“Anyone at home?”
The wooden walls and floor echoed back my voice and made me feel slightly ridiculous. With Ameera following methodically behind me, touching and listening, I led the way along the uncarpeted corridor. The whole house was unnaturally silent, and with the sun already low in the sky the windows off to our left threw long, enigmatic shadows over the scanty furniture. The house had not been sold, but someone had done a good job of helping themselves to the fixtures. Marks in the deep carpets told of chairs and tables that had been moved recently from the main rooms.
We had reached the end of the corridor. Ahead lay a long staircase, curving around one hundred and eighty degrees to the upper floor. I started up hesitantly, Ameera still one step behind and holding to my sleeve. But there was no doubt at all in my mind: Belur’s lab was straight ahead, past the first bedroom, just before the room with all the musical instruments. That knowledge was built-in, a legacy from Leo’s past.
Halfway up the stairs I paused. Ameera, right behind me, bumped her breasts softly into my back.
“Why do you stop here, Lee-yo-nel? This is not the end of the staircase — the sounds tell me that.”
“I don’t know.” My uneasiness was increasing. “Ameera, it’s getting dark. Maybe we should come back here and look around tomorrow, when there is more light.”
“You cannot see here? Is there not the electricity, for lighting?”
There was a switch on the wall, at the turn in the staircase. I moved forward and pressed it down. Unshaded electric bulbs in wall brackets threw a shadowy illumination along the stairs. Instead of easing, my sensation of discomfort increased. I stood, half a dozen steps from the upper landing, and looked around us.
“Lee-yo-nel, what is that?”
My ears were less sensitive than Ameera’s. It took me a couple of seconds to register what I was hearing. From somewhere ahead of us, on the upper landing, came faint musical sounds. It was the playing of a piano, just a little out of tune.
I glanced around at the deserted staircase and lower floor, then moved silently to the top of the stairs. Ameera, always graceful and light-footed, was half a pace behind.
“Lee-yo-nel, who is playing?” Her words were a soft breath, just audible in my ear.
I didn’t answer. My hands were trembling, and the sound of my own breathing was loud inside my head. Twenty-five years of piano playing had given me at least one talent. Different pianists each have their own stylistic foibles, as unique and recognizable as a signature. I could recognize the masters, old or new, from a few seconds of their playing. Gieseking or Gould, Horowitz or Hellman, Schnabel or Serkin — every one put a personal imprint on the music, unmistakable and undisguisable.
And the sounds that came from the next room along the landing? I was on the brink of certainty long before I looked in through the half-open door. The glittering runs and trills in the right hand and the bravura octaves and tremolos — they carried me back a month in time.
The pianist was playing in the evening gloom, his massive back towards us. As I was already moving away to seek an escape along the landing and down the stairs, he swivelled on the piano stool and looked directly at the door.
“Well, it’s about time you got here,” he said. “Where’ve you been the past few weeks? We’ve been sitting around in this place too bleedin’ long.” It was Pudd’n. The familiar voice merely confirmed my earlier recognition of a distinctive piano style.
I spun around, pushing Ameera ahead of me, wondering how fast we could tackle the stairs together without falling. But before we had taken one step, a loud slamming noise came from downstairs.
“Hear that?” called Pudd’n from behind us. He had moved from piano stool to doorway. “Don’t go running off now, it won’t do no good an’ you might get hurt. You know old Dixie . He gets excited real easy.”
Ameera and I had reached the top of the stairs. I looked down along the smooth spiral of the banisters. The front door of the house had been closed. On the lowest step, with his head tilted up towards us and a broad grin on his face, stood Dixie .
The light from the unshaded staircase bulbs reflected as a silver glimmer from the gun in his left hand.
- 12 -
My first instinct was to run. But where could I go?
Dixie controlled the stairs, Pudd’n was a formidable presence behind us. In any case, I would not leave Ameera to face those two alone.
While we stood there, Dixie advanced warily and came to within about nine feet of us: too far away for any attempt at manual combat, even if I had possessed the talent and taste for it.
I took Ameera’s hand firmly in mine and led her towards the music room. Pudd’n retreated warily before us. Whatever our harmless appearance, neither man was taking any chances. Dixie kept a safe three paces behind us.
“Lee-yo-nel!” Ameera’s voice was frightened.
I squeezed her hand with an assurance I did not feel. “It’s all right. Stay next to me, and don’t move quickly.”
Dixie circled us until we were facing each other. The gun had been transferred to his right hand, and he was training it alternately on me, then on Ameera.
“Back up, and sit down.” He lifted the gun until the open barrel pointed a dark circle straight into my right eye. “On the settee. No funny moves, or you get it.”
As soon we were sitting side by side on the settee, Dixie came around behind us and put the gun against the back of my head. My scalp shivered at the cold touch. We sat perfectly still while Pudd’n came forward and frisked us.
“Sit tight, Missie, I’m not trying to get fresh,” he said apologetically to Ameera as he ran his hands gently along her breasts, armpits, and thighs. “They’re both clean, Dix. Not even a penknife.”
Dixie gave a high-pitched laugh of relief. “Pity, really. Two bloody weeks we’ve waited here for you. That deserves something from both of us.” He moved the gun away from my head, while I shivered at the venom and triumph in his voice. “An’ I owe you a good one. That stuff you poisoned me with had me puking for two days. You’ll pay for that before I’m done with yer.”
Pudd’n went back to sit on the piano stool, while Dixie again circled to stand in front of us.
“How did you know where to look for me?” I said.
As I spoke I looked around the room and wondered about our driver. How long would he wait before he decided that something was wrong? Hours, at the least — we had been that long with Srinivasa.
“Use your loaf, man.” Pudd’n turned back to face the keyboard. “You left a trail a mile wide gettin’ to India . Scouse couldn’t believe it when he found you’d bought a ticket as Lionel Salkind — he was sure you’d have some other fake passport. An’ once he knew you were goin’ to Calcutta , it was obvious you’d be coming back here.”
“I’ve never been here before in my life.”
“Yer, pull the other one,” said Dixie nastily. “We know you were here for sure. Belur told us that months ago, before he croaked.”
He wiped his sleeve across his nose and stared curiously at Ameera. “Anyway, what’s wrong with her? Why’s she starin’ at me like that?”
“She’s not staring. Ameera is nearly blind. She isn’t seeing you at all.”
“You kidding me?” Dixie stepped a little closer and peered hard at Ameera, looking into her eyes. “Hey, kid. How old are you anyway?”
“I am fourteen years old.” Her voice was husky, and she was trembling a little. Her head turned slowly from side to side, like a hypnotized animal. “Lee-yo-nel, who are these?”