The Crow wrapped the telephone cord around them. The old-style cord, a knotted rope of wires, only just reached and he had to use all his strength to pull it tight. Stevie felt the old lady next to her straining against the cord, wheezing as she struggled for breath.
The Crow reached into his pocket. It wasn’t a lighter he pulled out this time; it was a small metal tube.
‘This is one cremation we won’t stick around for, son,’ Granger said. To Stevie she added, ‘We need to reach the other cop before he hears about your death and goes to ground. If we play this right, he’ll cark it at about the same time as you.’
Stevie stared hard at the small tube The Crow held up in his hand. It looked like the homemade timer bomb Aubin said had been used to destroy her house.
‘An incendiary device,’ Granger read her mind. ‘By the time this acid mixture eats through the cork and reaches the fuel, we’ll be long gone.’
Stevie craned her neck around the side of the chair. She remembered Paul Aubin saying ‘cocky to the point of stupidity’. But these people weren’t stupid. They were confident. They thought they were in control.
The Crow placed the tube upside down at the circle of fuel behind them, where they hadn’t a chance of knocking it away with their feet.
With a rush of panic, Stevie twisted at her bonds. The scissors dug into the flesh of her good arm. There was slight room for movement but pain from her damaged shoulder prevented her from twisting far enough to reach them. Lilly seemed to be aware of what she was trying to do and attempted to reach them herself. Like Stevie she managed to move a few centimetres but had to give up, her arms pinned too tight.
Stevie wondered at what rate the acid was eating through the cork. They might have five minutes; they might have half an hour. The Crow and Granger didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry despite their plan to visit Fowler next.
‘It’ll be all too easy for the cops to tell this wasn’t an accident,’ Stevie said, craning her head back towards Granger, now rooting through the drawers of Lilly’s oak dresser.
‘Couldn’t care less, love, it won’t be traced back to us. And besides, if things do start to get a little er, hot, we’ll just move on like we always do.’ To her son, rifling the drawers next to her, she said, ‘Turn the drawers out, make it look like robbery.’
Stevie discovered she could see what was going on behind them in the reflection of the TV without having to strain her neck. Granger pulled open the cutlery drawer and dumped the contents on the floor. She picked up a knife. ‘Silver plate,’ she said to her son. ‘Shame to waste it but I can’t risk it being traced.’
‘Cheap picnic set,’ Lilly said under her breath.
Stevie turned to look over the top of the armchair. A thin spiral of smoke rose from the metal tube behind them.
Granger saw it too. ‘C’mon son, we’d best get going.’
About to sweep the contents of the sideboard to the floor, The Crow came across the picture of Lilly’s husband in the silver photo frame. He held it up for his mother to see. Granger brought the frame to her mouth and tested it with her teeth. ‘Solid, but leave it, son, we can’t bother with this kinda junk.’
Stevie felt Lilly stiffen beside her and made hushing sounds at the old lady. She’d just managed to shake the scissors free from her sleeve and didn’t want Lilly drawing their attention. She prayed the mother and son couldn’t see what was going on behind the chair, hear her sawing through the tough cord with the scissor’s blades.
‘Hold on, Lilly,’ she whispered as the cord snapped. Instant relief. ‘Stay still, they’ll be gone soon and then we can get away.’
In the reflection of the TV they saw The Crow punch the photo from the frame and grind it under his heel. Lilly flinched as if she too had been punched. Muttering to herself, she reached for something down the side of her chair. Stevie plucked at Lilly’s dress and tried to pull her back, but the old lady shook herself free and climbed unsteadily to her feet.
The Crow and Granger were still busy at the sideboard when Lilly crept up behind them. Stevie attempted to move, but found herself riveted to the spot with shock.
Lilly rushed at The Crow.
‘Bloody Japs!’ Lilly screamed, wielding the Samurai sword like a hockey stick. The Crow turned, but too late to save himself. Lilly slashed at his middle and a silent scream uncurled from his mouth. He dropped the shotgun, clutched at his ripped stomach, and crumpled to the floor.
Stevie and Granger lunged for the gun at the same time. Granger was closer and reached it first, but Stevie landed on top of the smaller woman, knocking the air from her. The gun went off with a deafening crash and the fuel around the armchair flared. Heat seared Stevie’s face as she struggled with the woman on the floor, at last pinning Granger’s hands behind her with the telephone cord. Any minute now the fire would ignite the bomb and the chemicals would erupt into an inferno. She risked an upward glance and saw Lilly prodding the metal tube with the sword, trying to push it away from the flames.
‘Lilly, leave it! Get out!’ she cried.
The armchair caught fire. The heat was intense. Toxic fumes scratched at Stevie’s lungs. The hem of Lilly’s dress began to smoulder. Lilly paid it no heed, her face tight with concentration as she tried to knock the tube from the spreading flames. The heavy sword began to dip in her hands as if it might drag her into the fire too. Stevie hauled herself from Granger’s back and stumbled toward Lilly.
With her last reserves of strength, Lilly gave the tube a mighty whack and sent it skittering from the fire and along the floor. The bomb might still explode, but she had bought them time.
Stevie grabbed the vase of wilted daffodils from the sideboard and threw the water over Lilly, dousing the twitching flames on the hem of her dress. Appearing unhurt, the old lady stood over a wailing Granger. With one hand on the oak sideboard to steady herself, she placed a slippered foot on the back of Granger’s neck like a hunter with a trophy.
Stevie pulled her away and pushed her out the back door. ‘Stay there, Lilly,’ she commanded, turning back into the room. The Crow lay in the deep stillness of death, one hand licked by the flames of the burning chair.
Granger moaned as Stevie hefted her toward the door. The act of shoving the woman into the fresh air sapped her remaining strength. She dropped Granger to the ground and felt herself begin to fall.
Someone in a white shirt caught her before she hit the ground.
‘Fowler—what the hell are you doing here?’
‘I came to get those books off Mrs Hardegan. Looks like I arrived just in time.’
Stevie struggled against his hold. ‘Just in time? Jesus...’
‘Where’s the old lady?’ Fowler asked.
She managed to pull away from him, her panic infusing her with the strength she thought she’d lost. She spun around. ‘Shit, she was here a minute ago.’ People from the street were beginning to spill into the back garden. She heard someone yelling out for the fire brigade.
She made a move toward the back door just as Lilly reemerged, coughing and soot-streaked, cradling something in the folds of her cardigan.
‘We couldn’t leave our feathered friend,’ Lilly said through her coughs. She held the cardigan up for Stevie to see the contents; Captain Flint, bloodied, charred and almost devoid of feathers, lay inert in his cashmere nest. Stevie felt the tears begin to well.
Mrs Hardegan chuckled at Stevie’s distress. ‘Not dead.’ She gave the parrot a poke.
The black-skinned creature opened a beady eye. Its grey blob of a tongue levered up and down for a moment, and then it croaked, very softly, ‘Bloody Japs.’ (Image 30.1)