The House Guest - Mark Edwards Page 0,66

– at the same time that Callum stepped out from between the trees. It was so dark with the torch lying on the ground that I could barely see his face. But then he said, ‘Sorry to have cut it so fine.’

‘Are you shot too?’ I asked.

‘Me? I’m fine.’ He strode over and joined me, crouching beside Krugman. ‘Still alive. Good.’

Blood bloomed across the front of Krugman’s shirt where the bullet had struck him in the belly. Instinctively, he had laid his fingers across the wound.

‘We need to get him to a hospital,’ I said. ‘Where’s your phone?’ Krugman had taken mine after he pretended to arrest me.

Callum addressed Krugman directly. ‘You want us to do that? Call an ambulance?’

Krugman stared up him. His eyes were glassy. He coughed and droplets of blood appeared on his lips.

‘I could patch you up, call 911. Officer down. They’d probably send a helicopter, am I right? You’d be fine. But first, tell us where they are.’

‘Where’s Ruth?’ I added.

Krugman didn’t speak.

‘Come on, man,’ said Callum. ‘Time’s ticking away. Do you really want to die? Is this really how it ends for you? Shot in the woods by an old guy like me? You got kids? A wife? You ever want those things? Just tell us, where can we find them?’

Krugman coughed again. More drops of blood.

I tugged Callum’s arm. ‘He hasn’t got long. Give me your phone.’

‘Not till he tells us where they are.’

‘Callum . . .’

‘You hear that, Detective Krugman? This young man wants to save you, even though you were going to kill him and bury him out here where no one would ever find him. All he wants is to find his girlfriend, talk to her. So where is she?’

Krugman went to speak. A croak came out, along with more blood. I put my ear close to his mouth.

‘Protect one, protect all,’ he said.

Callum swore, then pulled Krugman’s hand away from the bullet hole. It was a horrific sight, a red mess, and I could hardly bear to watch. Callum ripped apart Krugman’s shirt, buttons popping and falling on to the damp earth on which he lay.

I thought he was going to try to staunch the flow of blood. Instead, he picked up a small but sharp twig from the ground and jabbed it into the open wound.

Krugman screamed.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ I yelled.

Callum withdrew the twig. Its point glistened black in the shine of the torch. ‘I’m a desperate man, Krugman. Now tell us where to find them.’

But the pain had made Krugman pass out.

‘Mother of Jesus,’ Callum said, slapping Krugman on the cheek.

‘Are you a sadist?’

‘No, Adam,’ he hissed through clenched teeth. ‘But we need to find out where they are. If he dies without telling us, we’ll be back at square one. Worse than that. After this, we’re going to have every one of those bastards looking for us.’

Krugman made a groaning sound.

‘Let me try to reason with him,’ I said.

Callum’s eyes twinkled and he whispered, ‘The good cop, bad cop routine, eh? Dealing with the evil cop. I like it.’

‘Just let me talk to him,’ I hissed.

He put his palms up. ‘Okay, okay. Be my guest.’ He reached into Krugman’s pocket and plucked out his phone, positioned it against the detective’s thumb to unlock it, then stood and took a few steps into the darkness.

‘Krugman,’ I said, speaking gently. ‘Dennis. He’s not going to let me call an ambulance unless you tell us what we need to know. He’s going to hurt you again.’

Krugman moved his lips and, once again, I leaned closer to hear.

‘She’s his now,’ he said.

‘His? Who is he?’

He lifted a hand and pointed a trembling finger at me.

‘Dead men walking,’ he whispered, echoing what Eden had said to Jesse and Brandon at the pool.

Then he made one more sound, ‘Hmm’, before falling silent.

‘Oh shit,’ I said.

Callum came over, reached down and closed Krugman’s eyelids. ‘I’d say a few words but I don’t think anything’s going to help him get into the Kingdom of Heaven.’

I stood up. There was blood on my jeans and on my hands. I staggered a few feet away and threw up behind a bush.

‘Nice one,’ said Callum. ‘We’re going to have to clean that up. DNA. Though if we tell the cult where he is they’ll probably do it for us. They’re not going to want Krugman’s straight colleagues trying to figure out what happened here.’

‘What do you mean, call them?’

He held up Krugman’s phone. ‘Last