Authors: Frederic Lindsay
That
finished
Murray.
'Get
up,'
she
screamed.
And
slowly,
groaning,
he
began
the
effort
of
rising
to
his
feet.
'Oh,
I'll
make
you
pay.
You'll
pay,
you
bastard.
I'll
have
them
off
you.'
Even
going
down
the
stairs,
her
voice
pursued
him
.
Taking them
two
at
a
time,
he
stumbled
on
the
second
flight
and
saved
himself
by
clutching
the
banister.
Shaken,
he
stood
still
and
then,
instead
of
going
on,
turned
his
head
to
listen.
The
crazy
tirade
had
stopped
as
abruptly
as
the
turning
of
a
tap.
Poised
,
straining
to
catch
any
sound,
the
second
room
where
the
dog
had
been
caged
came
into
his
mind.
If
someone
had
been
hidden
there,
Mary
O'Bannion's
obscene
rage
would
have
been
a
way
of
distracting
him.
If
Kujavia
.
..
The
broken
gas
mantle sputtered
in
the
stillness
overhead.
He
had
taken
the
first
step
up
when
he
was
arrested
by
the
clatter
of
feet
mounting
towards
him
.
Irene
appeared
on
the
landing
below,
stopping
with
a
catch
of
the
breath
as
she
saw
him
above
her.
'Stay
in
the
car.'
His
whisper
echoed
harshly
between
stone
walls.
'I
told
you
–
stay
in
the
car
and
lock
the
doors.'
'Eddy
Stewart's
down
there.'
'W
hat?'
the
sweat
burst
out
on
his
forehead.
'They've
found
them.'
'What
about
Irene's
car?'
Murray
said
dully.
'It'll
get
vandalised
if
it's
left
there.'
Vaguely,
he
was
conscious
of
Stewart's
quick
appraising
glance.
'No
problem.
I'll
get
it
picked
up.'
The
police
car
gathered
speed,
barely
paused
at
the
intersection,
began
to
go
faster.
Stewart
muttered
something
in
answer
to
Irene,
and
Murray
leaned
forward
to
listen.
'Where
they've
been
found.
Not
anything
else,
I
don't
know
anything
else.'
Not
if
they
were
dead.
Not
anything.
Murray
sank
back.
They
had
already
been
told
that.
There
was
no
point
in
her
asking.
He
thought
they
were
heading
south,
but
he
couldn't
recognise
any
of
the
buildings.
'Almost
there,'
Stewart
said,
sounding
relieved.
They
bumped
over
a
ramp
and
the
car
began
to
sway
and
jolt.
Around
them
there
was
a
sudden
impression
of
space,
of
darkness,
as
if
you
might
look
up
and
see
the
stars,
yet
he
knew
they
had
not
travelled
far
enough
to
shake
free
of
the
city.
Getting
out
of
the
car,
he
looked
up
and
glimpsed
the
moon
and
scarves
of
cloud
drawn
ragged
by
the
wind.
'What's
wrong?'
Stewart
caught
his
arm
as
if
to
support
him.
'I'm
all
right.'
He
felt
Stewart's
grip
let
him
go
slowly
as
if reluctant.
The
dizziness
came
and
went
as
they
crossed
the
broken
ground.
Cars
were
drawn
up
in
a
haphazard
curve
around
the
arch
of
a
tunnel.
All
the
headlights
were
on
and
as
they
passed
in
front
of
each
car
they
swept
long
shadows
into
the
entrance.
'It's
all
right
inside,'
Stewart
said.
'We
told
those
bastards
who are
on
strike
to
get
the
lights
back
on
in
there.'
The
last
words
echoed
as
they
entered
under
the
arch.
They
went
on
not
asking
questions,
since
the
answers
would
come
soon
enough.
When
Murray
glanced
back,
there
was
nothing
behind
them
but
the
tunnel
and
the
lamps
on
the
walls
drawing
together
in
the
distance.
It
had
been
cold
when
they
got
out
of
the
car
and
then
warmer
out
of
the
wind,
but
now
the
air
around
them
was chilling.
It
felt
like
walking
down
into
a
grave
.
The
breath
rose
white
from
their
mouths.
Unmistakable,
the
erect
figure
of Peerse
towered
in
the
middle
of
the
way
about
thirty
yards
distant
from
them.
Seeing
their
approach,
the
woman
between
the
two
men
,
he
raised
his
right
hand
and
moved
it
in
a
gesture
so
ambiguous
it
was
impossible
to
tell
whether
he
was
calling
them
forward
or
imploring
them
to
go
back.
25
Cold Malcolm
SATURDAY,
OCTOBER
6
TH
- SUNDAY,
OCTOBER
7
TH
1988
Once
he
had
come
back
to
the
car
from
visiting
Frances
and
found
the
side
window
broken
and
bright
splinters
of
glass
scattered
inside.
He
had
swept
the
seat
clean
and
driven
away
in
guilty
haste.
When
he
got
home,
Irene
had
turned
his
hand
and
he
had
seen
blood
beaded
from
a
fine
slice
along
its
edge.
Walking
that
street
tonight
had
been
like
falling,
he
had
so many
good
reasons
for
not
coming
back
to
see
Frances.
'I
shouldn't
have
come,'
he
told
her.
'You'll
come,
you'll
come,
you'll
come.'
Her
face
under
him
was
stupid
with
lust.
It
had
never
been
like
this
with
her
before.
Instead
of
being
excited,
he
was
chilled
by
her
need.
'Just
get
it
into
me,'
she
gasped,
driving
her
pelvis
against
him.
'No
tricks,
just
put
it
in.
Put
it
in!'
In
impotent
revenge,
he
laid
his
full
weight
on
her,
that
she
raised
with
her
loins
using
the
strength
of
a
coal
heaver,
until
realising
what
was
happening
she
began
to
curse
'bastard,
bastard,
bastard'
and
lift
him
in
her
spasms
higher
with
every
curse.
Until
with
a
final
grunting
scream
she
was
finished
and
dwindled
under
him;
to
complain
in
a
moment,
'Ease
up.
Christ,
you're
smothering
me.'
He
rolled
off
her
on
to
his
back.
What
in
prospect
had
drawn
him,
attracted
and
repelled
like
a
dog
to
vomit,
was
going
to
make
a
bad
meal
in
memory.
At
the
thought
of
food
his
mouth
filled
with
water;
not
steak
or
fish
with
fine
wine
but
a
hot
pie,
the
kind they
ate
on
terracings
at
football
matches,
holding
it
in
both
hands,
the
grease
running
between
their
teeth
.
'I
locked
the
door
behind
you,
didn't
I?'
she
whispered.
'It's
locked.'
He
lay
with
his
arm
covering
his
eyes
and
his
head
turned
from
her.
'Both
locks
and
all
the
bolts.
Not
forgetting
the
chain.
You
put
the
chain
back
on
as
well.'
She
turned
and
pressed
herself
against
his
leg.
He
edged
away.
'That's
all
right.'
Her
voice
was
quick
and
placatory,
with
no
resentment.
'You
don't
have
to
bother.
Just
hold
me.'
She
tugged
at
his
fingers
to
draw
his
hand
over
her.
'Put
your
arm
round
me.'
'What's
wrong?'
He
had
never
seen
her
like
this
and
it
made him
uneasy
.
'Last
night
someone
tried
to
break
in.
I
heard
noises.
I
got
up
and
stood
behind
the
door.'
She
touched
his
shoulder
and
her
hand
was
cold.
'I
didn't
put
any
light
on.
Scratching noises
.
'
She
shuddered
against
him.
'And
then
I
heard
the
lock
turning
back
.
'
'Did
Irene
know
this
when
she
asked
me
to
come
here?'
'And
then,'
her
whisper
hardly
reached
him,
'then
I
heard
the
second
one
go
too.
I
knelt
down
and
put
my
hands
over
the
bolt
that
goes
into
the
floor.
The
door
was
shaking
and
I
pressed
my
hands
down,
then
it
stopped
and
I
thought
he
had
gone
away.
Only
after
a
while
it
started
again
,
but
just
for
a
little
while.'
He
hitched
up
on
an
elbow
to
look
at
her.
Her
face
was
pale
and
seemed
shrunken
until
it
was
no
larger
than
his
fist.
There
was
nothing
left
of
her
prettiness;
it
was
gone
like
a
conjuring trick.
'I'm
going
home.'
'Please,'
she
said.
He
lowered
himself
back
on
to
the
bed.
He
stared
at
the
faint
outline
of
an
old
stain
surfacing
in
some
enigmatic
shape
through
the
white
plaster
of
the
cornice.
'We
can
do
anything,'
she
said,
'you
can
do
anything,
if
you won't
leave
me.'
His
decision,
though,
had
been
made.
He
dozed
and
imagined
that
he
had
risen
and
dressed
.
It
occurred
to
him
that
he
had
not
been
able
to
enter
her
because
she
belonged
to
John
Merchant
and
so
he
did
not
have
the
power;
but
Merchant
was
dead,
and
to meet
that
objection
Merchant
changed
at
once
to
Bradley.
The
big
Yorkshireman
Bradley
was
dead
too,
of
course,
but
for
some
reason
that
did
not
matter.
She
belonged
with
Bradley
and
with
Merchant
and
so
he
did
not
have
the
power.
This
explanation
comforted
him
and
lapped
in
warmth
he
slept.