‘Rudi. Rudi.’
I recognised the voice and got to my feet. As I did she turned in my direction. The hood fell away and the moonlight caught on her blonde hair, turning it silvery. Suddenly she was the younger, female image of her father.
‘Paula.’ I moved quickly towards her, watching carefully, if her hand moved towards her coat pocket…
She stood stock still. ‘Who’s that?’
I pulled off the cap. ‘Don’t be scared. It’s Hardy.’
I was only a few metres away now. She glared at me and took her hands out of the folds of the long scarf she wore around her neck. “Where’s Rudi?’
‘What?’
‘Where’s my dog?’
I couldn’t say out on the track with his brains beaten in. I didn’t say anything. She got closer and those blue eyes transfixed me. I dropped the torch to the ground, unzipped the parka for easier access to the Colt.
‘You’re covered in blood. You’ve killed him, you bastard!’
She threw herself forward, clawing for my eyes with fingers bent like grappling hooks. I stepped back to give myself space to grab her wrists. I got one, missed the other, and her fingernails raked my face from cheekbone to jaw. She was a fury with the strength of a man. I wrestled with her there in the weeds, struggling to avoid her flailing, slashing right hand, trying to imprison it while she wrenched and jerked, trying to get the other hand free. She swore and spat and kicked at me; she had long legs and wore heavy shoes. She caught me solidly on the ankle the dog had bitten and I yelled. I clubbed her with a roundhouse right that took her behind the ear and made her gasp. Only gasp. I didn’t want to hit her with a real punch but it was beginning to look as if I’d have to. She got the left hand free and I knew it would be coming for my eyes in a split second. I slapped her right cheek hard and stepped aside. She rushed forward and I tripped her. She fell hard, face-down into the grass and I straddled her, pinning her wrists together behind her back.
I was panting again, belching out steam and feeling pressure build in every part of my body. I licked my lips and tasted blood. The wound on my face was stinging in the icy air and I could feel the blood dripping from my face to join the dog’s blood on the parka. She bucked and heaved like Benny Elias after a tackle. She almost threw me off but I scrabbled for better balance and a better grip with my boots on either side of her wildly thrashing body.
‘Murderer,’ she moaned. ‘Fuck you.’
I let her feel some more of my weight.
‘Give it up, Paula. Give it up.’
‘I’ll kill you.’ Her voice was muffled by grass and dirt. ‘I’ll rip your throat out.’
‘You won’t,’ I said. ‘I’ll put some pressure on your neck and you’ll pass out. Then I’ll unwind your scarf and tie you up. Is that what you want?’
I felt the cold metal against the nape of my neck and simultaneously heard the man’s voice. ‘It’s not what she wants that matters, Hardy. It’s what I want.’
19
‘Oh, Jesus,’ Paula gasped. ‘Robert! What the hell are you doing here? Get him off me, will you? I’m freezing to death.’
‘Maybe that’d be the best thing all round,’ Robert Crosbie said. ‘If you freeze to death underneath Hardy, who’s found dead with a bullet in the back of his neck.’
‘Don’t be an idiot. Tell him to get off me.’
I could smell him close behind me but I couldn’t tell exactly where he was. He’d moved the gun a fraction so that I wasn’t sure where it was either.
‘Shut up, bitch!’ His voice was nasally harsh. ‘I knew he’d come and anyone with half a brain’d know a fucking dog wouldn’t stop him. If it was anything like the first Rudi, the world’s a better place for it being dead.’
Fury beneath me-squealing, wriggling, heaving.
‘I can’t hold her, Crosbie,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘You’ll hold her, and you’ll do exactly as you said. Get her scarf and tie her up.’
‘Robert!’
She protested but it was me he swiped with the gun. I felt the muzzle cut my scalp and I wanted to get up and take him on, but I didn’t. Tying her up seemed like a good idea. I yanked the scarf free and made a good job of it, lashing her wrists together and making the knots hard and tight. I risked a glance behind me as I did it, but Robert was in control. He’d backed off a metre and his right hand was nicely extended and balanced.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘She’s secure.’
‘Right. Now take off your parka.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t talk, just do it. I learned this in the Reserves. Use the environment to make your enemy as uncomfortable as possible. I’d call this environment cold, wouldn’t you? Strip it off! Left arm first.’
I did it slowly, trying to give myself time to resolve a dilemma. If he felt the weight of the parka he’d know there was a gun in it. I’d only seen his gun out of the corner of my eye, but it might have been a. 38 which meant it might be mine. And that was a one-shot gun at best. Unwise to give him another eight rounds. I slipped out of the parka and threw it away. It landed noiselessly in the grass.
‘Now get off her.’
I eased myself up and turned slowly to face him. He was wearing a balaclava, padded jacket and thick pants tucked into fur-lined boots. The pistol was scarcely visible in his gloved hand. Maybe a. 38, and maybe mine, but only maybe.
He moved very quickly. Before I had time to think about evasion or attack he’d slipped behind Paula and hauled her to her feet. The pistol was jammed into her ear.
‘She’s what you came to find, isn’t she? What you’ll get paid for?’
‘Yes.’
‘Bastard!’ Paula hissed, but at which one of us it was impossible to tell.
‘Well then, do as I say or all you’ll give that old bastard is another funeral to go to. Did you kill the dog, Hardy?’
I was acutely aware of the woman standing like a statue in Crosbie’s grip. Another dilemma. If I admitted to killing the dog she’d almost certainly react and he’d kill her.
‘What dog?’ I said.
Crosbie chuckled. ‘She said you were covered with dog’s blood.’
I was shivering violently. The wind was still blowing hard and without the parka I felt as if it was freezing my marrow. I slapped my arms against my sides. ‘This is crazy,’ I said. ‘Let me get my coat.’
Crosbie’s gun hand didn’t move a millimetre which showed me that he knew what he was doing.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I think we’ll go to the kennels. Paula likes dogs so much, let’s see how she likes being in a kennel.’
He laughed and nudged Paula into movement. We walked slowly along a cement path away from the house, away from my Colt, towards madness. Paula went without a struggle, which surprised me. The thought came to me that it was all an act, something being staged by the two of them to control me. It was a tempting thought, but I had to reject it. Crosbie’s voice and the grip he held Paula in were for real. Accepting that, I began to worry even more. My. 38 has a very light action; if Crosbie stumbled or sneezed, Paula could be history. I thought of telling him so, but the calm assurance of his movements was one of the things that prevented me. Another was the certainty that fear would show in my voice. I was very scared.
And cold. The wind seemed to be separating my ribs and blowing through the gaps. I wrapped my arms around my chest and kept moving. The path ended at a long low building, something like a stable. It was made of brick and divided into compartments, each with a heavy grill gate about a metre high. Above the gates, reaching to the roof, the front of each compartment was made of timber. There looked to be a dozen or so of these stalls; the gates of the first three stood open.