Last Snow - Eric van Lustbader [41]
Behind him, Jack heard the women enter the room. The nude girl was very pretty, angelic, even. With her golden hair and blue eyes she might have been Annika’s sister.
“Take Alli out of here,” he said to Annika.
“Too late,” Annika replied. She went into the en suite bathroom and when she returned said, “No one’s in there. Where the hell is Rochev?”
“Maybe he fled after he killed her,” Alli said. And when the others turned to look at her, she added, “Isn’t that what killers do?”
“Assuming the murder was premeditated,” Annika said.
Alli turned ashen, and ran into the bathroom where they heard her retching and vomiting.
“She’s right about one thing, Rochev isn’t here,” Jack said. “The faster we get out of here the better.”
“In a moment.” Annika knelt on the bed.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She was peering at the murder weapon, which had a slender shaft perhaps three feet or a little more in length. “There’s something odd about this thing.”
Jack heard the sound of running water, then Alli appeared, looking whey-faced and red-eyed. He held out a sheltering arm and she came to him, putting her arms around him and hugging him tight. Her face was averted from the mess on the bed and she was trembling violently.
“Can we leave?” she said in a small, lost voice.
“Absolutely,” Jack said. “Annika, what’s odd about that thing, it’s an arrow, right?”
“No,” she said, touching the end. “See here, there’s no fletching.” Then, quite shockingly, she grabbed the shaft in both her hands and, with a grunt, pulled it so violently from the victim’s chest that for a moment the corpse rose up, its white back arched, until Annika could tear the murderous tip from the flesh.
Backing off the bed, Annika brought the weapon over to him and held aloft its business end, steeped in blood and viscera. “You see, the tip is diamond-shaped. Very unusual, very distinctive.”
Alli caught a glimpse of it and began to whimper.
“Let’s go,” Jack said, heading to the bedroom door.
He heard Annika following him down the stairs. In utter silence, they crossed the entryway. The Rachmaninoff was done, and a viscous, choking silence pervaded the dacha. Alli had begun to hyperventilate, and Jack urged her to take slow, deep breaths. He pulled open the door and they stepped out onto the veranda. The gathering wind had brushed away the late-afternoon clouds and now, in the aftermath of sunset, the sky was a deep pellucid blue. He looked up into the evergreen, searching for the vigilant crow, but it was gone from its perch, leaving the nest unprotected.
“Back!” he said. “Back inside the house!”
Floodlights snapped on from the tree line on either side of the driveway, blinding them. Then came the furious shouts, followed by gunfire.
TEN
“SBU,” ANNIKA shouted over the hail of gunfire as they retreated into the dacha. Ukrainian Security Service. “Shoot first, ask questions afterward. This is their method of operation.”
“They were waiting for someone to show up,” Jack said, “and we obliged them.”
Annika slammed the door shut and locked it. Jack was holding on to Alli, shielding her from the possibility of a bullet that might find its way through the wooden door. Handing a reluctant Alli off to Annika, he ran to the hearth. Grabbing fire tongs, he picked a burning log off the fire, brought it back to the entryway, where he kicked over the side table. The ceramic vase crashed to the floor, spilling its contents. The hail of bullets had ceased, but the shouts of the SBU operatives were growing louder as they ventured nearer the veranda. Jack kicked the dried flowers up against the front door, making sure the pinecones were visible.
Jack dropped the burning log onto the highly flammable pile. With a whoosh, the pine pitch in the cones ignited and flames exploded. Almost immediately, the paint started to peel off the door, smoldering, catching