The Silent Sleep of the Dying (Eisenmenger-Flemming Forensic Mysteries) (44 page)

"Did you have to murder Carlos?"

He sighed as if explanations were tedious and should have been unnecessary. "He had the gun, he had already shot my companion. He was a threat, so I removed the threat. Anyway, he had Proteus; he was a walking dead man."

Helena laughed, a savage sound. "You're wrong. I killed him. I killed your precious friend."

Rosenthal was surprised, then smiled. "Well done," he said gravely. "Welcome to the most exclusive club that there is."

Stein was losing consciousness. Rosenthal looked out at the darkening sky and said, "Time for me to go." He went to his bag and produced a skein of plastic washing line that he threw to Eisenmenger. "Tie up the gorgeous Helena. And do it properly — hands behind the back, each foot to a leg of the chair. Tight."

Unravelling the line, Eisenmenger asked, "What are you going to do?"

Rosenthal considered. "Well, the plan was that you should all die in an explosion and blaze. I don't see why that should change."

"Won't it look odd? All these bodies, including a policeman? And the authorities are going to think an explosion odd, given that this is a domestic house."

Rosenthal's smile was appreciative. "There speaks a pathologist. You're quite right. It's going to look bloody odd, but I don't particularly care. The lack of naturalism in the situation, whilst it offends my artistic sensibilities, has to be accepted. The important thing is to ensure that there is no connection between what happens here and PEP. It's all going to be a big mystery."

Eisenmenger felt that he was running out of arguments, that anyway the arguments were fairly pusillanimous. "But my presence, as well that of Helena and Carlos, all that will be proof of a link." He had tied Helena's ankles and was now starting on her wrists. Rosenthal watched him all the time.

"That would be true, if there were going to be any recognizable remains." Eisenmenger had now finished. He returned to his chair. Rosenthal grabbed his right wrist from behind; the grip was excruciatingly hard. Within twenty seconds his hands were bound. Rosenthal tied each ankle to a leg of the chair, again from behind so that Eisenmenger could not kick at him. Then he stood, walked over to Helena and checked the bindings.

From his bag he now produced a dark grey disk, approximately thirty centimetres in diameter and six high. He showed it to them. "This is going to kill you. It explodes, producing a temperature of approximately five thousand Celsius, at the same time distributing burning phosphorus to a distance of twenty metres. It has been adapted from an anti-tank mine, and it has an anti-tamper device. One movement and it explodes."

"Something you picked up at the corner store?" asked Helena.

He smiled, but didn't answer. Instead he said, "Whatever remains of you will be beyond even the skills of one such as Dr Eisenmenger." He looked at his watch. "In fifteen minutes, I shall be gone. At the same time, this will detonate."

Beverley stood in the hall listening to everything that was being said. She had crept all of the way around to the back of the house, gingerly trying every window, eventually finding the back doorway where Bochdalek and Rosenthal had gained forcible entrance. This led through the kitchen and past a large, walk-in pantry where she had come across not only a double-barrelled shotgun but also a box of cartridges. It wasn't exactly a high calibre rifle, but it was better than just having a knitting needle and sadly misplaced over-confidence. Thanking a God that she had hitherto considered at best a nuisance, at worst non-existent, she had examined the weapon. It wasn't in the best condition but it would fire. She slipped two cartridges into it then, as gently as she could, she snapped the gun back together, hoping that the action was good, that it wouldn't require too much force and too much noise to lock.

Her luck continued. She put as many of the cartridges into the pockets of her jeans as she could carry, then ventured out of the pantry, trying to recall at least something of the basic firearms course she had attended too long ago.

Now she stood and listened to the conversation, wondering what to do.

She had to find out the topography of the room, particularly where Rosenthal was. After Rosenthal had kicked it open, it had swung back and was now about twenty centimetres ajar, the light spilling forth away from her. She moved to the doorframe, still well out of the light. She would have to risk looking into the room, hoping that Rosenthal was turned away. Taking a deep breath and praying to her newly attentive God, she moved forward as slowly as she could.

Her supplication worked. Rosenthal was facing away from the door, standing in front of Eisenmenger, although Helena was still visible, tied to a chair, on his right. Stein was apparently unconscious on a sofa, further to the right and, on the floor in front of the doorway, there was a body rising out of a pond of blood, kneeling as if it too had found God, only with less success than her. It looked like Beelzebub had had a go at installation art.

Her problem was that she could not intervene, not with a shotgun in her hand, for Rosenthal was too close to the others; the chance of hitting them was close to certain. She watched as Rosenthal indicated a large device on the floor in front of the fireplace, a dark grey cylindrical object, presumably the explosive device that he had been talking about.

*

Helena enquired, "Is that thing another of PEP's humanitarian products? Another example of the good they're doing in the world?"

Rosenthal squatted down over the bomb, doing something to it that she couldn't see. His face was hidden, but his tone when he spoke again was a composite of amusement and admiration. "You know, Helena, you really are a special woman." After a pause, he said to Eisenmenger, "She's not a bad fuck, either. In case you wondered." His tone was ostentatiously confidential, two mates in the pub.

Eisenmenger looked at him, his face unmoving. "I'm sure she's delighted to be rated so highly by such a connoisseur." Helena contented herself with a murmured, "Bastard." Rosenthal stood up, his back still to Beverley. Another glance at the watch. "Time to love you and leave you."

He turned away from them to face the door and it was then that Eisenmenger's eyes met Beverley's. He spoke loudly to Rosenthal, but it was too late. Rosenthal had already seen her.

*

Rosenthal's neocortex didn't actually register the partial face-shape by the door frame; it didn't need to. The machine pistol, previously pointing to the floor, began to come up before he even knew that there was anyone there.

*

Beverley saw him turn, was pulling back even, but there was the briefest moment of eye contact. She glimpsed the gun starting to rise.

*

The barrel of the machine pistol became horizontal, the trigger was pulled and the ammunition began to demolish the wood and plasterwork.

*

Beverley dropped as low as she could, moving away from the door, back along the corridor. She was expecting the gunfire, but its deafening volume coupled with frighteningly rapid splintering of the wood and plaster just above her head almost made her momentarily catatonic.

Then it stopped and there was nothing.

*

Helena heard Eisenmenger's call to Rosenthal but didn't know why he was bothering. When Rosenthal raised the gun and started firing she was completely surprised at this unexpected twist of madness. Wondering if the man had flipped, if he was just going to dissect them both with gunfire before he left, she could only watch his back and wonder.

The gun was empty. Rosenthal was already reaching for another ammunition clip.

*

Either
he's
having
to
reload
,
or
it's
a
trick
,
hoping
to
hire
me
into
the
doorway
.

If
it's
a
trick
I'm
dead
.

If
it's
not
a
trick
and
I
wait
too
long
,
I'm
dead
anyway
.

She came to a crouch, brought the shotgun round into a useable position, took one deep breath and darted forward into the doorway.

*

Rosenthal had the clip in and was already bringing the pistol back up when Beverley appeared before him. There was no break in the motion of the gun.

*

Beverley saw the gun rising, saw that he was effectively shielding Helena but that Eisenmenger was fully exposed, only some five metres away. She had no choice but to fire. She tried to aim to the right side of Rosenthal but she dared not deviate too much, lest she miss altogether. She pulled both triggers at once.

The twin explosions boomed into the room. Suddenly Rosenthal's chest was stripped of clothing, skin and flesh, leaving only an irregular, edge-singed, blood crater. His face was turned suddenly into red, ripped meat, oozing blood from everywhere before the smoke had dissipated and the echoes in their ears died. The arm holding the pistol was reduced to a bloodied limb, no more, the pistol still gripped.

He collapsed at once, already dead.

*

Eisenmenger watched as Beverley appeared in the doorway She was in a crouched position, a shotgun held with its stock pressed against her right hip. He could see, too, Rosenthal's arm coming up, the clip being pressed into position by his left hand as he did so. He didn't have time to think anything about what this might mean.

He saw the flame-flecked blasts from the shotgun barrels, heard nothing, then felt agony all over his upper body and face.

He lost consciousness at once, unaware that Helena had screamed, "John!"

*

Beverley remained crouched for a second after the blasts. Then moved back behind the door, straightening as she did so. She was immediately aware of a pain in her right hip, where the recoil had gouged into her. Ignoring this, she broke the gun, fished two cartridges from her pocket, reloaded and snapped it back together. Only then, the gun held again ready to use, did she advance carefully into the room.

Although Rosenthal was obviously dead, she held the shotgun pointed down at his body, pushed him over and pulled the gun from the remains of his hands. Only then did she look over at Helena and Eisenmenger.

"Shit."

Helena was staring at her, her expression partly malevolence, partly dread. "You've killed him," she whispered. "You've killed him, you idiot."

Beverley rushed forward, dropping the shotgun and lifting the head from the chest. The face wasn't pretty. She felt for a pulse.

It took a moment, but she found one. "He's alive."

Then she turned to Helena, untying her bonds. "I take it there were only two of them."

"Yes. He's got some sort of rendezvous arranged, though."

Beverley indicated the bomb. "Did I hear him say that it's got some sort of movement sensor?"

"That's right."

Beverley looked at her watch. It was difficult to be certain but she estimated that they had a maximum of twelve minutes. She finished untying Helena. "Can you walk?"

She nodded.

"Right. First we take John, then Stein. Then we come back for the bodies, starting with Sergeant MacCallum. If we don't have time for the other two, so be it."

This wasn't a suggestion and Helena accepted that Beverley ought to command in such a situation. They untied Eisenmenger then, each putting their head under an arm. He was semiconscious but of little help in supporting himself. They had to be careful not to disturb the innocuous grey cylinder close to his chair.

They basically had to drag him over the floor. By the time they reached the front door, they were already exhausted. Opening the front door brought forth complete darkness and swirling rain, silver droplets like fish caught in the light from the house. They continued dragging Eisenmenger along the path, then on to the grass.

"How far?" asked Helena, shouting breathlessly over the rain and wind. Beverley's only answer was an equally gasped, "Further."

At approximately fifty metres from the house, Beverley said, "Here," and they laid him on the wet grass in the darkness, wind and rain. It was too dark to see from their watches how much time remained, so they just started running back to the house. Once back there, Beverley estimated that they had nine minutes.

Stein ought to have been easier because he was lighter, but they were becoming tired and although he was barely conscious, the pain from his hip as they dragged him cause him to writhe and twist as they went. It seemed to take even longer to get him to a safe distance.

Helena was starting to feel faint but she said nothing as they ran back again. Her breath was corrosive as she gasped, her legs were like leaden lumps of ice because of the cold, the wet and the strain, and her head was one thumping mass. She glanced at Beverley, seeing similar signs of approaching collapse. In the hall, Beverley's watch showed six minutes.