Dead Heat - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,124
want back what is mine Mat you have.’
‘And what is that?’ I said, finding it quite difficult to talk. My tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of my mouth.
‘You know what I want,’ he said. ‘You obtained it in Delafield.’
Oh dear, I thought. He must have spoken to Mrs Schumann, or perhaps it was Kurt and his polo-mallet-wielding chum who had paid her a visit. I didn’t want to think about what they might have done to that dear, devastated lady.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said. I had raised my voice a little. I was very conscious that Caroline was still in the office and I was trying to somehow warn her of the danger although she had to have heard the shot and then the crash of the tray and the glasses. I had no doubt whatsoever that Komarov would kill her as easily as he had killed Richard. Or worse, he would use her as leverage to get back the metal ball. I thought about that ball. I didn’t actually have it with me so I couldn’t have given it back to Komarov even if I had wanted to. It was probably still on Toby’s desk where I had left it, for him to show to his vet. And I had no intention of putting my brother or his family in danger again.
‘George,’ said Komarov, keeping his gun pointed straight at me, ‘go and check that we are alone.’
George Kealy produced another pistol from his own pocket and went into the dining room. I could hear him going into the kitchen beyond. After a while he came back. ‘No one else here,’ he said.
‘Check in there,’ said Komarov, waving the gun towards the bar and the office beyond. The office actually sat between the bar and the kitchen with a door at each end and was more like a wide corridor than a proper room.
I went on staring at Komarov but slightly bunched my muscles ready to try to rush him if George cried out that he had found Caroline. But he didn’t. He just came back and reported that we were all alone.
‘Where’s your girlfriend?’ said Komarov.
‘In London,’ I said.
‘Where in London?’ he asked.
‘With her sister,’ I said. ‘In Finchley.’
He seemed satisfied with the answer and waved his gun towards the dining room. ‘In there,’ he said.
I had to step around Richard’s body. I looked down at his back. There was no exit wound; the bullet was still in his body. Did it make things better or worse? Neither. It was horrible either way.
I walked ahead of Komarov. Was he going to shoot me in the back? Unlikely, not that I thought it would make any difference to him. Or, I suppose, to me.
‘Stop,’ he said. I stopped. ‘Pull out the chair, the one with arms.’ I reached to my left and pulled the armchair away from the table. I realized that it was the Kealys’ usual table. I wondered if George noticed. ‘Sit down facing away from me,’ said Komarov. I did as he said.
He and George moved around me so that they were again in front.
I heard someone crunching across the broken glass in the lobby behind me. I thought it must be Caroline but Komarov looked over my shoulder and he didn’t seem alarmed. The new arrival was obviously his ally, not mine.
‘Have you got the stuff?’ he asked the newcomer.
‘Yeah,’ said a male voice. There were more crunching steps as the man moved nearer to my back. ‘Shame you had to shoot Richard,’ he said.
I recognized that voice. Much suddenly became clear.
‘Tie him up,’ said Komarov.
The man who had been behind me walked round in front. He was carrying a dark blue canvas holdall.
‘Hello, Gary,’ I said.
‘Hi, chef,’ he said in his usual casual style. There was not a chicken pox scab to be seen. But, then, there wouldn’t be. It had been so simple and I had walked right into the trap. Gary didn’t have chicken pox and, no doubt, Oscar hadn’t been going through my papers in the office and hadn’t stolen any of the petty cash. Komarov had needed me back at the Hay Net and the best way to do that was to create a manpower crisis. Get Oscar fired through Gary’s false accusations, then simply get Gary to call in sick. Hey presto, I came running. Like a lamb to the slaughter.