“I don’t think so. He said he didn’t employ one. Notice how clean the surfaces were, and that silver goblet on the coffee-table?”
“Yes. Polished so you could see your face.”
“You weren’t there,” Banks said, “but it’s the same polish smell as in the Weymouth hotel room, something with a strong scent of pine.”
“You can’t be thinking… surely?”
Banks nodded. “That’s just what I am thinking, Susan. We’ve got to radio for help.” He gestured with his thumb back towards the house. “I think Chivers is in there somewhere, and he’s armed.”
FOURTEEN
I
To the casual observer, nothing unusual occurred around The Leas and Devraulx Abbey that fine Sunday afternoon in late September. If one fisherman approached another, had a chat, then replaced him at the riverbank, or if a picnicking family, shortly after having a few words with a passing rambler complete with rucksack and stick, decided to pack up and leave because the wasps were bothering them, then what of it? The Abbey closed early, and there were a few more cars on the road than usual, but then, it was such a surprisingly beautiful afternoon that everyone wanted to enjoy a bit of it before the rain and wind returned.
Still in the same position, about half a mile down the road, out of sight of the Harkness house, Banks and Susan waited. Birds called, insects hummed, a light breeze hissed through the trees. At last, another car joined them, and Superintendent Gristhorpe got out, along with DS Richmond, and strode purposefully over to Banks’s Cortina. There wasn’t much to say; everything had been taken care of on the radio. The replacement fishermen were policemen in plain clothes; the picnicking families had all been cleared from the area, and a tight circle had been drawn around Harkness’s house and grounds.
“If he’s in there,” Gristhorpe said. “He won’t get away. Alan, let’s you and I go back to the house, say we have a few more questions. Let’s see if we can’t defuse this mess before it blows up.”
“But sir,” said Susan. “I think I should go, too.”
“No,” said Gristhorpe. “Stay here with Phil.”
“But—”
“Look. I’m not doubting your competence, Susan. But what we need here is experience. Alan?”
“I agree,” said Banks.
Gristhorpe took a.38 Smith and Wesson from his pocket and handed it to Banks, who automatically checked it, though he knew Gristhorpe would have already done so. Susan’s lips drew tight and Banks could feel the waves of humiliation flowing from her. He knew why — she had potential, but she was young, inexperienced, and she had made mistakes before — and he agreed completely with the superintendent’s judgment. There was no room for error in dealing with someone like Chivers.
“Ready?” said Gristhorpe.
Banks nodded and joined him in the unmarked Rover, leaving Susan to fume and Richmond to console her in Banks’s own Cortina.
“How do you read it?” Gristhorpe asked, as Banks drove slowly back towards the pack-horse bridge.
“Harkness is nervous, and I think he’s shit-scared, too. And it’s not just because of what I think he’s done to Gemma Scupham. If I had to guess, I’d say Chivers is either in the house somewhere, or he’s been there and he’s hiding out nearby. And Harkness isn’t harbouring him out of the kindness of his heart. He’s damn close to being held hostage. There’s nothing he can do, though, without incriminating himself.”
“All right,” said Gristhorpe. “Let me do the talking. Keep your eyes peeled. We’ll try and get Harkness out of there if we can.”
Banks nodded, turned into the driveway and crunched over the gravel. He felt a claw tighten at the pit of his stomach; the gun hung heavy in his pocket.
They rang the doorbell. Harkness flung the door open and growled, “You again? What the bloody hell do you want this time?”
Gristhorpe introduced himself. “I think it might be best if we did this at the station,” he said to Harkness.
“Am I under arrest? You can’t be serious. This is nothing but a tissue of unsubstantiated lies.”
He was sweating.
“I think it would be best, sir,” said Gristhorpe. “Of course, you have the right to consult your solicitor.”
“I’ll sue the both of you for wrongful arrest. I’ll have you off the force. I’ll—”
Banks thought he noticed a flash of movement behind Harkness on the staircase, but it was hard to see into the house clearly. What followed next was so sudden and so unexpected, he realized in retrospect that there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.
They heard a sound like a dull pop and Harkness’s eyes seemed to fill with blood. His forehead opened like a rose in time-lapse photography. Both Banks and Gristhorpe flung themselves out of the way by instinct. As Banks flattened himself against the wall of the house, he became aware of the blood and tissue on his face and chest. Harkness’s. He wanted to be sick.
Time seemed to hang like over-ripe fruit ready to fall at any moment. Harkness lay half in and half out the door, only a small hole showing in the back of his closely cropped skull and a pool of dark blood thickening under his face around his head. Gristhorpe stood back, flat against the wall on one side of the door, Banks on the other. From inside, they heard nothing but silence. Then, it could have been minutes or just seconds after the shooting, they heard a crash from the far side of the house, followed by a curse and the sound of someone running.
They glanced quickly at one another, then Gristhorpe nodded and swung himself into the doorway first, gun sweeping the hall and stairwell. Nothing. Banks followed, adopting the stance he had learned in training: gun extended in one hand, other hand gripping the wrist. They got to the front room and found no one. But there, beyond the french windows, one of which had been smashed by a careless elbow as he dashed by, they saw Chivers running down the lawn towards the riverbank.
“Get on the radio, Alan,” said Gristhorpe. “Tell them to close in. And tell them to be bloody careful. Get an ambulance here, too.”
Banks dashed to the car and gave the message to the plain-clothes watchers, all of whom carried police radios in their fishing boxes or picnic hampers. After he had radioed headquarters for an ambulance, he hurried through the house after Gristhorpe and Chivers.
Chivers was in the garden, heading for the river. As he ran, he turned around and fired several times. A window shattered, slate chips showered from the roof, then Gristhorpe went down. Banks took cover behind the copper beech and looked back at the superintendent’s body sprawled on the lawn. He wanted to go to him, but he couldn’t break cover. Carefully, he edged around the tree trunk and looked for Chivers.
There weren’t many places Chivers could go. Fences and thick hedges blocked off the riverbank to the east and west, enclosing Harkness’s property, and ahead lay the water. With a quick glance right and left and a wild shot, Chivers charged into the water. Soon it was up to his hips, then his waist. He aimed towards the tree and fired again. The bullet thudded into the bark. When Banks looked around the trunk again, he saw the other police in a line across the river, all with guns, closing fast. Gristhorpe must have commandeered the whole bloody dale, he thought. Glancing back towards the house, he saw Susan Gay and Phil Richmond framed by the french window staring at Gristhorpe. He waved to them to take cover.
Chivers stopped when the water came up to his armpits and fired again, but the hammer fell with an empty click. He tried a few more times, but it was empty. Banks shouted for Richmond and Susan to see to the superintendent, then he walked down the slope.
“Come on,” he said. “Look around you. It’s over.”