Legacy of Lies (28 page)

‘You. Who else is here. I know about Danny and there's another one, I saw him. Anyone else?'

‘No,' Harry said firmly.

Alec shot him a look, nodded almost imperceptibly.

He hoped fervently that Marcus would not contradict but the man was lying on the floor clutching at his injured leg and seemed not to have even heard.

‘You.' Kinnear prodded Harry in the side. ‘Tie them up.'

‘Marcus is hurt, at least let me help him first.'

‘Just do as you're told.'

Having nothing else to hand, Harry tore the tea towels into strips and used them to bind Alec and Marcus's hands and feet to the kitchen chairs. He dare not tie them too loosely, knowing Kinnear would check. He tied another strip around Marcus's bleeding calf, padding it with a towel and hoping that the bleeding would stop. It looked very red, Harry thought. Very red and very painful. He tried to think if there were any major arteries Kinnear might have hit, but he really didn't know. He found himself thinking that Patrick would know that too. Patrick or Naomi.

Harry took a deep breath. He was oddly calm in the face of the gun; less so having witnessed the sheer unpredictability of Kinnear. Last year he and Patrick and Naomi had found themselves caught up in a hostage situation, Harry's first encounter with weapons. He had seen then just what a gun in the hands of a madman could do, but he had faced his fear back then and somehow that fear had diminished.

He was wary, certainly, but as he set about the practical task of binding Marcus's wound and tying his friend's hands and feet he found that his mind was oddly calm. Out of sight of Kinnear, he slid his hand into his trouser pocket and withdrew a small penknife, the twin to the one Patrick had given Alec last Christmas. He managed to open the knife, slid it into Alec's hand.

So far no sound of running feet on the stairs, no indication that Naomi and the boys were coming down. Harry held his breath, released it slowly. He straightened.

‘What now?'

‘You come with me.'

Harry went.

‘That was a shot.'

‘A what?' Danny stared at her. ‘Didn't sound like no shotgun.'

‘That's because it wasn't,' she told him. Of course, Danny would be familiar with the sound of shotguns and maybe even rifles. ‘That was a pistol, Danny.'

‘Kinnear,' Patrick said. Then: ‘Dad.'

He was making for the door. Naomi threw herself in the direction of the sound and grabbed at him. ‘No, stay up here. In the study. Danny, do you have your phone?'

‘Yes, but there's not much credit on it.'

‘You don't need it for the nines. Quick now. We've got to contact Fine.'

Patrick led the way and they piled into the study. Naomi locked the door.

‘What if he shoots the lock?' Patrick said.

‘The desk. Do you think you could move it between you? I can help if you tell me where I'm going.'

‘Give it a try.'

The desk was heavy, antique oak, They struggled between them to drag it across the rugs and bare floorboards, hating the noise it made, though Naomi guessed that Kinnear would know where they were anyway. They shoved it hard against the door and then Naomi called the police, telling the controller where she was and what was wrong and to patch her through to Sergeant Fine.

It wasn't easy persuading the woman but Naomi persevered. To her profound relief, Fine's voice was soon on the phone.

‘He's here. Downstairs and he's armed. One shot fired. I'm in the study with Patrick and Danny. I don't know what's happening with the others.'

‘Hang tight,' Fine said. ‘The cavalry's on its way.'

Kinnear forced Harry upstairs. ‘Where are they?'

‘In the study, I think,' Harry said. ‘The door locks, none of the others do.'

‘Come on out,' Kinnear yelled through the door.

‘Danny, Patrick? Are the two of you all right in there?'

‘Two of us,' Danny whispered. Patrick shrugged.

‘Don't know what he has in mind but … Yes, dad, we're both fine. What's going on?'

‘Marcus is hurt.'

‘Enough. Your notes, Marcus said you kept notes.'

‘And Marcus was wrong,' Harry said patiently. ‘The police took everything away with them last night.'

‘He's telling you the truth,' Patrick shouted through the door. ‘The police said it was evidence and they had to have everything. Sergeant Fine has it all.'

‘Then we'd better talk to bloody Sergeant Fine,' Kinnear snapped. ‘Downstairs. You know his number?'

‘I know his number,' Harry agreed.

From inside the room they heard two sets of footsteps retreating down the stairs.

‘So,' Naomi said, ‘the gunshot was probably Marcus. Alec must be out of action in some way and Harry's lied about how many of us there are.' She relayed this to Fine. Below, they could hear the murmur of voices as Harry spoke on the phone.

‘He's coming in on the other line,' Fine said. ‘Hold on.'

Moments later he was back. ‘Naomi, we're only minutes away, hang tight. Armed officers will be maybe ten minutes after us. Kinnear's on his own.'

‘True, but he's already proved himself ready and willing to use his gun. Reg, I think he's lost what little balance he had.'

‘You're there on scene, Naomi. I'll take your point. I've told him I've arranged for the paperwork to be brought to Fallowfields. I don't think he believes me but it might buy us a breathing space. What's happening now?'

‘I think they're coming back up the stairs.'

She fell silent, listening. Kinnear was now banging on the door. ‘Open up. I'll shoot.'

The sound of sirens distracted him. Fine was coming in mob-handed, Naomi thought.

They heard Kinnear move from the door, presumably taking Harry with him.

‘He'll either force us out or force his way in,' Naomi said. ‘Patrick, ordinarily I wouldn't advise trying to fight back, but I think this man's beyond reasoning with. We may have to do just that.'

‘Right. Look, there's some stuff hanging on the walls. A snooker cue, some kind of Indian club thing. Danny, give me a hand.'

Naomi heard them climbing on chairs, pulling objects down from the walls, felt something placed in her hand. ‘What's this?'

‘Rusty. Hope your tetanus is up to date. It's a fancy knife.'

‘Patrick, I'm more likely to stab one of you. Danny, you hang on to it, but remember. Emergency only.'

They could hear Kinnear shouting at the police, presumably from one of the bedroom windows.

‘We need a plan,' she said. ‘If he gets in, we need to think what we're going to do.'

Down in the kitchen Alec was sawing through the tea towel ties that bound him to the chair. While he gave Harry ten out of ten for nerve and on the spot thinking, it was proving very hard to manipulate the knife enough to have any real effect on the tough cloth. He wasn't getting very far.

Beside him, Marcus was whimpering in pain. ‘Hold on, you heard the sirens, the police are here. Naomi must have called them.'

‘What can they do? He has a gun.'

‘So do they, Marcus. So do the police. Lots of guns.'

He knew he sounded impatient, but could not help himself. Marcus's wailing was getting on his nerves. He tried to remind himself that the man was in pain, but it was still getting on his nerves. Painfully, he sawed the knife against the cloth. Painful because he kept missing the linen and jabbing himself in the wrist. He felt a bunch of fibres give. It gave him just a little more room. He twisted the knife in cramping fingers and tried again. One by one the fibres parted but it was so terribly slow. So awfully, numbingly slow.

Kinnear had lost patience. He stormed back across the landing, Harry dragged along with him. He wasted two shots shooting the lock of the study door.

Danny squealed, Patrick shouted something she could not make out. Naomi dived for cover, hoping the others would have done the same. She held the mobile in her hand and Fine was demanding to know what was going on. She didn't speak, just held up the phone so he could hear as Kinnear raged and swore, threatening to shoot Harry if they did not move whatever was blocking the door.

‘Help me,' Patrick said to Danny. Naomi scrambled to her feet, leaving the mobile where it lay on the floor. Danny grabbed her hand and shoved her into the position they'd agreed, and then he and Patrick dragged the barricade away from the door. They've got to get it far enough back, Naomi thought. Far enough but not too far.

Kinnear pushed Harry through.

‘Now,' Danny yelled. Patrick threw himself at his dad and pushed him to the ground. Naomi was behind the door, she slammed it hard against Kinnear, Danny piling in with her. She heard the man shout and knew Danny had pierced his hand with the knife he had found. She heard the gun fall to the floor, heard Danny kick it aside. It hit her foot and she dropped to pick it up.

Then she heard Kinnear roar, rage giving him even greater strength as he tossed them aside like so much flotsam. Danny yelped as he fell back and then she knew Kinnear had turned the focus of attack on her. She heard Harry shout, Patrick yelling a warning, and then she fired. No thought to it, no logic and no reason. Her hand was positioned awkwardly on the grip and she felt the slide bite a sliver from the web between her finger and her thumb as it reset. She fired again, compulsively this time and only then did she allow herself to think, to remember, as if it wasn't obvious, that she couldn't see and she had no way of knowing if she'd brought him down or killed one of her friends.

She knew only that she had heard someone fall.

‘Naomi!'

‘Harry, is everyone …?'

‘We're all OK. You'd better give me that though.' Gently, he took the gun from her hand. ‘Um, Patrick, make it safe will you?'

‘Kinnear?'

‘On the floor bleeding,' Danny said. He sounded pleased. ‘Like, wow.'

A
very subdued group left for home late that afternoon. Statements had taken forever, Naomi thought and the ‘neutral ground' set for the meeting between Danny and his mother turned out to be a spare interview room at the police station. She had not been there, didn't really know how it had gone, but Sharon Fielding had spoken to her afterward and said thanks and nice to meet you and she'd make sure Danny stayed in touch and all the usual stuff.

Patrick seemed more satisfied. He told Naomi that Danny's mum had agreed to his coming to stay for a while. So, she supposed, that was all right then.

‘Do you think he'll make it?' She meant Kinnear. She didn't have to say who.

Alec shrugged, then remembered that wasn't enough and said. ‘Don't know. Not sure if I care.'

‘I care.'

‘Why? He would have killed you without a thought.'

‘I know, but I'm not like him.'

‘We've been through this before,' he said softly, remembering the events of the previous year.

‘I know.'

They drove in silence for a little while, Naomi thinking of all the things that would have to be sorted out. The money, whether or not it jeopardized Alec's legacy, the trial that would come if Kinnear survived. She had shot him in the chest, it seemed, punctured a lung but missed the heart. Then shot him in the shoulder as he fell.

Everyone else seemed impressed but Naomi didn't see how she could have missed anyway from just a few feet away and it wasn't as if she'd thought about it. One thing they did know – but she wasn't sure that knowing was an improvement – was the way Rupert had died.

It was a heart attack, brought on by the threat and stress and the anxiety of what Kinnear had put him through. Derek Reid had described it, told how Rupert had fallen down, clutching at his chest and gasped for breath.

‘He didn't ask for pills,' Reid said. He was adamant about that. ‘He never asked for any pills.'

‘I think I might sell the house,' Alec said. ‘That's if I get to keep it, if you see what I mean.'

She nodded. ‘We could buy somewhere closer to home,'

‘We?'

‘Unless you've gone off the idea, but I want a nice wedding, Alec. All the fuss.'

He laughed. ‘I've only been asking you for the past … how many years? What made you say yes now?'

‘What's wrong? Have you got cold feet?'

‘Couldn't be warmer.'

She reached out and he took her hand. ‘You'll like being Mrs Friedman,' Alec said.