The Blue Rose

Chapter Twenty-eight

Kate stood on the painted wood porch of Compton’s bungalow, both hands gripping the wooden handrail of the balustrade that ran across the front of the house. She was trying to make up her mind what she should do next. Stay put until the police arrived, or go back to find out what was going on. Since it was Sunday – she was convinced now that it was – and also in the depths of the country, it could be some time before the police showed up. She still didn’t know for sure whether Alex was here. And what, she wondered, had happened to the caretaker and Marcus? She hoped she was wrong in thinking that the old man would be no match for Marcus. Then there was the shotgun blast – had he shot Marcus? And what about the other man – the American? Where was he and what was he doing?

She stared out over the grounds considering her next move. It didn’t seem a good idea to stay at the house, waiting for the police to arrive. Now Marcus knew where she was, that might be the worst thing she could do. No, she was going back to find out what was happening. She would just have to be very, very careful.

As she let go of the handrail, small flakes of white paint came off on her hands, which were sticky with perspiration. She brushed them off on her jeans and ran down the four steps to the path. Quickly she retraced her steps and was soon back at the barn where she’d last seen Baldie marching Marcus off to God knows where. She wasn’t sure which way to go. Where was everybody? The only sound came from the wind and the leaves falling on the corrugated roof of the barn. Knowing that she had called the police, had they all taken off? Then she heard men’s voices. She couldn’t make out what was being said. She had to get closer.

She took a few tentative steps watching for any movement in her peripheral vision. She was beginning to wonder whether she should have stayed at the house.

The voices stopped.

Kate did, too.

The jarring crack that followed hurt her eardrums. The sound of the single gunshot echoed off the buildings. Ears ringing, she turned and ran to the barn wall, crouching sideways against it as if it would protect her. She waited like that for half a minute or so, but no shots followed. The shot had come from beyond the end of the barn. It certainly wasn’t Baldie’s shotgun.

Edging forward, telling herself to remain calm, she reached the end of the barn. Flattening herself against the rough wood siding, she paused, expecting the voices to resume any moment, but there was silence. The temptation, despite the risk, was too great. She had to step out of the cover of the barn to see what was going on. She only needed to walk a few steps.

What Kate saw sent a ripple of panic through her. She almost screamed but at the last second clasped her hand tightly across her mouth.

Not much farther than a stone’s throw away, Kingston was curled up on the ground. Clearly he had been shot and was injured. Alex was bending over him. Twenty feet or so beyond them, a tall man in a windbreaker, holding a gun by his side, appeared agitated and was talking to Marcus. Behind them stood two other men. Petrified, she stood with her hand still raised to her mouth, unable to move or speak.

‘Kate!’

Alex had seen her. ‘Kate,’ he screamed. ‘Get out of here. Run!’

She hesitated for a second. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marcus leap forward. God! He was coming after her. She spun round and started running down the path past the barn.

Then she heard the gunman’s voice bark out. The words echoed in her ears. ‘Go get her, Marcus. Go get the bitch!’

Kate couldn’t run any faster. She knew that her chances of outstripping Marcus were slim. If she stayed out in the open he would soon be breathing down her neck. He probably had a gun, too. Up ahead she saw the opening to the barn. She stopped in her tracks, skidding on the dirt path, almost losing her balance. The entrance: it was her only chance. She knew it was risky, aware that she could easily be cornered in there. She took a quick glance behind – still no Marcus – and stumbled into the barn.

Coming from daylight into the semi-darkness of the cavernous barn, she was running almost blind for the first several yards. She never saw Baldie, strapped to the post. She staggered right by him, part running, part walking, stumbling over debris as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Her ankle struck something hard and metallic and she fell to the ground. Her eyes filled with tears of pain. Grimacing in agony, she got up, hobbled a few yards and started running again.

She could see better now. Sufficient light was coming into the barn through cracks and knotholes in the siding. She was scrambling through a narrow dirt corridor with stalls on each side, apparently once used for stabling. She stopped and listened. The muffled sound of Marcus’s stumbling feet was getting closer. She leapt forward, running as fast as she could along the path, praying that it wouldn’t lead to a dead end.

Suddenly the path widened and she was in a large rectangular area that looked like a hayloft. Frantically she looked around. She was trapped. Then she spotted a flight of stairs built against the wall. Without hesitating she ran up it into the loft. In the half-light she could see cartons, plastic bags and barrels stored across the width of the shed. Some were stacked high above her head. Nearby, old galvanized irrigation pipes, rolls of wire fencing, tools and lumber were stored along the wall. Gasping for breath, she hesitated on the landing, gripping the railing, uncertain whether to venture farther into the darkness.

Marcus’s words made her spin round.

‘You might as well come out now,’ he taunted. ‘Don’t make me come up and get you.’

She still couldn’t see him but knew he was right below her somewhere.

‘All right, bitch!’ he shouted.

Then she saw him racing for the steps, a gun in his right hand. She catapulted into the darkness of the loft.

Hurtling blindly across the loose planks, banging into objects in her path, Kate encountered a dark looming mass. She had stumbled against a tall stack of plastic bags. By the smell, they contained fertilizer or manure. They were piled on a platform extending the length of the barn. Kate jumped up on the platform and ducked around behind the bags. She was up against the barn’s inner wall. She crouched in the dark, pulse racing, unsure whether to stay put or move farther along the wall. The stench from the manure was starting to make her retch.

There was a sharp crack, then an almost simultaneous thud, as something smacked into one of the bags next to her. Christ! A bullet. She stifled a gasp. A tabby cat, hissing and yowling, leaped from the bags right in front of her and skittered across the shed to safety.

A mixture of tears and sweat was coursing down Kate’s face. The blouse under her jacket was soaked and clinging to her skin.

There was the tread of a cautious footstep on the floorboards – and then another. He was now very close.

The footsteps stopped.

‘You’d better come out. That bullet was not meant to hit you.’ A pause followed. ‘The next will – believe me.’

His words raised the fine hairs on her arms. Her heart was thumping.

A floorboard creaked as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, edging toward her. Then the creaking stopped.

She had to move. With her back flattened against the rough timbers of the wall, Kate crab-walked along the narrow gap between the stacks of plastic bags and the wall, praying that the floorboards wouldn’t give her away. Splinters of wood pulled at her jacket.

She heard a shuffling noise.

Then stillness again.

She stopped and held her breath. The cat meowed plaintively in the distance.

Inch by inch, she edged along the wall. In front of her, the bags were now stacked much higher – almost up to the crossbeams of the roof. At last, she reached the end of the loft. It had dead-ended. She was trapped.

A crashing sound made her recoil.

Another crash followed.

Then another.

Oh, God! He was heaving the bags off the platform. In only seconds, he would reach her. ‘Come on, lady.’

‘Jesus,’ she breathed.

‘You wanna play games? Fine by me.’

Her stomach convulsed.

‘Come on,’ he taunted.

He was standing directly below her, she reckoned. This was it. It was her only chance. And she would only get one shot at it. She braced her back against the pile of heavy plastic bags, and then put one foot up on the plank wall in front of her. She took a deep breath, then pushed off with all the force she could summon. The bags didn’t budge. She grimaced. She needed more leverage. Manoeuvring her spine as high up as possible on the bags, she was about to push, when he spoke again. This time his tone was deliberate and mocking. ‘Last chance, babe. Come out or start saying your prayers.’

That did it. Kate shoved, taxing every muscle in her straining body, every inch of nerve and sinew, mobilized in one superhuman effort. Suddenly the bags gave way. Unable to check her momentum, Kate went over with the bags, tumbling helplessly off the platform.

Shaken but unhurt, she managed to stand up on the slippery bags. There was no sign of Marcus. She looked down at the lumpy pile. My God, she realized, he could be right underneath her. She had to move fast. She’d hardly taken a step when his hand lunged out from under the heavy bags and grabbed her ankle.

‘Gotcha! You bitch!’ he shouted.

Kate screamed. He was gripping the ankle she had bloodied earlier. Looking down, she saw that he was still partially buried under bags but his hold on her ankle was giving him the anchorage he needed to pull himself out from underneath.

He jerked hard. She tottered awkwardly, then lost her balance, falling, face down, shielding her head with her crossed arms and hit the floor hard. She winced as needle-like slivers of wood pierced her palms.

His relentless grip on her injured ankle was making it numb. In a matter of seconds he would be free.