Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [73]
‘The noise,’ he hesitated, ‘that must have been…’
I nodded, unable to speak. Stratford seemed content to remain silent, waiting for Simpson to return.
‘But we went up at once,’ Kreiner went on. ‘I take it that no one has come down since and…’ He broke off, but I could see what he was trying to say.
‘And there’s no other way down,’ I finished for him.
He swallowed emptily. ‘Yes, so…’
‘So whoever killed them,’ continued Stratford, apparently taking an interest at last, roused from his thoughts, ‘is still upstairs.’
His eyes flicked upwards almost subconsciously, and I felt rather than noticed Susan’s follow their direction. I watched her for a moment, felt her weight on my shoulder, felt secure in her eyes as they looked up the stairway, wide and afraid. For a moment I was lost, was safe, in her eyes as they followed the direction of my anxiety. Then she turned slightly and looked back at me. Our eyes met and for a moment we were both transfixed, then I looked away embarrassed. Upwards, towards reality.
Towards death.
* * *
THE REPORT OF INSPECTOR IAN STRATFORD (16)
Suddenly, without any conscious effort on my part, my years of training surfaced, pushed forward and took over. There was a suspect – faceless admittedly, but a suspect nonetheless. And there was a location: he or she was confined to the upper floor unless he or she wanted to risk serious injury by shinning down a drainpipe.
‘Baker,’ I snapped professionally, ‘stay here with the ladies. Hopkinson, Herr Kreiner, you will accompany me upstairs.’
John Hopkinson looked directly into Susan Seymour’s eyes. Her hand reached up to caress his cheek. ‘Be careful, John,’ she whispered.
Hopkinson disentangled himself from Miss Seymour and walked towards the stairs. I made sure I was one tread ahead of him all the way up.
* * *
THE ACCOUNT OF JOHN HOPKINSON (17)
We took the steps quickly although we were in no hurry – where could the murderer go? In a way it was a relief that none of our closed circle could be held to blame; in another it was terrifying to consider the ease with which Banquo Manor had been penetrated.
We paused at the top of the stairway. I had assumed that Stratford had some sort of plan worked out that would enable us to conclude our unpleasant business with little difficulty. Kreiner also deferred to him, assuming the same. But I could see at once in his eyes (so unlike Susan’s – so little depth, yet so much more experience) that I was wrong. He was as much in the dark as I was – just as frightened, just as worried, just as alone.
A pause. He could hardly allow us to see his anxiety – his mind.
‘Right,’ said Stratford. A decision. ‘You take the right side of the corridor, and I’ll take the left. Kreiner, you follow us and stay in the corridor. Make sure that nobody tries to sneak past.’ He moved quickly over to his side and opened a door, the door to the room he had slept in the night before. He hesitated for a moment, then saw me watching and went in.
I opened the corresponding door on my side of the passage and matched Stratford’s actions. We were all scared, and we all knew it. But at least Ian Stratford knew what he was doing, what to do and how to approach whoever was up there with us. At least my hope that this was the case was all that persuaded me, almost provoked me, to enter the black pit that was Catherine Harries’s bedroom.
* * *
THE REPORT OF INSPECTOR IAN STRATFORD (17)
I pushed the door to my bedroom open and rapidly stepped back. My bedroom – the room I had spent one night in, mainly asleep. I wished that Simpson had been faster with the shotgun. I took two cautious steps into the room and looked around. Bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers. Door to bathroom. Possible hiding places: bathroom, wardrobe, under bed. From where I stood, just inside the doorway… You fool – what about behind the door?