I intended to go in by the front door since it was the only way I knew and was coming to it when it opened and a light spilled on to the ground in front of the house. I ducked back into what proved to be the house garage, and listened intently to what was going on.
A man said, ‘Remember, he must be kept quiet.’
‘Yes, doctor,’ said a woman.
‘If there’s any change, ring me at once.’ A car door slammed. ‘I’ll be home all night.’ A car engine started and headlights switched on. The car curved round and the headlights momentarily illuminated the interior of the garage, then it was gone down the drive. The front door of the house closed quietly and all was in darkness again.
I waited awhile to let the woman get settled and used the time to explore the garage. By the look of it, in the brief glimpses of my flashlamp, the Mattersons were a ten-car family. There was Mrs Atherton’s big Continental, Bull Matterson’s Bentley, a couple of run-of-the-mill Pontiacs and a snazzy Aston Martin sports job. I flicked the light farther into the garage towards the back and held it on a Chevvy—it was McDougall’s beat-up auto. And standing next to it was Clare’s station-wagon!
I swallowed suddenly and wondered where Clare was—and old Mac.
I was wasting time here so I went out of the garage and walked boldly up to the front door and pushed it open. The big hall was dimly lit and I tiptoed up the great curving staircase on my way to the old man’s study. I thought I might as well start there—it was the only room I knew in the house.
There was someone inside. The door was ajar and light flooded out into the dimly lit corridor. I peeked inside and saw Lucy Atherton pulling out drawers in Bull Matterson’s desk. She tossed papers around with abandon and there was a drift of them on the floor like a bank of snow. She’d be a very suitable person to start with, so I pushed open the door and was across the room before she knew I was there.
I rounded the desk and got her from behind with her neck in the crook of my elbow, choking off her wind. ‘No noise,’ I said quietly, and dropped the shotgun on the soft carpet. She gurgled when she saw the keen blade of my knife before her eyes. ‘Where’s the old man?’
I relaxed my grip to give her air enough to speak and she whispered through a bruised throat, ‘He’s…sick.’
I brought the point of the knife closer to her right eye—not more than an inch from the eyeball. ‘I won’t ask you again.’
‘In…bedroom.’
‘Where’s that? Never mind—show me.’ I slammed the knife into its sheath and dragged her down with me into a stoop as I picked up the shotgun. I said, ‘I’ll kill you if you raise a noise, Lucy. I’ve had enough of your damn’ family. Now, where’s the room?’
I still kept the choke-hold on her and felt her thin body trembling against mine as I frog-marched her out of the study. Her arm waved wildly at a door, so I said, ‘Okay, put your hand on the knob and open it.’
As soon as I saw her turn the knob I kicked the door open and pushed her through. She went down on her knees and sprawled on the thick carpet and I ducked in quickly and closed the door behind and lifted the shotgun in readiness for anything.
Anything proved to be a night nurse in a trim white uniform who looked up with wide eyes. I ignored her and glanced around the room; it was big and gloomy with dark
drapes and there was a bed in a pool of shadow. Heaven help me, but it was a four-poster with drapes the same colour as those at the windows but drawn back.
The nurse was trembling but she was plucky. She stood up and demanded, ‘Who are you?’
‘Where’s Bull Matterson?’ I asked.
Lucy Atherton was crawling to her feet so I put my boot on her rump and pushed her down again. The nurse trembled even more. ‘You can’t disturb Mr Matterson; he’s a very sick man.’ Her voice dropped. ‘He’s…he’s
dying.
’
A rasping voice from the darkened bed said, ‘Who’s dying? I heard that, young woman, and you’re talking nonsense.’
The nurse half-turned away from me towards the bed. ‘You
must
be quiet, Mr Matterson.’ Her head turned and her eyes pleaded with me. ‘
Please go.
’
Matterson said, ‘That you, Boyd?’
‘I’m here.’
His voice was sardonic. ‘I thought you’d be around. What kept you?’ I was about to tell him when he said irritably, ‘Why am I kept in darkness? Young lady, switch on a light here.’
‘But, Mr Matterson, the doct—’
‘Do as I say, damn it. You get me excited and you know what’ll happen. Switch on a light.’
The nurse stepped to the bedside and clicked a switch. A bedside lamp lit up the shrunken figure in the big bed. Matterson said, ‘Come here, Boyd.’
I hauled Lucy from the floor and pushed her forward. Matterson chuckled. ‘Well, well, if it isn’t Lucy. Come to see your father at last, have you? Well, what’s your story, Boyd? It’s a mite late for blackmail.’
I said to the nurse, ‘Now, see here: you don’t make a move to leave this room—and you keep dead quiet.’
‘I’m not going to leave my patient,’ she said stiffly.
I smiled at her. ‘You’ll do.’
‘What’s all the whispering going on?’ inquired Matterson.
I stepped up to the bedside keeping tight hold of Lucy. ‘Howard’s going hog wild up in the Kinoxi,’ I said. ‘He’s whipped up your loggers into a lynching-party—got them all steamed up with a story of how I beat you up. They’ve had me on the run for nearly two weeks. And that’s not all. Howard’s killed a man. He’s for the eight o’clock walk.’
Matterson looked at me expressionlessly. He’d aged ten years in two weeks; his cheeks were sunken and the bones of his skull were sharply outlined by the drawn and waxy skin, his lips were bluish and the flesh round his neck had sagged. But there was still a keen intelligence in his eyes. He said tonelessly, ‘Who did he kill?’
‘A man called Jimmy Waystrand. He didn’t intend to kill Waystrand—he thought he was shooting at me.’
‘Is that the guy I saw up at the dam?’
‘He’s the one.’ I dropped a shotgun shell on Matterson’s chest. ‘He was shot with one of these.’
Matterson scrabbled with a dessicated hand and I edged the shell into his fingers. He lifted it before his eyes and said softly, ‘Yes, a very efficient way of killing.’ The shell dropped from his fingers. ‘I knew his father. Matthew’s a good man—I haven’t seen him in years.’ He closed his eyes and I saw a tear squeeze under the eyelid and on to his cheek. ‘So Howard’s done it again. Aaah, I might have known it would happen.’
‘
Again!
’ I said urgently. ‘Mr Matterson, did Howard kill John Trinavant and his family?’
He opened his eyes and looked up at me. ‘Who are you, son? Are you Grant—or are you John Trinavant’s boy? I must know.’
I shook my head soberly. ‘I don’t know, Mr Matterson. I really don’t know. I lost my memory in the crash.’
He nodded weakly. ‘I thought you’d got it back again.’ He paused, and the breath rattled in his throat. ‘They were so burned—black flesh and raw meat…I didn’t know, God help me!’ His eyes stared into the vast distances of the past at the horrors of the crash on the Edmonton road. ‘I took a chance on the identification—it was for the best,’ he said.
Whose best?
I thought bitterly, but I let no bitterness come into my voice as I asked evenly, ‘Who killed John Trinavant, Mr Matterson?’
Slowly he lifted a wasted hand and pointed a shaking finger at Lucy Atherton. ‘She did—she and her hellion brother.’
Lucy Atherton tore her arm from my grasp and ran across the room towards the door. Old Bull, ill though he was, put all his energy into a whipcrack command. ‘
Lucy!
’
She stopped dead in the middle of the room. Matterson said coldly, ‘What load have you got in the gun?’
I said, ‘Rifled slugs.’
His voice was even colder. ‘You have my permission to put one through her if she takes another step. Hear that, Lucy? I should have done it myself twelve years ago.’
I said, ‘I found her in your study going through the desk. I think she was looking for your will.’
‘It figures,’ said the old man sardonically. ‘I sired a brood of devils.’ He raised his hand. ‘Young woman, plug that telephone in this socket here.’
The nurse started at being addressed directly. All that had been going on was too much for her. I said, ‘Do it—and do it fast.’ She brought over the telephone and plugged it in by the bedside. As she passed on her way back I asked, ‘Have you anything to write with?’
‘A pen? Yes, I’ve got one.’
‘You’d better take notes of what’s said here. You might have to repeat it in court.’
Matterson fumbled with the telephone and gave up. He said, ‘Get Gibbons at the police-station.’ He gave me the
number and I dialled it, then held the handset to his head. There was a pause before he said, ‘Gibbons, this is Matterson…my health is none of your damn’ concern. Now, listen: get up to my place fast…there’s been a killing.’ His head fell back on to the pillow and I replaced the handset.
I kept the shotgun centred on Lucy’s middle. She was white and unnaturally calm, standing there with her arms straight down by her sides. A tic convulsed her right cheek every few seconds. Presently Matterson began to talk in a very low voice and I motioned the nurse nearer so that she could hear what he said. She had a pen and a notebook and scribbled in longhand, but Bull wasn’t speaking very fast so she had time to get it all down.
‘Howard was envious of Frank,’ said the old man softly. ‘Young Frank was a good boy and he had everything—brains, strength, popularity—everything Howard lacked. He got good grades in college while Howard ploughed his tests; he got the girls who wouldn’t look at Howard, and he looked like being the guy who was going to run the business when old John and I were out of the running, while Howard knew he wouldn’t get a look-in. It wasn’t that John Trinavant would favour his son against Howard—it was a case of the best man getting the job. And Howard knew that if I got down to making a decision I’d choose Frank Trinavant, too.’
He sighed. ‘So Howard killed Frank—and not only Frank. He killed John and his wife, too. He was only twenty-one and he was a triple killer.’ He gestured vaguely. ‘I don’t think it was his idea, I think it was hers. Howard wouldn’t have the guts to do a thing like that by himself. I reckon Lucy pushed him into it.’ He turned his head and looked at her. ‘Howard was a bit like me—not much, but a bit. She took after her mother.’ He turned back to me. ‘Did you know my wife committed suicide in a lunatic asylum?’
I shook my head, feeling very sorry for him. He was speaking of his son and daughter in the past tense as though they were already dead.
‘Yes,’ he said heavily. ‘I think Lucy is mad—as crazy mad as her mother was towards the end. She saw that Howard had a problem and she solved it for him in her way—the mad way. Young Frank was an obstacle to Howard, so what could be simpler than to get rid of him? The fact that old John and his wife were killed was an incidental occurrence. John wasn’t the target—
Frank
was!’
I felt a chill in that big, warm, centrally-heated room—the chill of horror as I looked across at Lucy Atherton who was standing with a blank look on her face as though the matter under discussion did not concern her a whit. It must have been also ‘a minor happening of no great consequence’ that a hitch-hiker called Grant was also in the car.
Matterson sighed. ‘So Lucy talked Howard into it, and that wouldn’t be too difficult, I guess. He was always weak and rotten even as a boy. They borrowed my Buick and trailed the Trinavants on the Edmonton road, and ran them off that cliff deliberately and in cold blood. I daresay they took advantage of the fact that John knew the car and knew them.’
My lips were stiff as I asked, ‘Who was driving the car?’
‘I don’t know. Neither of them would ever say. The Buick got knocked around a bit and they couldn’t hide that from me. I put two and two together and got Howard cornered and forced it out of him. He crumpled like a wet paper bag.’
He was quiet for a long time, then he said, ‘What was I to do? These were my children!’ In his voice was a plea for understanding. ‘Can a man turn in his own children for murder? So I became their accomplice.’ There was now a deep self-contempt in his voice. ‘I covered up for them, God help me. I built a wall around them with my money.’
I said gently, ‘Was it you who sent the money to the hospital to help Grant?’
‘I was pulled two ways—torn down the middle,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want another death on my conscience. Yes, I sent the money—it was the least I could do. And I wanted to keep track of you. I knew you’d lost your memory and I was scared to death you’d get it back. I had a private investigator checking up on you but he lost you somehow. Must have been about the time you changed your name.’ His hands groped blindly on the coverlet as he looked into the black past. ‘And I was scared you’d start back-tracking in an attempt to find yourself. I had to do something about that and I did what I could. I had to get rid of the name of Trinavant—it’s an odd name and sticks in a man’s memory. John and his family were the only Trinavants left in Canada—barring Clare—and I knew if you bumped up against that name you’d get curious, so I tried to wipe it out. What put you on to it?’
‘Trinavant Park,’ I said.
‘Ah, yes,’ he chuckled. ‘I wanted to change that but I couldn’t get it past that old bitch, Davenant. She’s about the only person in Fort Farrell I couldn’t scare hell out of. Independent income,’ he explained.
‘Anyway, I went on building the company. God knows what for, but it seemed pretty important at the time. I felt lost without John—he was always the brains of the outfit—but then I got hold of Donner and we got going pretty good after that.’
There was no regret for the way he had done it. He was still a tough, ruthless sonofabitch—but an honest sonofabitch by his lights, dim though they were. I heard a sound outside—the sound of a fast-driven car braking hard on the gravel. I looked at the nurse. ‘Have you got all that?’
She looked up with misery in her face. ‘Yes,’ she said flatly. ‘And I wish I hadn’t.’
‘So do I, child,’ said Matterson. ‘I should have killed the pair of them with my own hands twelve years ago.’ His hand came out and plucked at my sleeve. ‘You must stop Howard. I know him—he’ll go on killing until he’s destroyed. He loses his head easily and makes terrible mistakes. He’ll kill and kill, thinking he’s finding a way out and not knowing he’s getting in deeper.’
I said, ‘I think we can leave that to Gibbons—he’s the professional.’ I nodded to the nurse as a faint knocking sound echoed through the house. ‘You’d better let him in. I can’t leave here with her around.’
I still kept a close watch on Lucy whose face continued to twitch spasmodically. When the nurse had gone I said, ‘All right, Lucy: where are they? Where are Clare Trinavant and McDougall?’
A chill had settled on me. I was afraid for them, afraid this crazy woman had killed them. Matterson said bleakly, ‘Good Christ! Is there more?’
I ignored him. ‘Lucy, where are they?’ I could have no pity for her and had no compunction in using any method to get the information from her. I pulled out the hunting knife. ‘If you don’t tell me, Lucy, I’ll carve you up just like I’d carve up a deer—with the difference that you’ll feel every cut.’
The old man said nothing but just breathed deeper. Lucy looked at me blankly.
I said, ‘All right, Lucy. You’ve asked for it.’ I had to get this over with fast before Gibbons came up. He wouldn’t stand for what I was about to do.
Lucy giggled. It was a soft imbecile giggle that shook her whole body, and developed into a maniacal cackle. ‘All right,’ she yelled at me. ‘We put the sexy bitch in the cellar, and the old fool with her. I wanted to kill them both but Howard wouldn’t let me, the damn’ fool.’
Gibbons heard that. He had opened the door as she began laughing and his face was white. I felt a wave of relief
sweep over me and jerked my head at Gibbons. ‘The nurse say anything about this?’
‘She said a little.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘You heard what this one said, though. She’s got Clare Trinavant and old McDougall locked in a dungeon of this mausoleum. You’d better put cuffs on her, but watch it—she’s homicidal.’
I didn’t take the shotgun off her until he had her safely handcuffed and then I tossed it to him. ‘The nurse will fill you in on everything,’ I said. ‘I’m going to find Clare and Mac.’ I paused and looked down at the old man. His eyes were closed and he was apparently sleeping peacefully. I looked at the nurse. ‘Maybe you’d better tend your patient first. I wouldn’t want to lose him now.’
I hurried out and down the staircase. In the hall I found a bewildered-looking man in a dressing-gown. He came over to me at a shuffle, and said in an English accent, ‘What’s all the fuss? Why are the police here?’
‘Who are you?’ I asked.
He drew himself up. ‘I’m Mr Matterson’s butler.’
‘Okay, Jeeves; do you have any spare keys for the cellars?’
‘I don’t know who you are, sir, but—’
‘This is police business,’ I said impatiently. ‘The keys?’
‘I have a complete set of all the house keys in my pantry.’
‘Go get them—and make it fast.’
I followed him and he took a bunch of keys from a cabinet which contained enough to outfit a locksmith’s shop. Then I took him at a run down to the cellars which were of a pattern with the house—too big and mostly unused. I shouted around for a while and at last was rewarded by a faint cry. ‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘Open that door.’
He checked a number stencilled on the door and slowly selected a key from the bunch while I dithered with
impatience. The door creaked open and then Clare was in my arms. When we unlatched from each other I saw she was filthily dirty, but probably not more than I was. Her face was streaked with dirt and there were runnels down her cheeks where the tears ran. ‘Thank God!’ I said. ‘Thank God you’re alive.’
She gave a little cry and turned. ‘Mac’s bad,’ she said. ‘They didn’t feed us. Howard came down sometimes but we haven’t seen him for five days.’
I turned to the butler who was standing with his mouth open. ‘Send for a doctor and an ambulance,’ I said. ‘And move, damn you.’
He trotted off and I went in to see how bad Mac was. It figured, of course. Crazy Lucy wouldn’t bother to feed people she already regarded as dead. Clare said, ‘We’ve had no food or water for five days.’
‘We’ll fix that,’ I said, and stooped down to Mac. His breathing was quick and shallow and the pulse was weak. I picked him up in my arms and he seemed to weigh no more than a baby. I carried him upstairs with Clare following and found the butler in the hall. ‘A bedroom,’ I said. ‘And then food for six people—a big pot of coffee and a gallon of water.’
‘Water, sir?’
‘For Christ’s sake, don’t repeat what I say. Yes—water.’
We got Mac settled in bed and by that time the butler had aroused the house. I had to caution Clare not to drink water too fast nor to drink too much, and she fell on cold cuts as though she hadn’t eaten for five weeks instead of five days. I reflected that I hadn’t lived too badly in the Kinoxi Valley, after all.
We left Mac in the care of a doctor and went to find Gibbons who was on the telephone trying to make someone believe the incredible. ‘Yes,’ he was saying. ‘He’s loose in the Kinoxi Valley—got a shotgun with rifled slugs. Yes, I said
Howard Matterson. That’s right, Bull Matterson’s son. Of course I’m sure; I got it from Bull himself.’ He looked up at me, then said, ‘I’ve got a guy here who was shot at by Howard.’ He sighed and then brightened as though the news had finally sunk in on the other end of the line. ‘Look, I’m going up to the Kinoxi myself right now, but it’s unlikely that I’ll find him—he could be anywhere. I’ll need a backup force—we might have to cordon off a stretch of the woods.’
I smiled a little sadly at Clare. This was where I came in but this time I was on the other end of a manhunt—not the sharp end. Gibbons spoke a few more words into the mouthpiece, then said, ‘I’ll ring you just before I leave with any more dope I can get.’ He put down the telephone. ‘This is goddam incredible.’
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ I said tiredly, and sat down. ‘Did you really speak to Bull?’
Gibbons nodded and there was a kind of desperate awe in his face. ‘He gave me specific instructions,’ he said. ‘I’m to shoot and kill Howard on sight just as if he were a mad dog.’
‘Bull’s not too far wrong,’ I said. ‘You’ve seen Lucy—she’s crazy enough, isn’t she?’
Gibbons shuddered slightly, then pulled himself together. ‘We don’t do things like that, though,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll bring him in alive.’
‘Don’t be too much the goddam hero,’ I advised. ‘He’s got a shotgun—a five-shot automatic loaded with 12-gauge rifled slugs. He nearly cut Jimmy Waystrand in two with one shot.’ I shrugged. ‘But you’re the professional. I suppose you know what you’re doing.’
Gibbons fingered some sheets of paper. ‘Is all this true? All this about them killing the Trinavants years ago?’
‘It’s a verbatim report of what old Matterson said. I’m witness to that.’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I have a map here. Show me where you last saw Howard.’
I bent over as he unfolded the map. ‘Right there,’ I said. ‘He took two shots at the helicopter as we were taking off. If you want to get up to the Kinoxi fast that helicopter is just outside the house, and there might even be a pilot, too. If he objects to going back to the Kinoxi tell him I said he was to go.’
Gibbons looked at me closely. ‘I got a pretty garbled story from that nurse. I gather you’ve been on the run from Howard and a bunch of loggers for three weeks.’