The Silent Sleep of the Dying (Eisenmenger-Flemming Forensic Mysteries) (43 page)

Helena caught Eisenmenger's eye, gesturing with the slightest movement of her head towards Bochdalek.

Oh
,
God
!
She
must
be
joking
!

But she wasn't, as she clarified by repeating the movement, then adding a nod in his direction and the merest hint of a kick at Bochdalek's gun.

Is
she
suicidal
?
He's
a
killer
,
for
God's
sake
!
This
isn't
a
Hollywood
blockbuster
.

He tried frantically to tell her not to commit this lunacy, that it would fail, that it would end in catastrophe, that they would all die, but his slight staccato shaking of his head and his deep frowns were either misinterpreted or ignored. Helena just nodded firmly.

Eisenmenger, accepting that he might as well halt the spin of the earth, began feverishly to work out a way to help her. The one thing on their side was that they weren't tied up.

Feeling that what he was about to do was both futile and foolish, but aware that his mind was afflicted by a strange cerebratory paralysis, he said suddenly to Bochdalek, "He'll have to kill you now. You know too much."

Bochdalek brought his eyes and his attention to Eisenmenger. "You reckon?" he scoffed.

"Rosenthal is exterminating everyone who knows about Proteus. He thinks we're the last. That must include you."

Bochdalek shook his head confidently. "He won't kill me. We're comrades. We've killed together before." This last was clearly a source of pride.

Eisenmenger saw that Helena was preparing her move. Bochdalek was occasionally glancing at her and at Carlos, but it was superficial. Eisenmenger asked with a sneer, "Ever killed anyone who deserved it? Or were they all innocents? Babies, perhaps? Cripples, the blind, the mentally handicapped?"

Bochdalek was blank for a moment and Eisenmenger was momentarily afraid that he had gone too far, that this man would hurt him, but then a wide grin split his face and he began to laugh.

It was then that Helena kicked out at the gun. Eisenmenger started forward but Bochdalek wasn't playing by their rules. When the kick connected, the gun didn't fly towards Eisenmenger as it was supposed to do but remained stubbornly in his hand. It didn't even move much, remaining pointed at Eisenmenger's chest. Bochdalek was grinning even more broadly.

"Tut, tut," he said. "Black marks for you two … "

He was about to continue, but this time he was genuinely off guard and when Carlos picked up the fire poker by the side of his chair and flung it at his head, it hit with a soft but very satisfactory thud.

This time the gun was dropped and Helena was on to it while Bochdalek, clutching a gash on his forehead from which blood was running down the side of his nose, stood up and cried a tight, hissed, "Ow!"

She came up, holding it as if it were a ray gun from the twenty-eighth century. By now Carlos was standing, as was Eisenmenger. They were watching Bochdalek take his hands from his face, shake his head and regain composure; they saw Helena finally manage to get a grip on the gun, point it in Bochdalek's direction, then try to stop it shaking. She didn't succeed.

Bochdalek saw the gun, saw Helena and began to grin again. Eisenmenger edged towards Helena, hoping and not hoping that she would give him the gun. He had a strong, and completely unfounded, sense that his ignorance of firearms was somehow superior to hers.

Bochdalek took a step towards her. He was only about a metre away. Eisenmenger wanted her to take a step back, but there was nowhere to go and anyway, she didn't look as if she wanted to. "Don't make me," she warned.

Bochdalek laughed. He turned to Eisenmenger. "She ain't going to shoot me, is she?"

Eisenmenger felt he knew her better, but even he wasn't entirely sure. The look on her face was determined, the look in her eyes less so. Bochdalek was looking still at Eisenmenger but at that moment he turned suddenly to Helena, jerking forward, as if to grab the gun. He stopped short but Helena jumped visibly and there was even a little squeak.

"See?" said Bochdalek, again to Eisenmenger.

"Don't do that again," warned Helena.

A face of comical fear, made again not at Helena. Then he smiled and in less than a second, he whipped around, snatched forward and grabbed for the gun. Helena, though, was faster. She jerked the gun down under his grasp and it was then that she must have pulled back slightly on the trigger.

The bullets sprayed out of the gun in a stunningly loud burst, the recoil flicking the muzzle upwards slightly. It lasted less than a second but perhaps thirty rounds were fired. Helena's face showed as much surprise as fear.

Most of the rounds missed, splintering into the floorboards in a short line behind Bochdalek. Only four of them hit him, an untidy line of black holes across his groin, slicing across the top of his penis and scrotum. He looked surprised, then staggered, then, as he gazed down at the blood that was pumping out and around his groin, as the pain made its lazy but devastating, agony-laden way to his brain, he began to scream, and scream and scream.

*

"We've had information that you may be in danger."

Stein's face was difficult to see and MacCallum couldn't be sure but he thought that perhaps the old man nodded slightly. His words, however, were of a different timbre. "Danger? That's ridiculous. What are you talking about, man?"

"We think that an old colleague of yours may be looking for you, and that he may pose a danger to you. Carlos Arias-Stella."

The rheumy eyes were momentarily obscured by a slow blink then, a quaver adding a curious vibrato to the words, "That's rubbish! Poppycock!" It was almost hysterical. It could have been petulance but MacCallum thought that there was something more.

He looked again at Beverley.
He's
here
already
. They both understood. He turned back to Stein and it was at this point that the sound of something heavy falling on the sitting room floor came to Rosenthal and the old man. Distracted, Stein hesitated; Rosenthal was listening, his gun still stuck into the ratchety ribs of the Professor. He heard faint talking.
What
the
fuck
are
you
doing
,
Bochdalek
?

Stein began again to speak. "There's nothing to worry about. Carlos won't hurt me, honestly. Even if … "

The shots interrupted him.

*

Beverley heard them quite clearly, as did MacCallum. Another look was exchanged, then Beverley began to rise from her crouched position.

*

Rosenthal also heard the shots, calculating as best he could what had happened, what he had to do now. He made his decision, tightening his grip on Stein's arm, then pulling him backwards so that he fell awkwardly on the bare, polished floorboards. Then the screaming started.

*

MacCallum put his face to the gap, now vacated by Stein. "Professor? Professor? Can you let us in? Can you … "

He didn't complete the repetition. Rosenthal's gun came around the edge of the door, angled upwards and in the space of a long, loud second, thirteen bullets exploded behind his eyes, a spray of flesh forming a fine vapour above his erupted skull, at once whipped away by the wind.

*

Helena was staring at Bochdalek, the gun still pointing at the line of holes in the floor. Eisenmenger was moving to take it from her when the gunshots from the hall sounded. He stopped, acutely afraid that things were exponentially decaying. Bochdalek was now grovelling on the floor, covered and surrounded in his blood, clutching his groin and keening. For a space between seconds they seemed to Eisenmenger to be clotted into inaction.

It was Carlos who pulled them out of their stasis. He came forward and took the gun from Helena, breathing rapidly and clearly almost panicking. "We've got to get out of here, before he comes back." He looked at Eisenmenger, saw shock and insisted, "Come on!"

Eisenmenger found reality again with difficulty. Bochdalek was pumping out blood by the litre and would soon be dead, regardless of what attempts were made to try to save him. On Helena's face was a look almost of apology, but her immobility told of deeper effects than that. Eisenmenger took her hand gently and said, "Come on."

They turned away, then Rosenthal returned.

*

Beverley smothered a small yelp of shock as MacCallum, now crested by an untidy crown of blood, bone and hair, fell backwards on to the crazy paving, eyes open and blind. She put her knuckles into her mouth, trying to fight through the incredulity and unreality, trying to begin operating on basic, professional principles. She didn't need to bother to check whether MacCallum was alive or dead.

This
ain't
be
Carlos
Arias
-
Stella
,
can
it
?
Has
he
flipped
?
Then
where
did
he
get
the
gun
?
It
sounded
like
a
machine
pistol
,
but
where
would
someone
like
Carlos
Arias
-
Stella
get
such
a
thing
?
If
not
him
,
then
who
?
And
where
were
Eisenmenger
and
Flemming
?

The door was still on the chain and there seemed to be no reason to believe that her presence was known to the gunman; she had to remain undetected, which meant finding another way in. She began to move away from the door, towards the windows of the sitting room, crouching low.

It was getting dark and she was amazed to find that it was actually possible to feel yet colder and wetter than hitherto. It made moving slow, stiff and sore.

*

The old man was on the floor, moaning. Rosenthal, assessing him as irrelevant, stepped over him, but he was surprised when Stein's hand reached out and grasped his ankle. The grip was amazingly strong. He staggered, swivelled and, despite being off balance, neatly kicked Stein hard in the right hip. The old man released him at once, crying out sharply. Rosenthal ignored him and walked to the sitting room door to listen. He heard moaning and whispered talking. The door was pulled to, but not closed. He stood to the right of it, gun raised, half behind the wall. Then he kicked it open.

*

Beverley heard the crash just as she was about to risk peering over the windowsill into the room's interior. She crouched even lower and waited.

*

Rosenthal looked down at Bochdalek, up at the three retreating figures, fixing on Carlos. He raised his pistol and fired a half-second burst into his abdomen and chest.

*

What
the
hell
was
happening
in
there
? Beverley felt as if some surreal psychosis had settled around her. Much as she feared the consequences, she had to find out what was going on in there. She tentatively raised her eyes above the wood of the window ledge.

Two bodies on the floor, both blood-bathed and clearly dead or dying. Helena and Eisenmenger standing, facing a man she didn't know who was holding a gun on them. Surely too old for Carlos … ?

Inspiration struck.
Rosenthal
.

She lowered her head and continued to make her way across the front of the house in the hope of finding a way in. What she would do then was a plan waiting to be formed.

*

Rosenthal made them pick up the body of the dead policeman from outside the door, keeping his gun on them at all times. Eisenmenger took the head end but, even so, Helena looked uncertain whether to vomit or faint or both. Having added the corpse to the body count in the sitting room, they returned for Stein, taking him into the sitting room. The old man was in great pain and could neither stand nor sit, so they laid him on the floor with a cushion for a pillow. Any movement of the left leg caused him to whimper. "I think you've broken your hip," said Eisenmenger.

Stein was shaking, ageing with every breath. Eisenmenger said to Rosenthal, "He needs painkillers."

His reply was a shrug. "He'll be dead soon, anyway. You all will."

Helena said, "You're not human. You just don't care, do you?"

"My dear Helena. I kill for a living. Killers who care don't exist." He indicated with his gun that they should sit in the dining chairs.