Summon Up the Blood (36 page)

The blade must have been exceedingly sharp. It found the soft dip between the thyroid cartilage and the hyoid bone, and burrowed into it. Quinn drove the blade deeper with a slicing motion. Something dark spurted from either side of it, and he felt a sense of immeasurable release.

There was a gurgling cry from the man at whose throat he was working, and then his body buckled and he fell forward. Quinn took the weight of his fall, and the brunt of his blood. He held the man with one arm and lowered him gently to the floor. With his other hand, Quinn kept the blade pushed into Marjoribanks’ throat.

The dying man’s eyes looked up at him and seemed to hold a smile.

In less than a minute the violent shuddering of deep shock took hold. Seconds after that, he was dead.

There was a groan from the floor behind him. Quinn eased himself away from the dead man and turned his attention to Venables.

The young man’s eyes swam as he came round. The moment they settled on Quinn, panic bulged in them. Venables tensed and backed away.

‘It’s all right,’ said Quinn. ‘He’s dead. He attacked me with the razor, but I managed to overpower him. We got a full confession. The case is closed. You did well.’

‘I feel sick,’ said Venables.

‘That will be the ether. I’m sorry about that. But I felt it best to go along with him for as long as possible. As a precaution, I turned the cloth in my hand, so that you did not inhale the full force of the fumes. I would never have let you come to any real harm, you know.’

Venables seemed to pout, and then vomited over himself, an appropriate response to Quinn’s reassurances.

Quinn stood and held the razor up to examine it. He sniffed the fresh blood, which had a sharpness to it that cut through the foul atmosphere of the cellar.

For the first time in a long time, he felt at peace.