collins hadn’t mentioned her, and in the trauma of learning that his daughter had been taken by a pervert he hadn’t even given the poor girl a thought. By his own account, Burton had rescued Beverley from someone, but again there was no mention of the second girl, nor had Collins. Was it possible that Georgie had seen what had happened and had sufficient wit to remain in concealment? His hopes suddenly went up a notch; if she had, she may well have then gone off to raise the alarm somewhere! It was only a faint hope, and if only Beverley didn’t mention her, it was just possible that whatever plans Burton had for them might be thwarted if he could delay him long enough! The ex-police officer watched them as they moved towards the cellar doorway, the gun still ready in his hand, not pointing at anyone in particular, yet ready for instant use. June had now recovered a little of her composure, and she went and picked up the lamp as she had been directed, with Beverley clinging to her arm in a state of shock.
“Right, after you,” said Burton almost conversationally. “As you were obviously so keen to go exploring, let us go and do just that, shall we?”
Having no choice, June and Beverley led the way with the lamp held up high and throwing a surprisingly good light on things. Martin followed, with Burton bringing up the rear, carefully keeping just far enough back to avoid tempting Martin into taking any chances. About a yard inside the doorway there was an opening in the brickwork of the wall from which a stone stairway led downwards. It was quite wide, with a wooden rail down one side. Everything was dusty and hung with cobwebs; it was rather like entering an old tomb! At the bottom of a dozen stairs they reached the stone flagged floor of a wide square cellar. Along the walls were odd shelves with the discarded bric-a-brac of bygone ages sitting there gathering dust; old tins of paint, odd boxes of bric-a-brac, coils of rope, and miscellaneous bits and pieces that had lain in the darkness for many long years.
What caught Martin’s eye at once was seeing in the centre of the floor a round brick structure that stood about a yard tall and topped with a stout wooden cover. Without question it was the well that Martin and been seeking and knew instinctively would be found there. He caught the expression on June’s face and he knew that much the same thoughts were going through her mind as she also saw it standing there, bleak, cold and menacing. Unless they were very much mistaken the remains of her father lay at the bottom of the well shaft. It did not escape Martin’s mind that there might very well be a chance that Carpenter's remains would soon be joined by three more bodies, unless he could think of a way of turning the tables on the man with the gun! He hoped and prayed that neither June nor Beverley had guessed that that was the most likely purpose of herding all of them into the cellar.
“Right, that’s far enough for the moment I think,” said Burton casually as he seated himself halfway down the steps.
The three hostages of the man with the gun stopped and turned to look at him. Martin with a blank expression, June with an air of resignation, and Beverley with real fear.
“So, what happens now?” Martin asked.
“Nothing very much,” was the answer as the man on the stairs felt inside his coat with his free hand. Presently he extracted an envelope from his inside pocket, and held it up in his hand as he looked across at Martin.
“I have taken the liberty of drafting out a new will for you,” he explained. “I will ask you to sign it, and then your housekeeper can sign it as a witness; you will note that there is already the signature of a second witness at the bottom.”
Martin studied the man carefully, weighing up all the possibilities in his mind.
“What makes you think that I will be prepared to sign any such document?” he asked at last.
The question didn’t seem to disconcert Burton in any way.
“I would think that the natural desire of a father to protect a daughter would be sufficient inducement. I can put a bullet in her knee right now if you wish, just to show you that I’m a man of my word?”
“I don’t think that that will be necessary,” Martin responded as he heard Beverley gasp with fear behind him, “I’m just curious to learn what is to stop you shooting all three of us once you have the signatures?”
“Not a lot I must admit.”
“I assume the will is going to bequeath the house and most everything else to you? I would think that you might have a job getting away with it.”
“True, although fortunately I’m not quite as stupid as you take me for. I am going to strike a bargain with you because, contrary to what you may imagine, I don’t particularly enjoy killing people unless it is necessary.”
“What sort of 'bargain' did you have in mind?”
“I will explain. To begin with, may I remind you of the very recent disposal of a useless individual called Paul Collins? Oh yes, I recognised who it was a
s soon as I saw him in the hallway. He came to my attention following investigations I undertook looking into possible suspects who may have been involved in the abortive attempt to break into this house that you mentioned to me. Discovering who he was naturally allowed led me into discovering Mrs Brent’s true identity of course. This in turn naturally gave rise to concerns that made me feel it would be politic to advance my visit here by a few hours.”
“The death of Collins has nothing to do with me.”
“Ah, that is where you are wrong you see. Once you have signed the will I will pass you this gun, which by that time will be minus any ammunition of course, and you will pick it up and grasp it firmly in your right hand and squeeze the trigger. You will then place it close to where I can retrieve it. Later, the body of Collins will be placed somewhere in the grounds of this house, and the gun discarded reasonably close by. Sooner or later somebody will come to the house in an effort to find out why nothing has been seen or heard of the residents for a while. It will then be discovered that the three of you have fled, leaving behind a rather dead body. In good time a discarded weapon bearing your fingerprints will also be ‘discovered’. Evidence will subsequently reach the police from an anonymous source revealing the sordid fact that you were conducting an affair with the legal wife of Collins, and of course, when he came here to remonstrate, you naturally shot him. Not wishing to be put in the frame for murder, you have taken your daughter and mistress and fled the country.”
“Except that in all probability we will never even leave this cellar!” Martin said sarcastically.
“Oh ye of little faith!” Burton sighed. “Can you not grasp the fact that three extra bodies in here would be difficult to explain? It would inevitably start a massive police investigation, and certainly will not ease the problems your presence here already poses. On the other hand, a simple ‘crime’ like I am proposing, the disposal of a convicted pervert, will soon be forgotten. I have a colleague standing by with a car, and once you have signed, you will be given time to pack clothing and whatever possessions you desire. When you are ready, you will be driven to the airport. Tickets have already been arranged in your name; I even have forged passports for you to use. You already have sufficient financial resources to lose yourself somewhere in the world where nobody will ever find you. It will be a comparatively simple matter for you all to change identity and live out your natural span. After a year I will make representations through an intermediary to get you officially classified as dead. Once this has been done I shall see that this will is invoked. You will notice that the property is not willed to me, but to a charitable trust. A reputable employee of that trust will appear in due course, and certain embarrassing items will be removed from the premises, which will then be disposed of. The end result is that we all finish up with what we want. You will have saved the lives of your daughter and mistress, and I will have secured my own future safety.”
“And if I don’t agree to all this?”
“Simple; inconvenient as it will be, I shoot all three of you, your bodies will be taken away and dumped somewhere; probably inside one of the concrete supports of a new motorway extension that I have access to. Quite ironic really; in every sense of the word you will go from being a pillar of society to being part of a pillar of a motorway bridge. Anyway, I leave the choice to you.”
“To coin a phrase; it seems that I’m stuck somewhere between a rock and a very hard place,” Martin observed “May I at least look at what I’m supposed to sign?”
“By all means.”
He tossed the envelope over, and Martin stooped down to pick it up. He was of course playing for time. Given the circumstances as Burton saw them there was little doubt that he would have to sign no matter what the will said. Martin was aware of the one thing that might possibly make all the difference between life and death; neither Collins nor Burton had made any reference to Georgie. Both girls had gone to the tree house, and as far as he was aware only one had been apprehended. Beverley had still not mentioned her, and for that he was glad. Up to that point he had assumed that Beverley’s silence was simply because she was too scared to say anything, then he suddenly wondered if perhaps she really wasn’t as scared a she appeared to be, and was keeping quiet about Georgie’s existence deliberately. She may easily have worked out for herself that if Georgie had seen what had happened to her friend, and if she had kept her wits about her, it was not inconceivable that she would find some way to raise the alarm and bring help. He knew it was at best a nebulous hope, yet the only one he had, and he was determined to spin things out for as long as he could. He opened the envelope, pulled out the document inside and proceeded to read it carefully.
He was also watching Burton out of the corner of his eye. He saw him pull a second gun from his coat which he laid to hand beside him on the stairs after he had ostentatiously removed the safety catch. He debated whether to chance an attack whilst the gun was actually out of his hand and instantly dismissed the idea; the chances of failure were too high. The man undoubtedly had highly trained reflexes and would certainly snatch the gun up and fire even as he was charging forward and that wouldn’t save any of them.
As he read on, he saw Burton removing the ammunition from the gun that had been used to eliminate Collins, putting it back in his pocket. He seemed completely unconcerned about everything. With that task complete, he proceeded to wipe the empty gun very carefully with a clean handkerchief. Behind Martin, June and Beverley clung together, their faces filled with dread. The sheer trauma of events had left them largely speechless and Martin knew that he just had to keep playing for time for as long as he could keep it up; it was their only hope. The seconds ticked by, yet there was no sound of anyone else coming into the house and time was fast running out.
“OK,” Burton said at last. “You’ve had quite long enough, so what is it to be; life as an exile with those who are important to you, or do I need to waste more ammunition?”
“Do you really expect me to believe this fanciful story of a free ride to an airport, etc., etc.?” Martin asked, the will held loosely in his hand. “You must think I am more than averagely gullible.”
“What you choose to believe or disbelieve is of no interest to me,” was the calmly delivered answer. “I suppose you could say the choice revolves around accepting a nebulous chance, or opting for no chance at all. Do you have a pen on you?”
“No.”
Burton pulled a biro out of his pocket and threw it across to him.
“Decision time,” he said laconically.
Martin retrieved the pen, rested the will on the cover of the well, and slowly inscribed his signature on it.
“Right, now the witness.”
Martin put the pen in June’s hand.
“Your real name,” Burton called out warningly, “not your alias.”
Gritting her teeth, and trying not to allow her hand to shake, June signed and passed the pen and will back to Martin. He folded the document and inserted it back into the envelope. He turned back to face Burton once more. He was still sitting in the same place, but the second gun was now in his hand.
“Good, place the envelope there on the ground between us. Not too close.”
Martin did as he bid. As he straightened up, Burton lobbed the empty gun towards him.
“Pick it up in your right hand,” he said, “hold it as if you intended to fire it.”
Martin picked the gun up, raised it slowly until it was pointing at a spot directly between the killer’s eyes, and then he squeezed the trigger. There was a small click, but nothing else. Burton just sat there watching him; there was no emotion, he knew he held all the aces. Martin lowered the gun, stepped forward slowly and placed it on top of the will.
“You see, it wasn’t so difficult was it?” Burton remarked in his oily voice. “So, if you will all now back off to the far wall?”
They did as he bid and he came down from the stairs with the gun dangling from his right hand, and his left holdin
g the handkerchief. He stooped down, never taking his eyes away from them, and scooped up the items Martin had placed there. The gun was wrapped carefully in the handkerchief, and the will replaced into his pocket. When all was done he looked at them thoughtfully, the gun still in his hand and ready for instant use. Martin put one protective arm round June and the other round Beverley. If the man raised the gun he was determined to push the pair of them down behind the well as he lunged forward to tackle him. It would be a futile gesture, yet he was determined that he would go down fighting if it came to the crunch.
“Good,” said Burton after a couple of moments. “Everything is going along nicely. You will now all lie on the floor please, face down. I apologise for this but as I’m sure you understand, I need to return to the hallway without any rash interference on your part in order to summon my assistant to remove the remains of Mrs Collins’ late husband.”
The gun came up slowly and deliberately as he was talking, and it was aimed squarely at Beverley and not Martin, yet it was Martin he was looking directly towards.
“No heroics, please,” he said quietly. “There is still time for me to change my mind.”
Martin had no doubt that Burton now intended to execute them. The only question he needed to decide on was whether it was worth playing for a few more seconds’ grace, or to stake everything on a sudden frantic leap at their tormentor. But Burton was watching him, and in his eyes he could read the understanding of what was passing in his intended victim’s mind.
“You have five seconds,” said Burton deliberately, “and then your daughter dies.”
The eyes of a cold-blooded killer stared straight into Martin’s. He would be alert to anything that signalled any last desperate attempt to reverse the situation. Beverley would be shot, and equally certainly all three of them would die.
“One,” he said calmly, still holding the gun on the girl, “Two. Three. Four-”
There was the sharp crack of a shot, but it wasn’t Burton’s gun that fired.