To The Grave (32 page)

“Come in!” he shouted.

He ran for the door and the table crashed down behind him.  When the door opened he saw a smiling waiter holding his meal on a tray.  Then Tayte watched his smile turn to fear as he bowled into him, knocking him back, sending the tray and his dinner flying.

“Sorry!” Tayte yelled.  “Get out of here.  He’s got a gun!”

Tayte thundered down the corridor.  He followed the signs for the fire exit, turning around one corner and then another, hoping to reach it before the gunman had another chance to fix him in his sights.  He didn’t look back until he saw his way out.  He took one glance over his shoulder, noted that he was in the clear and then he slammed into the fire exit door and burst out onto the iron stairway, catching his breath as the cold night air filled his lungs.

Chapter Forty-Two

T
ayte reached the hotel car park out of breath, his heart racing so fast it was almost painful.  As he continued to run, all he could think about was the tray of food he’d sent flying and the room-service routine that had just saved his life.  He saw his hire car ahead and thought about his keys, glad that he hadn’t had time to take them out of his trouser pocket before the gunman had ordered him to sit down.  Right now all he wanted to do was drive as far away from there as possible.  His phone was back in the room hanging up inside his jacket.  That wasn’t so good because the other thing he wanted to do was call the police.

As he reached the car he thought his exit from the building would have set off an alarm somewhere and that hotel security would investigate it, but he didn’t plan to stick around long enough to find out.  He took a quick glance around before he got in, noting that there were plenty of people around and there were other cars coming and going.  All good signs, he thought as he hit the accelerator and pulled away hard, setting his wheels spinning on the frosty Tarmac.

He saw the gunman again then.

In his rear-view mirror he caught him running across the car park and the sight of that gun bunched in his hand made Tayte feel the cold through his thin shirt for the first time since he’d taken flight.  He changed gear and accelerated harder.  The man was gaining and Tayte realised the car wasn’t going anywhere.  His wheels were spinning, losing too much traction.

The wheels suddenly bit and the car lurched forward.  Tayte looked back again and he could see the man more clearly now.  He watched him bring his gun up ready to take a shot despite the attention it would draw.  Then as another car passed him, heading towards the gunman, his pursuer dropped his gun arm to his side and stopped. 

Tayte kept on the accelerator.  He screeched out of the car park onto the hotel access road, thinking that he should drive straight to the nearest police station.  He wished he knew where that was.  Then he realised he had to go to the Lasseter house.  He had to warn Jonathan.  They had been together all day.  Jonathan knew everything he knew and that put him in the same mortal danger.  He could call the police later.

As he joined the traffic on the main road, heading towards Oadby, he heard another car screech in the near distance behind him and he knew he had to hurry.  He swerved out into the oncoming traffic and overtook the car in front of him.  He tried to repeat the manoeuvre but quickly realised he didn’t have time.  The oncoming van flashed him and a horn blared past as he ducked back in.  A few seconds later he tried again, thinking only that he had to get to the Lasseter House first and with enough time to get Jonathan out.

The early evening traffic soon became heavy and he knew he had to get off the main road so he activated the satnav and brought up Jonathan’s address, which he’d set up when he first arrived.  It gave him the obvious route first - the route he was now on - so he asked for another and another until he found one that avoided all the main roads, which he knew would be clogged with people travelling home from work.  When he found one that didn’t seem to take him too far out of his way, he selected it.  Then he heard a car horn behind him and checked his mirror.  He saw headlights in the other lane briefly before they ducked back into file.

“In two hundred meters, turn left.”

It was satnav lady and if she had a face Tayte would have kissed it.

“Thank you - thank you,” he said, looking for his exit.  There was no time to risk overtaking again and the oncoming chain of headlights told him it would be suicide to try.  He just hoped his pursuer thought the same.

When the junction came, Tayte swung the wheel hard and lost the back end of the car for a split second, but it was nothing he hadn’t done a hundred times or more in his Thunderbird.  He counter-steered and regained control, all the while checking his mirror, hoping that the man who was trying to kill him hadn’t seen him turn off or thought to do the same.

After several seconds passed he began to breathe a little easier.  He was on his own - just him and the voice coming periodically from the satnav, guiding him to the Lasseter house as fast as the car and his nerves could manage.

There were no other cars outside the Lasseter house when Tayte arrived.  The silver Vauxhall slid several feet through the gravel as he stepped on the break pedal, locking the wheels.  He ran to the front door and banged on it with his fist.

“Jonathan!”

He flicked at the letterbox several times and thumped on the door again.

“It’s JT!” he called.  “Open the door!  We have to go!”

He was about to thump the door again when it opened and a startled looking Jonathan Lasseter stood in the frame.

“Where’s Geraldine?” Tayte asked.

“Swimming,” Jonathan said.  “You remember, I -”

“Good,” Tayte cut in.  He grabbed Jonathan’s arm.  “Let’s go.  We don’t have much time.”

“Time for what?”

“I’ll explain later.  Just get in the car.”

“Can I put my shoes on first?  What about my coat?”

Tayte glanced down at the paisley slippers Jonathan was wearing.  “There’s no time,” he said.  Then as he pulled Jonathan out onto the drive with him he heard a sound that froze him to the spot.  It was another car and the wailing engine note told him that whoever was driving it was in a hurry.

“He’s here,” Tayte said, thinking fast.

“Who’s here?  What’s going on?”

Tayte ran towards the Vauxhall taking Jonathan with him but before they reached it a green Land Rover Defender turned onto the drive at speed, spraying gravel in its wake, full beam floodlighting the house.

“Shit!” Tayte said, turning back to the house.  He let go of Jonathan’s arm.  “Get back inside!”

They ran back to the house together, their backs to the Defender as it drew rapidly closer.  Tayte turned as he reached the door to see the man in the pinstripe suit lean out of the window and take aim.  A shot was fired.  It clipped the door and went clean through.  Then as Tayte slammed the door shut and shot the bolt across, another bullet tugged at his shirtsleeve.

“Did he get you?” Jonathan asked.

“I don’t think so.  Move away from the door.”

“Who is he?  Why is he doing this?”

“I don’t know who he is,” Tayte said.  “He was waiting for me in my hotel room.  He was going to kill me and he’ll kill you, too.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re looking for Mena.  He’s used us to find her and now he has to stop us.  To keep a secret.”

There was a telephone on a half-table against the wall further into the hallway and Tayte quickly found it.  He ran to it but stopped himself halfway.  This was no place to be caught when the gunman came through that front door and he knew that would be soon.  A second later the expected thud came and it jarred his nerves.

“Where’s your cellphone?” he asked.

“In the kitchen.”

The door thudded again as the gunman tried to force it.  Tayte went to the stairs.

“Is there another phone up here?”

“In the bedroom.”

The stairs creaked as they ran up into the darkness and seconds later a volley of shots was fired at the door.

“Maybe he’ll think we ran out the back,” Tayte said as they reached the top and turned around the bannister.  “It might buy us enough time to get a call out.”

“Then what?” Jonathan said.

Tayte didn’t answer.  He knew they didn’t have much time and he thought if they could just call the emergency services, help would come.  All they had to do was hide until then.  It was a big house and it would take time to search it.  Maybe they could go up into the attic and block the hatch.

Another thud sounded below.  This time it was followed by splintering wood and Tayte knew the gunman was inside.  He stopped moving partway across the landing and caught Jonathan’s arm.  He locked eyes with him and put a finger to his lips, warning him not to make any sound that might give them away.  Right now he figured the slightest creak from a floorboard would kill them and every step he’d taken since they climbed the stairs had caused the old house to groan in protest.  He listened in the darkness.  The house was deathly still.

Seconds later he heard a door click somewhere downstairs like a handle had just been turned.  The sound told him it was time to move again, but he thought it was best to stay put and let Jonathan make the call.  He urged him on towards the master bedroom and in the half-light now that his eyes had adjusted, he watched him walk slowly towards it as if stepping through a house of cards.  Another sound came from below, this time more distant.  The bedroom door was open and Tayte could just see the silhouette of the phone on the bedside table inside.  Jonathan reached it and carefully lifted the receiver.

The next sound Tayte heard startled him.  It was a single creak at the bottom of the stairs.  He held his breath and turned back to Jonathan who was already staring back at him.  He had a finger paused over the phone’s keypad, ready to make the call, but the sound had stopped him.  The next creak was lighter and it was followed by faint footsteps in the hallway below, like the gunman had started to climb the stairs and changed his mind for some reason.

Tayte gave Jonathan a nod and Jonathan tapped out three nines for the emergency services.  Even if he just left the call hanging without saying a word, Tayte thought it might be enough to bring someone out to the house to check.  But as Jonathan hit the last digit there was a clatter in the hall below and when Tayte turned back to Jonathan he was holding out the handset, shaking his head, letting Tayte know that the line was dead.  The clatter he’d just heard was clearly that of the master telephone socket being kicked off the wall, cutting them off from the outside world and ending any hope they had of calling for help.

The noise in the entrance hallway continued for several seconds and as soon as Tayte realised what was happening he used that sound to mask his own movement.  He ran to Jonathan who stepped back as Tayte reached the bedroom and left the door ajar behind him.

“We have to get out,” Tayte whispered.

“What about my mobile?  Maybe we could double back to the kitchen when he comes upstairs.”

Tayte shook his head.  Even if they made it down the stairs, he figured the noise would draw the gunman straight to them.

“Is there a window we can climb out of?” he said.  “Somewhere with a ledge?”

“There’s an extension at the back of the bathroom,” Jonathan said.  “It wouldn’t be hard to climb down from there.  The windows are small, though,” he added.  “And the bathroom’s at the top of the stairs.  It would be too risky.”

A succession of creaking floorboards told them that the gunman was now on the stairs.  Tayte went to the bedroom window.

“It’s a sheer drop from there,” Jonathan said, stopping Tayte in his tracks.

Tayte spun around and voiced his earlier thoughts.  “Can we get up into the attic?  Maybe we could shut ourselves in and wait it out.”

“We can’t wait,” Jonathan said.  “Geraldine’s due home soon.  She’ll walk right into all this if we don’t do something.”  He went to another door - a smaller door at the back of the room.  He opened it.  “Quickly.  Through here,” he added.  “It links to one of the old bedrooms.  We use it as a dressing room now.  We can try the window in there.”

“Is there another way in?” Tayte asked, assuming there must have been at some point.

“From the landing,” Jonathan said. “But it’s got no handle and there’s a wardrobe behind it.”

As they went through Tayte heard a voice on the landing that was so close and unwelcome it sent a shiver through him.

“You’re beginning to make this personal, Mr Tayte.”

It was already personal as far as Tayte was concerned.  He pulled the door shut behind him.  Then he followed Jonathan towards the moonlight at the end of the narrow corridor.  He thought it must be coming from the window they were heading for, the curtains undrawn.

“Come out now or I’ll make this very painful for both of you,” the gunman called.

Tayte crept through after Jonathan into a room predominantly filled with pine wardrobes.  There was an old dressing table inside the door and Tayte wondered if this might once have been Mena’s room and whether she had sat and gazed at her reflection in that same mirror.  It was a fleeting thought that he didn’t have time to dwell on.

Jonathan went straight to the window and opened it while Tayte looked around for something to block the small doorway with - anything to buy them time if it came to it.  He could see the main door that led onto the landing, which was half blocked by one of the wardrobes as Jonathan had said.  The dressing table was the only thing in the room he thought small enough to be able to move quietly but which was large enough to offer some resistance.

“Jonathan,” he whispered, calling him back from the window to help lift it into place.  Tayte didn’t think it would hold for long and he supposed the gunman would find his way to it soon enough.  All they had to do now was get out of there before he did.

The moonlit view from the window wasn’t encouraging.  Below the dormer, Tayte saw frost covered roof tiles that sloped several feet down to the guttering and there was a drop of eight or nine feet below that.  The slide wouldn’t be too difficult, he thought, having no doubt in his mind that he would slide.  Catching the guttering to stop himself would be the hard part.