Rules of Honour (12 page)

On his street, I slowed, counting down the house numbers. I found his place about midway along, a pretty two-storey home, painted duck-egg blue with off-white doors and window frames. The garden was tiny, but well maintained, with neat shrubs and flowers around a central water feature. There was a flight of wooden steps up to the front door, but alongside them a ramp had been installed to allow easier access for the disabled man. I wondered if his granddaughter wheeled him out here on occasion to pass time with the pleasant tinkle of water as a backdrop.

I looked up at the windows. All I could see was the reflection of the overhead sky, the windows opaque beneath the blue. But I got a sense of movement behind the living room window, as if someone was watching me. I waved, showed a smile, before getting out of my car. I only hoped that Takumi wasn’t waiting for me with a loaded gun when the door was opened. Still offering the smile, I made my way towards the steps. Before I reached the first, I detected a soft rumble from inside the house. I didn’t register the sound as anything unusual, but the following bang made me flinch. It sounded as if someone had exited the house in a hurry, kicking open a door at the side of the building in their haste.

Instilled habits caused me to swerve to the right, and I took half a dozen hurried paces to the corner of the house. I was just in time to see a large man vault over the back fence and into a neighbour’s yard. Under any circumstances the man’s actions would have been suspicions; with the recent events in mind, I’d no doubt who the fleeing person was. I called out harshly, saw the man glance back at me, his face twisted into an angry scowl, but then he fled alongside the neighbouring house and was gone. Before I knew what I was doing I was racing after him. This was my chance to catch the bastard, stop him once and for all.

I barely made it past the side door when I skidded to a halt. Undoubtedly I’d disturbed him while here to do harm to Takumi. Was I already too late to save the old man, or was there something I could still do? Following the killer’s previous MO I thought that Takumi would be past helping. I spurred after the killer.

Something made me stop. I looked back at the house. As I’d charged past the side door there’d been an aroma that my brain had recognised but not realised the significance of while otherwise engaged in the chase. Now I understood that the smell was smoke, and – as he had at Bruce Tennant’s house – the killer had employed fire to kill his latest victim. As much as I wanted to pursue and bring down the killer, I charged back towards the house and yanked open the door.

A plume of oily smoke billowed out. I crouched low, seeking its source, but a draught was pushing the smoke from elsewhere and out of the open portal. There was no time for anything else: throwing my arm across my mouth and nostrils I went in, staying low to make the most of the oxygen close to the floor. I was in a narrow vestibule with open doorways giving access to various rooms. One of them was a kitchen, as yet untouched by flame. I ignored it, heading deeper towards the front of the house. I called out, shouting the names of Takumi and his granddaughter, Melissa. Neither of them replied. The smoke was acrid, and growing denser as I approached the end of the hall. I dropped to my hands and knees, making quicker progress now that most of the smoke was above me.

The heat from the living room was already intense. As I paused in the doorway I could see dirty orange flames writhing up the walls, the fabric of the curtains, and over the furniture.

‘Takumi! Melissa? Can you hear me?’ I ended my shout with a hacking cough, covered my face with my jacket.

I could see neither and again got no reply. I was sure though that at least one of them had to be here, otherwise why would the killer have lit the fire?

The smoke stung my eyes, and I could feel the prickle of heat. Minutes ago I’d looked up at the windows, thinking their opacity was due to reflection, but knew now that actually the smoke in the room had made the interior nigh-on invisible. The swirling smoke was the source of movement I thought I’d detected, not someone peering back at me. No one could have been standing at that window, not with the blazing flames and poisonous smoke invading their lungs. They’d have been dead in seconds. What were the chances of anyone surviving this long? Then I saw the wheelchair and immediately noted that it was empty. On all fours, I scrambled towards it.

The heat was tremendous, but I ignored it. Grabbing at the wheelchair my hand fell on bare metal, and I hissed, drawing away from the heat that seared my palm. I searched around, pushing aside a small table, and then bumped up against a settee. The settee was on fire and I quickly moved away from it. The choking smoke was now barely inches above my head, and I could feel the poison seeping into my lungs. I began to cough and splutter but wasn’t ready to give up yet. I found the wheelchair again, and this time pushed it out of my way, so I could get to the other side.

I didn’t realise I’d squeezed my eyelids tight until my groping fingers fell on a malleable form and I had to open them to identify who I’d found. Takumi was lying on his back with his hands clenched at his chest. I feared he was already dead, but I could hear his rasping breath, and as I climbed up his body could feel that he was slick with sweat, so much so that his clothing was steaming. Lying almost face-to-face, I shouted at him. His eyelids flickered but that was his only response. His features were very pale, waxy, shining with perspiration. I placed my unburned palm to his forehead and felt he was icy cold – despite the fire raging only feet away.

I’m no doctor, but being a soldier and fighting enough battles over the years, I had some knowledge of battlefield injuries and could lend a helping hand to aid a wounded comrade. Right then I was at a loss. I couldn’t find a wound on Takumi’s body, nothing to indicate what he was suffering from, and at first thought his unresponsiveness had to be down to smoke inhalation. Then I noted a smear of blood on his neck, and wiping it away could see a tiny pinprick in the skin. It immediately welled up with a fresh bead of blood and I understood that he’d been jabbed with a needle of sorts. A drug? What?

I recalled Yukiko’s words from when I’d suspected that Takumi could be the killer. How she had explained that he’d been injured, and complications from his wounds had brought on type-one diabetes. It was apparent to me that Takumi was in some sort of shock, and that it was most probably down to having been given an overdose of insulin. Shit! Where the hell did that leave me? I possessed a rudimentary knowledge of the condition. My mother, Anita, has type-two diabetes, and though nowhere near as severe could still suffer the same debilitations as an insulin dependent person. I recalled that my mother always had a contingency treatment nearby should she slip into hypoglycaemic shock. Risking being burned alive, or dying from the poison building in my lungs, I began scrabbling through the detritus on the floor. I vaguely recalled seeing something over near the settee, when I pushed aside the small table. Grabbing at Takumi’s clothing, I hauled him over there with me.

I was nearly blind, my eyes streaming, but thankfully the few inches at ground level were still untouched by the smoke. I lay flat, sweeping my hands through the clutter, and my fingers grasped at a cylindrical object about the size of a fountain pen. I dragged it close, but immediately identified the object as an insulin dispenser and of no use to me. I threw it away in disgust, thinking it was probably the intended murder weapon. I continued scratching my way through the other items spilled from the table.

‘Yes,’ I hissed. I’d found a bright orange tubular object this time, and without pause I pulled off the cap, even as I shook it furiously. The orange tube disgorged a syringe. An inch long needle sprouted from one end, and without pause I jammed it through Takumi’s clothing into his abdomen and depressed the plunger. If I’d guessed correctly then I’d administered the hormone glucagon without which Takumi would most certainly perish. If it were anything else it might kill him outright, but that was the prognosis anyway, if I did nothing.

I didn’t expect a miraculous cure, and I was right not to. Takumi showed no signs of recovery, did not respond as I shook him and shouted in his ear, but at least he now had a chance. It would only last seconds if I didn’t do something to get us clear of the fire and smoke. I grabbed him under his armpits and heaved him tightly to my chest. Then it was decision time. Try to drag him back the way I’d come in, or do something equally risky but less time consuming? I’ve always been one for economy of motion. Takumi was a stocky fellow, even sans his legs he weighed as much as I did, but I was driven with a strength born of necessity. I heaved him over my shoulder, came to my feet all in one motion then ran. If we struck any furniture it would be our undoing – but we didn’t. I headed directly for where the conflagration was at its highest, then bent forward shielding my head with one forearm and Takumi’s back with the other. The flames licked over us, but it was only for the briefest of seconds. Then we struck a hard surface that only resisted us momentarily before our combined weight and momentum shattered the front window and we sailed out into space.

The smashing of the window ensured a reaction. Oxygen was sucked back in through the side door, tunnelled down the hallway and into the living room, and sought to escape via the same exit we left by. It did so inferno hot and we were carried on a blistering wave of flames as the living room exploded.

There was no easy or safe way to land while carrying another figure over my shoulder and I trusted to luck to see us through. We crashed through the water feature, upsetting a figurine at its centre, smashing our way through the bowl of the pond beneath and then landing with jarring force on the lawn. The grass was pitched towards the road and we rolled together, still caught in an ungainly embrace, until a fence abutting the sidewalk checked us. I was underneath, and though I hurt like hell, I was thankful that I took some of the force away from the old man as we collided with it. Gently I pressed him over, feeling for his neck, checking for tell-tale signs that his spine had snapped during our crash to earth. I couldn’t find any. Being unconscious, and therefore pliable, he was probably in a fitter state than I was for taking the fall. I felt for a pulse, found one, but it was faint and rapid. I hauled him up to my chest once more and then carried him like a sack of wet cement to the gate and out on to the sidewalk.

The house was belching flame and smoke, the fire now snaking up the front of the house towards the upper floor. I checked Takumi was as comfortable as he could be, then began to walk back towards the house. Was Melissa inside? I had no way of knowing. Two probabilities struck me: if she was there when the killer arrived he would have silenced her in order to carry out his assault on Takumi; if she’d been elsewhere in the house and avoided the killer she would have been screaming for help by now. I heard no screams. I took a step back and went to assist the old man. I could only hope that his granddaughter had been on some errand or other and was safe elsewhere, because there was no way I could return inside for a second try.

Voices began to filter through my dulled hearing and glancing up I saw people approaching. They were neighbours, Japanese predominantly. The man I’d seen leaping the fence at the back, for all he’d only turned briefly towards me, had been a Caucasian, and he’d been larger than any of the people moving towards us.

‘Call nine-one-one,’ I yelled. ‘Get an ambulance here now and tell them an elderly male is in hypoglycaemic shock.’

People were gawping, looking from me to the fire that now engulfed the front of Takumi’s home. An elderly couple came forward to assist me, but that wasn’t what I wanted.

‘Call nine-one-one, damn it!’ I yelled at the top of my voice. The couple backed away, stunned by my ferocity, but didn’t reach for their phones. It stood to reason they probably didn’t have a cell on them, but it didn’t matter anyway, because I could see others beyond them speaking animatedly into theirs. From some distance I caught the first warbling strains of responding sirens, and I sank down next to Takumi.

‘Come on, come on,’ I urged the unresponsive man. ‘Don’t let that bastard beat us. Live, Takumi. For God’s sake, live!’

Chapter 16

I hadn’t realised it at the time, but I must have struck a forbidding figure when yelling at Takumi’s neighbours earlier. When fire trucks turned up at the scene, I’d handed over the medical care to their first responders, not that there was much the fire crew could do without the correct medication, but at least they got some oxygen into the old man by way of a mask. It sustained him until the ambulance arrived shortly after and he was quickly loaded aboard, intravenous drips inserted into him, and another mask placed over his mouth and nostrils. I told the paramedics my suspicions that the old man had overdosed on insulin and that I’d loaded him with glucagon to counteract it, but I mentioned nothing of the suspect I’d seen running from the house. The crime wasn’t their concern, only looking after the victim.

The ambulance took off at speed, leaving the fire crews to contend with the blaze, and me, the other patient. Luckily I’d only a few shallow nicks in my face and forearms from crashing through the window, but I gladly accepted a suck on the oxygen tank as well. I hacked my lungs up for two or three minutes afterwards. It was only when I moved out of the way and stood alongside my car and caught a reflection in the windscreen that I realised just how awful I looked. My hair was full of splinters of glass, dust and blades of grass from the lawn. It had also been singed in a couple of places. My face was smeared with much of the same and also streaked with soot. Blood from my wounds had congealed amid the mess, dark runnels from forehead to chin, making me look like a watercolour painting of a nightscape gone wrong. That was just my head: the rest of me was in no better shape. Added to the filth, the bitter stench of smoke clung to me, not to mention the equally bitter stink of sweat that had flooded out of me during the time in the house.