Murder by the Book (35 page)

‘If you make one move,' she said, ‘I promise you I will shoot!'

Frankie Pearson curled on the floor, staring at her with a strange mixture of malice and fear in his eyes.

She started as she heard a shout from the stairwell, then the pounding of feet as the police climbed the stairs.

‘In here!' she cried, and as they burst into the room she let the pistol drop to the floor, held her head in her hands, and wept.

O
ne week later Maria parked in the grounds of the Chelsea Royal Hospital and took the clanking lift to the second floor, then hurried along the corridor and paused outside the private room. She leaned against the polished oak door frame and peered in.

Donald sat up in bed, his torso strapped like an Egyptian mummy and his left leg swaddled in bandages. He was reading a novel and clutching his empty pipe between his teeth. She could hardly stop herself from laughing at the outlandish sight he presented.

He heard her, looked up and grinned. ‘What's so funny?'

She ran to him, leaned over and kissed him on the lips, once he'd removed the pipe. ‘You are, lying there with that silly empty pipe stuck in your face!'

He gestured with the implement. ‘Well, of course it's empty. They won't let me smoke.'

She sat down on the side of the bed. ‘How are you feeling today?'

‘Far better than yesterday, I'll tell you that. I'm feeling a little better every day. Chipper, in fact.'

He reached out, wincing at the pain the gesture caused him, and stroked her cheek.

She whispered, ‘Why is the world like this, Donald? Why do evil people like Pearson do what they do? And always at the expense of good people like you and Charles and Nigel Lassiter and …'

‘I don't honestly know, Maria. I write crime novels about people who do terrible things to each other, and do you know something? I have no real idea how people can bring themselves to do what they do.' He stared at her for a while, then said, ‘Perhaps you're right – perhaps I really should write something other than mysteries.'

She gripped his hand. ‘I was being cruel. You do them so well.'

He changed the subject. ‘Anyway, I've had two visitors already today.'

‘Well, you are the popular one. Who were they?'

‘The first was Caroline Lassiter.'

‘How was she, or is that a silly question?'

Donald gestured with his pipe. ‘Bearing up, as they say. She came to thank me for being such a close friend of Nigel's, and for finding his body.' He shook his head. ‘There was little I could say by way of condolences. But I promised we'd visit her when I was out of here.'

‘Of course we will.' Maria squeezed his hand. ‘And the second visitor?'

‘Jeff Mallory, with news of our friend Frankie Pearson.'

She pulled a sour face. ‘Him!'

‘The latest is that the wound in his hand has turned septic, and apparently he's still sporting the shiner where you clocked him with the pistol. He was formally charged with the murders, and the attempted murder of myself and Charles, and he should come to trial in a few months.'

She considered how she felt about what would happen then. The odd thing was that, when she'd repeatedly pulled the trigger of the pistol, she had had every intention of killing Frankie Pearson. She had wanted nothing more than to see him dead, for the crimes he had committed and for what he'd done to Donald.

She shrugged and said, ‘But I find the thought of him being hanged … I don't know … but it's repulsive.'

‘I agree. The world will be a better place without Pearson – but that “better place” could be achieved just as well by locking him up for the rest of his life.'

‘Oh, let's not talk any more about that horrible man!' She looked through the window and smiled. ‘Look, the sun is coming out.'

He said, ‘You look more than lovely against the light.'

She reached out and traced the line of bandages strapped around his chest. The bullet had missed his heart and lungs and passed through his upper chest, causing him severe blood loss but not threatening his life. The wound to his leg had been superficial, despite the copious quantities of blood.

‘Has the doctor been around today?'

‘He said I could get out of bed for a little while.'

‘In that case,' she announced, ‘I have a little surprise for you.'

She hurried from the room and returned with a wheelchair, and then assisted Donald out of bed.

‘Don't tell me …?' he began.

‘
Oui
,' she said. ‘We are going visiting!'

Charles Elder sat up in bed and beamed when Maria pushed Donald through the door.

‘Oh, my word!' he said, tears twinkling in his eyes. ‘Donald, Donald! Oh, my boy, my boy! Look at you, just look! There is nothing as tragic as fallen youth!'

Donald laughed. ‘Well, I wouldn't exactly call myself youthful …'

‘To me, dear boy, you are both youthful and heroic! Maria brought me up to date with everything that has happened over the past two weeks. The timely intervention of both of you saved my life, though thankfully I have no recollection of the incident at all! And Maria – heroine
nonpareille
! Her exploits in bashing Frankie Pearson no doubt saved your bacon too, Donald.'

Donald reached out and gripped her hand. ‘She's quite some girl, Charles.'

Maria found herself blushing and made to swipe the wheelchair-bound invalid.

Charles said, ‘Oh, to see youth bound in
amor
with all of life ahead and the world their oyster; it brings joy to an ancient heart. But promise me,' he swept on, ‘once we have recovered sufficiently to be released from this institution we shall all three resume the weekend at my place so cruelly curtailed by Mr Pearson.'

‘That would be wonderful,' Maria said.

‘There is but one cloud that slightly mars the horizon,' Charles said. ‘That being, of course, my little appointment with her Majesty's judiciary. But on that score I have a scintilla of good news. Mr Winstanley dropped by yesterday and informed me that the gods look kindly upon me: to wit, that the judge at my trial has been appointed, and the bewigged officiator is known for his liberal tendencies. That, with the fact of my travails of late, according to Mr Winstanley, will show in my favour. The good man believes I will get no more than six months.'

Donald shook his head with disgust. ‘That's still six months more than you deserve, Charles.'

‘After the torture I have endured since the shooting, my dears, a spell at her Majesty's pleasure holds absolutely no fears!'

‘Good for you!' Maria cried.

Charles dabbed at his lachrymose eyes with a lace kerchief and declaimed, ‘But we are three friends, and survivors all. Look, the sun shines and we live to fight another day!'

He peered past them and said, ‘And I do think this is the tea trolley on its way, if I am not mistaken. Now, would you care to join me in a pot of Typhoo's finest?'