Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [117]
He was very careful indeed going out of the police station, twice standing motionless on corners while people moved past him, following the shouting and the hurried footsteps.
Outside in the street, quite deliberately, he ran. He wanted to be remembered. Someone had to tell them which way he had gone, if they didn’t work it out for themselves, and they could only do that if they knew enough of the facts.
On the chance that they did know, he could afford no delay, no hesitation.
It was wet. The rain came down in a steady drizzle. The gutters were awash and very quickly he was soaked, his hair sticking to his brow, his bare neck cold without his shirt. People looked at him but no one stood in his way. Perhaps they thought he was drunk.
He had to go around Cormac’s house, in case there were still police there. He could not be stopped now. He slowed to a walk and crossed the road away from it, then back again, without seeing anyone, and in at the gate of Talulla’s house and up to the front door. If she did not answer he would have to break a window and force his way in. His whole plan rested on confronting her when the police caught up with him.
He knocked loudly.
There was no answer. What if she were not here, but with friends? Could she be, so soon after killing Cormac? Surely she would need to be alone? And she had to take care of the dog. Wouldn’t she be waiting until the police left so she could take whatever she wanted, or needed to protect, of the records of her parents that he had kept?
He banged again.
Again – silence.
Was she there already? He had seen no police outside. She might be upstairs here in her own house, lying down, emotionally exhausted from murder and the ultimate revenge.
He took off his jacket and, standing in the rain, bare-chested, he wrapped the jacket around his fist and with as little noise as possible, he broke a side window and unlocked it and climbed inside. He put his jacket on again and walked softly across the floor to look for her.
He searched from top to bottom. There was no one here. He had not expected a maid. Talulla would have given her the day off so she could not witness anything to do with Cormac’s murder, not hear any shots, any barking dog.
He let himself out of the back door and ran swiftly to Cormac’s house. Time was getting short. The police could not be far behind him. Hurry! Hurry!
He wasted no time knocking on the door. She would almost certainly not answer. And he had no time to wait.
He took off his jacket again, shivering with cold now, and perhaps also with fear. He smashed another window, and within seconds was inside. At once the dog started barking furiously.
He looked around him. He was in some kind of pantry. He must get as far as the kitchen before she found him. If she let the dog attack him he had to be ready. And why would she not? He had broken into the house. He was already accused of Cormac’s murder. She would have every possible justification.
He opened the door quickly and found himself in the scullery, the kitchen beyond. He darted forward and grabbed at a small, hard-backed wooden chair just as Talulla opened the door from the further side and the dog leaped forward, still barking hysterically.
She stopped, stunned to see him.
He lifted the chair, its thin, sharp legs pointed towards the dog.
‘I don’t want to hurt the animal,’ he said, having to raise his voice to be heard above it. ‘Call her off.’
‘So you can kill me too?’ she shouted back at him.
‘Don’t be so damn stupid!’ He heard the rage trembling in his own voice, abrasive, almost out of control. ‘You killed him yourself, to get your revenge at last.’
She smiled, a hard, glittering expression, vibrant with hate. ‘Well, I have done, haven’t I? They’ll hang you, Victor Narraway. And the ghost of my father will laugh. I’ll be there to watch you – that I swear.’ She turned to the dog. ‘Quiet, girl,’ she ordered. ‘Don’t attack him. I want him alive to suffer trial and disgrace. Ripping his throat out would be too quick, too easy.