The Stone Wife

23

Neat.

On small wheels set into twin tracks, the shower unit had glided forward from the bathroom into another room: Nathan’s gunroom. To enter, you stepped in and made your exit on the right. Ingeborg found herself in a space not much larger than a holding cell, narrow in depth, but appreciably longer in width, that must have been created by partitioning when the bathroom was installed.

Efficient use had been made of the space, amounting to about twenty square metres. Rifles and submachine guns were racked vertically at head height along the walls, and handguns and ammunition displayed in glass-fronted cabinets. Two wooden crates at the far end contained more handguns. She picked one up and it was lighter in weight than she expected, clearly a replica. Firearms manufacturers turn an extra profit by franchising out their designs to dealers in imitation weapons. These 'air-soft,' pellet-firing guns are marketed as collectors’ pieces, but in practice are often used in armed robbery. They can be modified to fire live rounds. When a villain takes aim, the shopkeeper doesn’t ask if it fires real bullets. He opens the till and hands over the cash.

The range of weapons in the cabinets was impressive. Ingeborg was no expert, but she had done the firearms course and recognised the Glock 9mm self-loading pistol as a type she had fired. Five of them were together on the top shelf, along with Smith & Wesson revolvers, Berettas, Walthers and, yes, some older handguns, including two tarnished silver Webleys. She opened the cabinet and — taking care not to handle it — used one of Nathan’s keys to lift a Webley by the trigger guard and feel the weight. This was no replica. The metal was chipped in places and it had the look of a much-used weapon. She replaced it.

The police ballistics experts would have a field day with this collection. No wonder Nathan’s storage facility was so cunningly disguised.

For now, Ingeborg focused on the mission she’d taken on, linking Nathan to the shooting of Professor Gildersleeve. Having got this far, she wasn’t leaving without the evidence and — if possible — the name of the killer. Where was the paperwork? She’d persuaded herself Nathan kept records of his dealings. Surely it was sensible to store the log in this secure place.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted something hanging from a hook high on the wall behind her. She reached up to a clipboard loaded with several sheets of what looked like accounting paper. Found! Elated, she allowed herself a yelp of self-congratulation.

The handwritten entries were made in columns. They weren’t headed, but to Ingeborg’s eye they were easy to decipher. The date of each transaction appeared in the left column, then abbreviations for the make and type of the weapons (the giveaway was H&K MP5 for the Heckler & Koch carbine), more initials for the hirer, followed by the date of return and space for a tick when the transaction was complete. Nothing about the money that had changed hands. No doubt Nathan kept that information in his head.

She didn’t study all the sheets. After unclipping them, she folded them roughly and stuffed them in her pocket. High time she thought about getting out of this place alive.

She took a Glock 17 from the display and loaded it. The seventeen-round magazine capacity and the lightweight polycarbonate body would help anyone’s confidence in a shootout. She helped herself to a shoulder holster and strapped it on, leaving both hands free if she was scaling walls.

From now on, she would have to wing it. There were too many unknowns. Any plan was likely to run into trouble straight away.

Pity she no longer had her iPhone. Some pictures of this place would have been strong evidence. She took a last look round and then re-entered the shower cabinet and crossed the bathroom to the door and opened it a fraction.

The corridor was eerily silent. Nathan’s bedroom door remained ajar, as Lee had left it. Lights were on along the corridor, but outside it would still be dark. She needed to make her escape now.

She stepped out, down the stairs and past Stella’s room. No one could have slept through that alarm. Was the entire household gathered obediently at some assembly point? She couldn’t picture it.

From this point, she would rely on instinct to orient herself. Another staircase would bring her to ground level and she’d need to be extra cautious there. She drew the gun before taking the last steps down. Ahead she saw the armour displayed on the walls that meant she’d reached the entrance hall. Not the preferred route. She’d be crazy to make her exit from the main door. Instead she started along an unlit corridor she hoped would bring her to a less obvious way out of the building.

Then she froze. She could hear someone coming towards her.

This wasn’t one of those helpful corridors with doors on either side. It was probably the route to what had once been the servants’ quarters, a narrow passage not much wider than the telescopic corridor used for boarding an aircraft. Faced with the choice of turning and running or taking a stance, she drew the gun and took up the classic position she’d been trained for, legs astride, knees slightly bent, both hands steadying her aim.

‘Hold it!’ she called out, heart stuttering.

The footsteps ahead stopped.

‘Stay right there. I’ve got a gun and I’m coming towards you.’

The brief, tense silence was broken by Lee Li’s shrill voice. ‘Ingeborg, is that you?’

‘Are you alone?’

‘Yes.’

Ingeborg lowered the Glock and stepped forward.

Lee, still in her white bathrobe and flip-flops, stared like a choked thrush at the pistol. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘Never mind.’ She shoved the thing back in the holster. ‘What’s going on outside?’

‘Some trespasser broke into the grounds. The dog found him and woke people up with all the barking. They were saying he fell from a tree. I think he’s dead. Nathan told me not to look and sent me back to bed.’

If some unfortunate had come to grief, he wasn’t Ingeborg’s concern. ‘Do they know about me? Does Nathan know I got out?’

‘He didn’t say anything. I don’t think he knows.’

She made a rapid assessment. Lee’s knowledge of the house could be useful, even though she would add to the risk of being spotted. ‘Do you still want to get away?’

‘I’m not dressed,’ Lee said.

‘If you want out, it’s now or never. I’m leaving now.’

Lee bit her lip and pulled the bathrobe tighter across her chest. ‘All right.’

‘I’ve got his keys. One looks like a car key to me.’

‘That’ll be for his Aston Martin. It’s in the garage.’

‘Take me there.’

Lee didn’t need convincing of the urgency. She turned and led Ingeborg briskly through two doors and down some stone steps. ‘In here.’

They entered a basement garage spacious enough to park a fleet of cars in addition to the two limos and the open-top sports car already in place. What the hell if the Aston Martin Roadster was an eye-catching sunburst yellow? It would go some. Ingeborg stepped over to it, opened the door and made sure the key fitted. ‘How do we open the garage door?’

Lee was already seated beside her. ‘You’ve got a remote on the dash.’

She found it and pressed the top button. A rollerglide door started moving in the far corner. ‘Which way when we get out?’

‘Up the ramp and right. It takes you to the front of the house and you’ll see the drive ahead.’

‘Let’s go, then.’ The 4.3 litre engine started with a satisfying vroom and they cruised out and upwards with the lights on full beam. ‘Where exactly is Nathan?’ Ingeborg asked as they swung right.

‘You’ll see them in a second. They’ve got flashlights.’

She hoped to God they had nothing more lethal. Nathan and three of his bodyguards were under some trees partly illuminated by the security lights at the front of the building, not more than thirty yards from the drive. They had a dog with them and there was a figure prone on the ground. They spun about at the sound of the car. Nathan thrust his hands up in alarm and two of the minders reached for their guns.

‘Head down,’ Ingeborg told Lee. ‘This could be ugly.’

She gave the car an injection of speed and spun the wheel to control a skidding turn in front of the house. A shot screamed over her head and another hit the bodywork somewhere, fortunately without hindering the forward movement. Ingeborg ripped through the gears on squealing tyres to get out of range of the guns. More shots were fired, but handguns are notoriously inefficient at distance, even when the target is stationary, and in seconds they had belted up the gravel drive to relative safety.

‘You all right?’ Ingeborg asked.

‘Thanks, yes.’

‘We need to get through the gate. Can he control it from the house? I’d rather not smash it down.’

‘I don’t know. The remote should open it.’

‘We can only try.’ She squeezed the brakes as she began to run out of drive.

Those gates looked huge and impenetrable. The car would never burst through them and still be usable. She pressed the remote control and waited, her stomach clenching. Agonizing seconds passed before anything happened. The two of them didn’t need to speak their thoughts. By now, Nathan would have collected something from the garage and started in pursuit.

The gates shuddered and started inching open.

Impatient to be in motion again, Ingeborg stared into the rear-view mirror and saw headlights make the turn in front of the house. She drew a sharp breath and exhaled at once, switching her attention back to the slowly widening space between the gates. Judging the gap to a centimetre, she engaged the gear, jammed her foot down and swung on to the road.