Crane’s plan was to scale the perimeter wall and double back to his own car, where it stood on the roadside verge, and ring for help from the car phone. But what if Hellewell had worked that out for himself, and was crouched nearby waiting for his return? It wasn’t possible to even guess how his mind would work. He put a hand to his throbbing cheekbone and muttered, ‘Christ, Anderson, where are you when I really need help?’
And then, glancing behind him, he saw it. It was like the brief flickering of a single star in the vacuum of darkness. It had to be a torch. That must have been what had delayed Hellewell, getting it from the Accord and inspecting the damage to his car’s lights. At a guess, the torch had given its single burst from beyond the strip of lawn that separated the garden proper from the copse. Within seconds he’d be in the copse too. He must have plotted Crane’s course by the small amount of noise he’d made, the brief flashes he’d had to give on his own torch. He wondered if he should stay completely still. It was difficult to move silently when he couldn’t see anything. And attempting to climb the wall would have its own problems. It would be virtually impossible to manage it without giving his position away. Something fluttered to his left, as if a springy branch had been pushed aside and not released carefully enough. It sounded to be several yards away. Crane was worried now that if Hellewell had got a torch from his car he might also have picked up some weapon that could do even more damage than those stony fists of his.
He thought hard. He’d been roughly reoriented by the flash of the other man’s torch. He could detect the smallest glow of light coming from the strip of open lawn compared to the near impenetrable conditions in the copse. He decided to make for it. Take a chance that Hellewell was aiming to nail him trying to get over the wall. It could keep him occupied for five or ten minutes. Crane was certain he’d know there was a wall there, he must have made deliveries to Cheyney Hall himself in the early days of his business. If he retraced his steps, he might be able to regain the house and ring for help from there.
It wasn’t possible to move around without being heard in the total eerie silence of the little wood. Hellewell moved along very slowly and carefully, but the occasional rustle of leaves, the soft crack of a twig underfoot, indicated his progress. Crane decided the stealthy noise of the other man’s passage might mask his own movements, and as Hellewell crept in what seemed to be the direction of the wall, Crane inched the other way, towards the strip of lawn. He came to a complete stop every few seconds to ensure Hellewell’s progress was still covering the sound of his. Maybe he should have made even more stops. When he halted at the edge of the copse there was a prolonged and ominous silence. And then Hellewell’s torch came on and the copse was suddenly filled with crashing sounds as he charged towards the point where Crane had been standing. But Crane was already sprinting across the lawn.
Shapes seemed marginally clearer after the pothole darkness of the copse. Crane ran diagonally to the right, the opposite side of the garden to the way he’d come. From memory again, it had seemed to offer more secluded areas where he could hide while trying to plot his next move. He came to another shade of darkness which appeared to be a tall hedge. He began rapidly feeling his way along it. It was on a curve and he remembered then. There’d been a tall yew hedge that had seemed to form a complete circle. He’d seen one entrance when he’d looked from Julia’s drawing room last evening. He reckoned there’d be others. He was right. He came to an opening shortly afterwards and slipped inside the circle, glancing warily behind him as he did. No torchlight, only the profound silence of before.
Then another shock. There were people in the garden, standing motionless. He could almost sense them rather than see them. He shivered, as if he’d fled from one indefinable menace to another. He risked a fast burst on his torch. They weren’t people but topiary chessmen. His beam caught a mitred bishop and beyond it a king. It did nothing to stop him shivering. He felt at another of the shapes and decided it must be a castle, an elaborate turreted affair. He crouched behind it and listened, but could hear nothing.
What could Hellewell be aiming to do? Crane was certain he’d have killed Julia had he not been disturbed, just as he’d feared. Killed her, destroyed the diary, got another ‘friend’ to alibi him for the nights he was missing. But didn’t he realize DNA samples might tie him to the scene? It needed only a single hair, a minute flake of the skin everyone shed all the time? Perhaps he’d decided it was worth the risk. If Julia was out of it and there was no diary to tie him to Donna that night at the Raven, he might have decided the police wouldn’t have a case. Perhaps he’d been going to make it look as if Julia had surprised an intruder, keen to get his hands on costly antique ornaments, and had been attacked and killed. Perhaps, perhaps.…
But Crane had surprised him, and he had to have decided that whoever Crane was he couldn’t let him live either. That had to be the logical conclusion. He wished to God he could see. This great garden had become the loneliest and scariest spot on earth. If he could see properly he could at least put up a fight, and might even have a chance of winning. If he was fighting for his life he’d have to.
Where was he now? He still couldn’t stop shivering. This area of dark shapes in a dark place was spooking him like a nightmare. He couldn’t stop anticipating the oblivion that would go with a savage blow over the head from some tool. Or the appalling, gasping pain of a knife in the back.
Suddenly he knew Hellewell was there. With him in the topiary garden. His eyes were operating at their optimum capacity, and perhaps fear gave them a slightly keener edge. The shapes loomed about him like ghosts, one shade of black on another. But one of those motionless figures had a face with the faintest pallor.
He wondered if the openings in the yew hedge were at compass points, to match the precision of the overall layout. If he rejoined the footpath, which he’d left to crouch behind the chess castle, would it lead him to an opening exactly opposite where he’d come in? He got to his feet and began moving again, as quietly as he could and hunched like an animal.
He’d guessed right. The path led him to an exit from the circular garden. He kept on through it, knowing the small sounds he’d made had to have been amplified in the silent, deathly stillness. And then he heard it again, that sudden heart-stopping rush of thudding feet. And then an even more hideous noise. The crashing sound of blows. Hellewell had to be beating at the chess figures with some weapon, lashing out blindly in every direction in the hope one of those blows would connect with Crane’s skull or shatter an arm.
Crane’s stomach felt like a bag of crushed ice. He’d no idea where the opening had led him, but as the sound of the blows receded he risked another burst on his torch. He was now on a broad walkway, where closely planted cherry trees were pleached almost to form a tunnel. Statues on plinths stood every two yards or so along the right, of the naked goddess type, with flowing hair and hands that gracefully protected modesty. The beating sounds behind him abruptly ceased and he leapt behind the third statue in a darkness as impenetrable as that in the copse.
There was a sudden brief burst of torchlight. Hellewell too would need to know where he was. The tunnel of pleached trees would look deserted with Crane hidden; would he keep on going to whatever lay at the end? There was a lengthy silence, lengthy even though the seconds seemed like minutes to Crane’s taut nerves. Then came a sudden appalling crash. He felt the ground vibrate slightly through his hands and knees, where he crouched behind the stone goddess. He felt almost nauseous with tension. Hellewell had toppled the first of the statues, which must be free-standing on their plinths. He knew then what his game was. Dislodging the statues gave him two chances. One of them either landed on Crane or badly injured him, or it flushed him out so that Hellewell could then get going with the weapon he had.