‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ she asked him. Down below there was shouting as Henzigger and his two remaining men searched the grounds, their echoing voices making it impossible to place their whereabouts. She hoped none of them thought about the scaffolding as a way onto the roof, otherwise she and Myburghe were finished.
Myburghe stared blankly at her.
‘If you suspected Christian was dead, why didn’t you say something?’
‘Couldn’t do… anything else. Needed you two to help protect the girls. They said they would go the same way if I didn’t co-operate. Other papers to fix, you see… more shipments to come. Henzigger knew his career was done… and… was going private. He needed my help.’ His voice dropped to a murmur, and Riley guessed he was on autopilot, his head doing the talking while his body ran down like an old clock mechanism. ‘Didn’t want to do it… must believe that. Far too late for heroics.’ Something like a sob came from him, but it could have been air escaping from his damaged lungs.
‘How many shipments, in all?’ she asked, leaning close to him.
He grunted and moved slightly. ‘Three sizeable… don’t know the details. Several smaller. Rest of the time… they used my name for papers.’ His voice faded.
A shotgun boomed out below, and she began to be fearful for Palmer and Mitcheson. With Henzigger and two Colombians left, they could easily get caught in the crossfire. And Henzigger had the aggression, experience and motivation to make it happen. He also had absolutely nothing to lose.
There was more shouting, and she recognised Henzigger’s voice, pitched high and challenging, echoing through the trees and rising above her rooftop position.
‘C’mon — Palmer, is it? I know you’re out there. This isn’t your kinda game, you know? Give it up now while you can!’
She left Sir Kenneth and risked a peep over the parapet, but couldn’t see anything. Wherever Henzigger was, he was being cautious enough to stay out of sight. But someone must have been watching for her. There was a flash and another chunk of masonry exploded painfully near her hand, sending sickening pains the length of her arm.
The MAC10 went spinning off into the darkness.
‘Was that you, Palmer?’ Henzigger’s voice floated up again, taunting his unseen opponent. ‘You ain’t got what it takes for this!’ Two more shots whistled close by the edge of the roof to emphasise his contempt, accompanied by wild whoops from two other voices out in the darkness. Then Henzigger called again: ‘Francisco? Where the hell are you, compadre? Get that bastard off the roof now!’
Riley rolled behind the parapet, clutching her hand to her chest. Without the flashlight, she couldn’t see what damage had been done, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. She wasn’t sure who Francisco was, but she was prepared to bet it was the man she’d hit with the gun. Henzigger might send one of his other men up here to investigate any minute, and she couldn’t afford to get trapped up here.
She scrambled to her feet and sprinted for the far end of the roof, skidding on fragments of grit. She clambered out onto the scaffolding. It was open and risky in the dark, but better than the enclosed environment of the stairs. The structure rattled beneath her, vibrations carrying through the planking and sending down a shower of fine stone dust around her. Ten seconds later she was on the ground, peering round the edge of the building.
Nobody in sight. She scuttled along the front of the house, hugging the shadows and hoping that if Palmer was out here he didn’t mistake her for one of the bad guys.
She reached for the car keys. With luck, Mitcheson might have left something else on the back seat.
No keys.
Damn. She was sure she’d put them in her pocket. They must have fallen out somewhere. It was too dangerous to go back and look.
Standing out in the open trying to jemmy the car open was a passport to the afterlife, so she did the next best thing and made her way towards the kitchen. If nothing else she could throw meat knives until the police arrived.
Then she remembered the shotgun they’d taken off the unfortunate Charles Clarke on the night of the wedding party. Rockface had locked it in a metal cabinet in a storeroom behind the kitchen. It was risky entering the house to get it, but it was better than waiting out here to get shot.
As she rounded the corner near the entrance to the kitchen, she came face to face with a bulky figure waving an automatic pistol.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
It was too late to duck back. Riley kept going, straightening her forearm and swinging it into the man’s throat with all the power she could muster.
He made a harsh, choking noise and hit the ground on his back, leaving behind an aroma of fried onions. His gun flew away and hit the wall of the house, where it went off with a bang and a flash, lighting up the surrounding area like a flare. With no time to scoop it up, Riley kept running, bouncing off the doorframe and falling inside.
Behind her, the man clambered to his feet and scrabbled away, shouting in a hoarse voice for someone called Baga. Or maybe he knew some English.
It was deathly quiet inside the house after the sound of the shot, with just the heavy tick of a clock somewhere nearby. She was in the kitchen. There were no lights on, but the room was saved from total darkness by a couple of red pilot lights on the wall above the cookers.
Riley waited until she got her breath back, then inched through the gloom, feeling her way across the stone-flagged floor until she reached the door of the storeroom. She pushed it open and stepped inside.
‘You took your time.’ The voice came in the same instant that the light came on, and Riley thought her heart was going to stop. She spun round, flattening herself against a wall.
It was Palmer, leaning against the metal cabinet as if he was waiting for tea to be served. He looked unruffled but serious.
‘I’ve been up on the roof waiting for you to do something!’ Riley muttered scathingly, determined not to show how scared she was. She brushed him aside and opened the gun cabinet. It gave her something to do while she hid her enormous relief at seeing him, and to steady her breathing. If she even thought about what she was doing right now, she’d probably fall to pieces.
To her relief, the cabinet still contained the shotgun and the box of cartridges. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘Waiting for you, mostly. I figured you’d be along eventually-’ He broke off, staring at her chest. ‘Christ, what did you do up there — slaughter a heifer?’
‘What?’ She peered down and was horrified to see her jacket and shirt were drenched with darkening blood, with more on her hands and arms. It must have come from helping Sir Kenneth up the stairs to the roof. She also had a cut on one hand, probably caused by the piece of flying masonry. Fortunately, it wasn’t serious. ‘I didn’t realise… damn — my favourite jacket!’ She tugged at a large tear in one sleeve, and felt a chill in her stomach as she realised how close the bullet had come.