The Nostradamus prophecies

77

Achor Bale lay where he had fallen. His wound had opened again and he could feel the blood pulsing weakly down his neck. In a moment he would move. There might be something in the kitchen with which to staunch the bleeding. Failing that, he could go out to the marshes and collect some sphagnum moss. In the meantime he would lie here on the floor and recuperate. Where was the hurry? No one knew he was here. No one was waiting for him.

Outside the house there was the crunch and hiss of a car.

The police. They’d sent a watchman after all. He and his partner would be almost certain to check through all the rooms before settling down for the night. Men did that sort of thing. It was a kind of superstition. A marching of the bounds. Something inherited from their caveman ancestors.

Bale dragged himself angrily towards the bed. He would lie underneath it. Whoever drew the short straw for upstairs would probably content himself with flashing his torch about inside the room. He’d be unlikely to bother with more. Why should he? It was only a crime scene.

Bale eased the Redhawk out of its holster. Maybe there would only be one of them? In that case he would overpower him and take the car. The Maset was so isolated that no one could possibly hear the shot.

His hand brushed against the cellphone concealed in his inside pocket. It might still have some juice left in it, if it hadn’t been damaged in the fall. Perhaps he should call Madame, his mother, after all? Tell her he was coming home.

Or would the flics be monitoring the frequencies? Could they do that? He thought not. And they had no reason to suspect Madame, his mother, anyway.

No sounds from downstairs. The coppers were still outside. Probably checking the periphery.

Bale keyed in the number. He waited for the tone. The number took.

‘Who is this?’

‘It’s the Count, Milouins. I need to speak to the Countess. Urgently.’

‘The police, Sir. They know who you are. They are here.’

Bale closed his eyes. Had he expected this? Some fatalistic djinn whispered into his ear that he had. ‘Did she give you a message for me? In case I called?’

‘One word, Sir. Fertigmachen.’

‘ Fertigmachen?’

‘She said you would understand, Sir. I must put the phone down now. They are coming.’