Scandalous Behavior

51

Billy found the button under the mantelpiece and pressed it; the panel to his right swung open, revealing a rack of weapons. Billy chose one of the two deer rifles, found a box of cartridges, and loaded the gun with thirty-ought-six rounds. He went outside, remounted his horse, and, resting the rifle across his lap, rode off toward the wood.

He rode as far as the hermitage, got down and tied the reins to a tree branch, then he stood still and listened. From his right, toward the road, he heard what could have been a footstep. He listened again but heard nothing, so he started through the wood toward the road, moving carefully and quietly. Silence made for slow going, but soon he heard a noise — something metallic scraping on something hard. He quickened his pace, not worrying about the noise. Shortly, the stone wall along the road came into sight, but he saw nothing else. He ran to the wall, leaned over it, and looked up and down the road, first to his left, then the right. He caught a glimpse of motion to his right and concentrated, but it was gone. Billy closed his eyes and tried to replay what he had seen. It wasn’t much: a man on a bicycle, disappearing around a bend in the road. He concentrated: big man, broad shoulders, thick neck, wool cap. That was it. Billy stayed on the estate side of the wall; no point in chasing a man on a bicycle.

He looked around the ground on his side of the wall, then at the wall itself. He found a smidge of green paint on a stone, smaller than his little fingernail. A green bicycle. That cut the search to half the two-wheelers in the country, he reckoned. Billy walked back to his horse, went to the house, unloaded and put away the rifle.

Stone and Peter returned to the house for lunch, and Peter excused himself to wash up; Billy was already at the table when Stone came in and sat down. “See anything?”

“A man was watching us from the wood this morning, and we know he had a rifle. I rode out as far as the hermitage and tracked him back to the road: just missed him. I caught a glimpse of a large man on a bicycle as he rode out of sight around a bend. That’s it.”

“You think we have something to worry about?”

“I do.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I think he’ll be back, probably tomorrow morning. I’ll see if I can get there first. Don’t ride over there tomorrow — drive.”

“All right.”

Peter joined them, and they changed the subject.

Al got back to his hotel suite breathless and sweaty, so much so that he took a drink, something he rarely did before the cocktail hour. He sat down in an easy chair and reviewed his experience, and he was satisfied that no one had seen or heard his test shots fired; it just wasn’t possible. It was the third man who screwed up things. He had gotten in the way of Al’s firing line and inspected the wall, then looked toward the wood, where Al awaited in the trees. Al had ducked behind a tree, and the man came on, on foot, but he showed no sign of seeing anything.

Al reached into a pocket for the brass he had policed and found only one shell casing. He stood up and dug into all his pockets, looking for the second one, but he found nothing. He had a clear memory of picking up both shells, but he had been interrupted by the approaching man. Had he dropped one? And even if he had done so, had the man found it? The floor of the wood was carpeted in all sorts of ground cover — ivy, pine seedlings, other things. It would be easy for a shell casing to get lost in there.

He went over his flight to the bicycle, getting it over the wall and vaulting over. He had struck the wall with the bicycle, making a sound. Had it left a mark? He had looked back from down the road and seen a movement, not much, but enough to be a man emerging from the wood. His only remedy at this point would be to go back and find the shell casing. After all, he knew approximately where it was.

The bourbon began to relax him, and his fears subsided somewhat. That was what he’d do. He’d go back tomorrow and find the casing, then he’d know his presence in the wood had gone undetected. He thought about calling Dr. Don and confiding in him, but he dismissed the idea out of hand. Such a call would show fear and indecisiveness on his part — not the sort of thing he would want communicated to someone who had hired him and was paying him a stiff fee.

No, he’d go out early tomorrow, before dawn, and police the wood for the shell casing. He’d rethink his whole plan and make it right, perhaps even better. Next time, he’d shoot all three of them, if he had to.