Harlan Layfield pushed himself up so he was on all fours, the same posture as Cole Barrett just before he died. A patch of his hair was matted with blood. I stuffed his gun in my pocket and took aim at him.
He looked back and up at me, wincing. I circled around him, keeping the gun levelled on his torso.
He followed me as I went. ‘How’d you find me?’
I stopped by the window and snatched a glance outside. Nothing moved. I looked to him again. ‘Where’s my wife?’
‘What?’
‘Don’t make me ask again.’
‘I don’t know a damn thing about your woman so let’s get this over with.’ He lowered his head like a dog waiting to be put down.
It took all my restraint not to do as he said. ‘I asked you a question.’
He lifted his eyes, his face pale and waxy like parchment. He pushed himself onto his knees so he was upright, and wiped his mouth on his shoulder. ‘Bill didn’t tell me nothing—’
‘Don’t you lie to me.’
‘I swear . . .’ His eyes flared.
‘You’re cowards, every one of you. Every goddamn one of you.’ I mopped my hairline with my shirt cuff. ‘Why’s Tindall still helping you?’
Confusion showed on his face. ‘The hell does it matter now?’
I aimed the gun at his forehead. ‘The only thing keeping you alive is my inkling Tindall will deal to keep you that way. Convince me I’m right.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. You ever think he just didn’t want to snuff me himself?’
My nerves shorted when he said it – a prospect I hadn’t considered. ‘I don’t buy it. He’s a killer.’
‘We been acquainted a long time. Makes me sick but he’s the closest thing I ever had to a daddy.’ He shook his head, his chin sagging against his chest. ‘I hate the son of a bitch.’
I tried not to show my surprise at the emotion in his voice. ‘You’re talking in riddles.’
‘He took me under his wing when I was seventeen years old. Caught me trying to steal a car turned out belonged to one of his men. Could’ve left me a smear on the sidewalk for it, but he went the other way. Can’t help but have some fondness for the old bastard in them circumstances. Even considering what he made me do.’
Tremors now, getting what he was edging at. ‘What he made you do? Say their names, goddamn you. Bess Prescott. Jeannie Runnels—’
‘I don’t remember half their damn names.’
‘Alice Anderson.’
He screwed his eyes shut.
‘You remember her name. Did you kill her?’
‘Did I kill her . . .’ He swallowed. ‘Yeah, I did. I kill her every goddamn day, you wanna know the truth. Right here.’ He tapped his forehead with the side of his finger.
‘You son of a bitch.’
‘I’ll wear that. Worst goddamn thing he made me do up to then. Killing a man ain’t a chore – I popped Sheriff Cooper for him in ’forty-one and Bill bought me a steak dinner. But dames are different.’ He buried his face in his hands. ‘There’s supposed to be rules about these things.’
I feathered the trigger. One squeeze to avenge Alice and Lizzie, revenge leading me again. A selfish act that wouldn’t help anything; I stopped myself. ‘Tindall gave you the job?’
He nodded, dragging his hands down over his face and leaving red pressure marks. ‘He did business with that high-stepper you rubbed out. Callaway. They used to move booze together under Volstead.’
My blood stopped flowing. It wasn’t me killed him, but no one apart from Lizzie and Jimmy Robinson knew I’d even been in Callaway’s house that night. That’s what I’d thought anyway. Now the spectre that Tindall and god knew who else was clued-in.
‘When it was done, I holed myself up in a room with a bottle and a gun and I put them in my mouth one after the other. Only had the stones to empty one of them, turns out.’
I wanted to kick him. ‘Are you trying me for sympathy? You went right out and slaughtered Geneve Kolkhorst. You found the stones for that.’
‘The Kraut nurse? You think I wanted to? I barely stopped shaking from the Anderson girl. I begged Bill to send someone else. I stalled him long as I could – and that was before he told me what he wanted done to her.’
‘Her mouth. You cut her up.’
‘Not me – Bill.’
‘Tindall did it?’
His head sunk. ‘No. His orders, I mean. I don’t even carry a knife.’
‘Why, goddamn you?’
‘So wouldn’t no one else in Texarkana think to speak on what they’d seen. He didn’t want no comebacks on me or him after they closed the Phantom case. He told me to dump her in Lake Hamilton so Coughlin could make it go away. He didn’t want no headlines, but he knew the word would get out in Texarkana. Folk knew what happened and what it meant.’ His head popped up again and he held his hand out. ‘I done what I could for her. Bill wanted me to cut her when she was still alive, but I spared her that.’
Desecration as an act of mercy. I wanted to kick him to a pulp. ‘What about Jeannie Runnels and Bess Prescott? Why them?’
He scrabbled backwards with his heels until he found the wall and he propped himself against it, putting a hand to the back of his head. ‘I can’t explain them ones.’
I kicked the chair next to him, sending it flying along the wall. ‘You’re not about to hold out on me now.’
‘I can’t explain it, truly. I went with them women to chase away what I done – the usual way a man does, I mean. But once we was alone, it started eating me up, and it was like the goddamn devil took me over. I saw their faces and I remembered the expression on the other ones’ faces, and then I had them by the throat and I just couldn’t stop . . .’ He heaved. ‘Jesus Christ, it’s like it was someone else did it. I swear to you, if I could take it back . . .’
‘You killed them. You’re responsible for everything you did.’
‘No. No. The Anderson girl turned my life upside down. I couldn’t stop fretting on it, it was driving me crazy. It still is. And then the nurse, and then . . . then I couldn’t stop for nothing.’
My stomach knotted up at the evil in front of me, a man so far beyond redemption. Then a revelation came to me, prompted by his words, buckling my knees as it formed. ‘Are there more?’
‘No.’
I stepped closer. ‘ARE THERE MORE?’
‘NO, I swear. That’s all of them.’
‘It’s been two months. You’re telling me you couldn’t stop yourself, but then you did. Pick your story, goddamn you – which is it?’
‘Bill found out, he came down on me. Threatened to kill me if I didn’t quit it.’
My wheels were turning now. ‘So you stopped and he covered it up for you.’
‘He had to. Masters started poking around in all sorts when he won that damn vote. Coughlin told Bill to kill me and be done with it, but Bill overruled him. Son of a bitch is a snake. He don’t know I know that. That’s why Bill made him involve Barrett – so Coughlin would have to keep his mouth shut about me.’
‘Barrett killed Glover?’
‘Barrett? He’s worse than a woman. I drove him out there and put the gun in his hand and he said he wouldn’t do it. I warned him what’d happen but he was adamant. Couldn’t even bring himself to put one in a dirt-fed nigger. Glover was wailing and begging for his mama by then; I had to do it. Barrett went for my arm the first time, made me miss my goddamn shot. I had to put him on his ass so I could get it done.’ He shook his head. ‘Always falls into my lap. Always been that way.’
He looked up at me now and we stared at each other, his eyes wide and desperate. Even after speaking the words, he believed himself worthy of sympathy. He kept looking at me, pleading; for a bullet or forgiveness, I couldn’t tell which.
‘I’m not your priest, take your goddamn eyes off me.’
‘You gotta know I’m sorry. If I had my time again—’
‘Save it.’
I looked out the window now, planning how to get him out to the car. He was still talking, empty words about coercion and forgiveness. I figured the sob story was all in the name of getting me to lower my guard. Then I looked at him again, the pathetic figure he cut, and reconsidered that judgement.
‘How did Tindall find out?’
He stopped mid-sentence. ‘What?’
‘About Prescott and Runnels. You said he found out.’
His mouth moved. He moistened his lips.
‘You told him, didn’t you? Same way you just blabbed it all out to me. You wanted him to mollify you.’
He shut his eyes. ‘I told you I was going out of my mind—’
‘And you told the women too. Prescott and Runnels – you confessed to them what you did in Texarkana.’ It all came together at once. ‘That’s why you killed them – because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, and you couldn’t leave them alive after.’
He looked away from me, across the room. I couldn’t tell if he even recognised the lies he’d been selling to himself.
‘You’re not worth a bullet. They should leave you out for the vultures.’
‘You never done something you hated yourself for?’
The line derailed me. The memories played out in Technicolor, never far from my conscious even now – the jeep crash, the hospital, the war. All those moments when we reveal our true selves, and I’d been found wanting. Texarkana as my redemption; so much self-loathing, I’d almost destroyed myself.
Then I realised that last part was the difference. ‘I only ever took it out on myself.’
‘I done that, believe me. It ain’t always enough.’ He set his eyes on the liquor bottle on the table. ‘How about you hand me that whiskey?’
‘Go to hell. Who started the fire at Duke’s?’
‘We can sit here raking over this all night, ain’t no good can come of it.’
‘We’ll sit here as long as I goddamn say so.’
He rolled his head side to side, trying to ease it. ‘I torched the place. Bill said it was my mess, so it was only right that I clear it up. Same with you.’
My hand started shaking at the last part. I switched the gun over. ‘What does that mean?’
‘That first day you walked into the precinct, I was sure you recognised me. I was ready to draw.’
He said it with a different inflection, and it came to me in that instant. The memory-echo he’d stirred when he put his gun to my head at Lake Hamilton – the same terror I’d felt in the abandoned farmhouse in Texarkana. Fighting for my life against a man posing as the killer. ‘That was you. Under the hood that night. You ran me off the road and tried to kill me.’
He opened his hands. An admission – not proud, just matter-of-fact. ‘Could’ve saved us both a heap of trouble. As soon as Browning came into the squad room and said someone was asking about the fire at Duke’s, I knew it was you I was gonna find waiting. Somehow had a feeling we wasn’t through.’
He’d been onto me almost from the second I’d arrived. ‘Were you tailing me?’
‘Some. That other one, your roughneck friend, he was running in circles for weeks until Barrett spilled his guts. I wasn’t sure how much he’d told you. Didn’t take long to figure out not much.’
Things fell into place. ‘You stole his papers from my room.’
‘It was gobbledegook. That’s when I knew you had nothing. Until Tucker wet his pants and opened his mouth.’
‘You killed him. To make it look like it was me.’
He was shaking his head. ‘That was a bonus. I killed him because I shoulda done it the night of the fire. He was supposed to be out of the pocket but he saw me leaving the back way.’
‘Did you murder Robinson before the fire?’
His face went slack. ‘Hell, I just helped him along. He was drinking his way out of this life anyway. I put a pillow over his face and he never even twitched.’
My jaw locked up. I looked at him down the gun barrel.
He stared right into it. ‘How about we get this over with now?’
I felt hatred enough to do it. I gripped the handle so hard I worried I’d fire by accident. The thought of losing Lizzie for ever stayed my hand. ‘On your feet.’
‘What for?’
I kicked the sole of his shoe. ‘Because I’m the man with the gun this time. Let’s go.’
‘Go where? Serving me up to Bill won’t get you what you want.’
‘You’re nothing to me. If Tindall wants you, he can have you.’
‘You can’t be that goddamn stupid.’ He pushed himself off the floor. ‘Tell me how you found me here.’
‘Teddy Coughlin gave you up.’
‘Coughlin? He don’t know about this place. Only way he could’ve found out is if Bill told him. I knew it as soon as I seen you – you here because Bill wants you to be.’
‘Bullshit. He hid you here. If Tindall wanted you dead—’
‘Wipe the mud out of your eyes, he sent you to do it for him.’ He turned and took a sidelong glance out the window, a bundle of nervous energy all of a sudden. ‘I had a feeling Bill was hanging me out to dry here. I knew he wouldn’t do it himself, but I never reckoned on him sending you.’
The decoy with the rooms – not a defence against me; a defence against Tindall.
‘He’s calling the tune and you dancing right along to it.’
I tried to say something, but the sinking feeling in my chest suffocated the words. Nothing more than Tindall’s pawn. Everything spinning out of control. Then one shaft of clarity cut through the storm: if Tindall didn’t want Layfield, I had no bargaining chip. No way to get Lizzie back.
Layfield was glancing from one side of the room to the other, as if I was no longer a concern. He darted to the back window and peered through it from one side, taking care that he couldn’t be seen. He turned to me. ‘I can’t spy no one, but they’re here all right. They’ll be waiting on you to put me under, then they’ll pick you off on your way out. That’s why he sent you – kill two birds with one stone.’
I kept the gun on his chest, my eyes shifting out of focus as black panic closed around my vision. ‘I’m not letting you talk your way out of this.’
‘You never could hide your fear, Yates. I’m right, and you only just coming to see it.’ He ripped the mattress from the bed and stood it in front of the door.
My eyes flicked to the window next to it. My breathing was stunted and rapid.
‘You want proof, fire a shot into the floor,’ he said. ‘See what happens after that when you don’t come out.’
I glanced over my shoulder, wisps everywhere now.
‘We ain’t walking away from this one.’ He reached his hand out. ‘Hand me back my piece, and I give you my word I won’t turn it on you. You and me can put a little hitch in their giddy-up at least.’
‘Shut your mouth, goddammit.’
He stared at me, his face empty of any expression. ‘They won’t wait on you for ever.’
I felt like I’d stepped off a cliff. It made sense of why Tindall wouldn’t take my call. Why Teddy would give up Layfield’s hideout – not crossing Tindall, but conspiring with him.
I pulled Layfield’s pistol from my pocket and fired into the floor in the corner of the room. The report was deafening. I moved through a swirl of gunsmoke and stood next to the front window, keeping my aim on him as I did. My mind was radio static.
I couldn’t see anything out there; I let go of a breath. But then a shadow moved across the ground in the distance. It was barely visible, just a black shape blocking out the tree trunks as it passed in front of them. Then another, to the right of the first.
‘You see that?’
He was looking past me, the same direction. He backed into the middle of the room, fingers curling and twitching. ‘Right now, they gonna take up a spot behind that car to wait on you. There’ll be a man or two covering the back as well. You gotta give me a gun.’
I opened the cylinder of his pistol, my fingers leaving sweat on the metal. One chamber empty. I flipped it shut. ‘You got any more bullets?’
He shook his head.
Five left in his revolver. Three left in Barrett’s gun.
I’d walked right into Tindall’s trap, and now he had me. I looked at Layfield, trying to convince myself it was a trick, his last desperate play. As I did, a face appeared behind him in the back window.
‘MOVE.’
He threw himself aside as I raised his gun and snapped off a shot.
The face disappeared. The window pane cracked in the top corner – the bullet flying high and wide of where the man had been. I whipped around to check the door, then the back window again. Before I had a chance to act, a shot rang out, punching through the front window. I dived to the floor.
Layfield had crawled behind the dresser against the far wall for shelter. ‘Give me a gun, goddammit. You can’t cover both sides.’
I tipped the table over and crouched behind it, the opposite side of the room from Layfield. Seven bullets. Could be a whole army out there.
The mattress covering the door moved – a slight judder, someone trying the knob tentatively. Then a shattering sound behind me. The back window crumbled in a shower of glass, and a rock the size of a baseball skidded across the carpet.
Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn—
I opened the cylinder of Layfield’s gun and spun it to an empty chamber.
‘Layfield.’ He glanced over and I tossed his gun to him. ‘Take the back.’
He caught it, looking shocked. I stared at him, ready to shoot if he aimed it at me. Instead, he righted it in his hand and trained it on the window.
Three more shots came through the front and slammed into the side wall. Wild shots, a distraction—
The mattress toppled towards Layfield as the front door flew open. Someone stuck a gun around the corner and fired blind into the room. The man cracked off three shots – all high – and whipped his hand away. Layfield got his foot to the door and toed it closed again. The broken lock meant it didn’t stick, finished up hanging ajar. I scurried across to the mattress and shouldered it back in place. I dropped to the floor again as two shots came from behind. Layfield returned fire, his first trigger pull an empty click. I rolled so I was underneath the front window. It left me exposed to fire from the back.
‘Stupid not to trust me, Yates.’
‘Save your bullets, goddammit.’
‘We sitting ducks.’
‘They still have to get in here.’
More shots whizzed above my head. To my right, the mattress moved again – someone outside testing the door. A crazy idea—
I reached out and pushed the mattress over so it tumbled to the carpet. A man kicked the door open, but wasn’t prepared for it to give so easily; his momentum carried him into the room, right in front of me. I had my gun up, but Layfield didn’t hesitate, put a slug in him, point blank. The man fell hard.
‘Jesus Christ—’ I couldn’t move for staring at the corpse.
A shout from outside: ‘Shit, he’s down.’
The gunman was still, his body blocking the door open. I pressed myself to the wall, trapped underneath the front window. Layfield saw the dead man’s face and he glanced at me, shaken. ‘He’s a cop.’
My hope suffocated as the reality of Tindall’s influence sank in.
There was a barrage of shouts from outside. The room was full of smoke and plaster dust, debris showered all over the floor. I inched closer to the doorway, broken glass shredding my skin, to a spot where I could just see out and along the path beyond. The angle meant I could only see one way, but there was no one on that side.
‘YATES—’
Layfield shouted it. He pointed his gun in my direction and fired. I flinched, jammed my eyes shut.
The bullet never came. I opened them again; he was aiming above me. I looked up, saw a shooter had leaned through the shattered window, and now he was slumped over the ledge, motionless, half in the room and half out. His gun arm dangled loose, still clutching his pistol, the barrel inches from my head. A trickle of blood ran down the wall.
My whole body shook. Seeing everything as a blur, I snatched the revolver from the dead man’s hand.
I shot Layfield a look, lost for words, but he’d faced the other way again. He yelled at me over his shoulder, ‘Get back in cover.’
I threw myself behind the upturned table again, mind in tumult, trying to focus it by figuring how many bullets we had. I looked at the two revolvers I was holding; there were two in the dead gunman’s, still three in Barrett’s. ‘How many you have left?’
He glanced over at me, held up one finger to signify he was on his last. I pointed to the corpse of the other dead gunman, face down in the doorway, gesturing to take his gun. Layfield glanced at it and shook his head, as if it was too close to the open door.
I looked at the bathroom, weighed it, figured it was the same as climbing into a casket.
Surrounded. Outgunned. Out of options.
It took a moment for me to register the charged silence that had fallen. I figured they were regrouping outside. My ears were ringing, and my hands were covered in cuts that were clogged and matted with dust. Cold air rushed through the empty window frames, swirling the dust and smoke.
Then a voice called from outside – barely audible, coming from a distance away. ‘Yates, listen to me. Kill him and bring yourself out, and I’ll spare your wife.’
Tindall’s mongrel accent unmistakable.
Layfield closed his eyes. His mouth was ajar, resignation etched in his features.
‘There’s no bloody way out of there; use your head and your old lady can walk.’
I looked at the guns in my lap. My head was scrambled.
‘You know what he’s done to you. To them girls. What’re you thinking protecting him now?’ Tindall’s voice had an almost singsong quality to it that belied the brutal truth of what he was saying.
Layfield opened his eyes and stared at the wall, as though part of him had already departed. Then he started yelling. ‘You son of a bitch, Bill. I always done every goddamn thing you asked.’
If Tindall heard him, he didn’t react, falling silent a moment before he called again. ‘Do as I say, Yates. He’ll only put a bullet in you if you don’t.’
I looked over to Layfield. He was already watching me, and he started shaking his head in silent denial. But we both knew it was bullshit; even if some miracle got us out of there, he’d have no other choice.
I rubbed my eyes, the dirt making them tear. It should’ve been so easy. Layfield had never shown any mercy, and he deserved none now. But it wasn’t. The idea of doing Tindall’s bidding appalled me – but it was more than that. For all the certainties I’d abandoned since I first set foot in Texarkana, there was still one I clung to: that killing in cold blood was a surrender to the darkness in a man’s soul. A line you crossed and couldn’t come back from. I remembered something Lizzie said to me once, words from her pastor that comforted her in the wake of Alice’s death: ‘You can’t do good by doing evil.’ The memory of her saying it was vivid, and it made my heart bleed. I called out to Tindall. ‘Where’s my wife?’
‘Still in California. She’s safe enough for now. She can be tucked up in her own bed within the hour – it’s for you to decide.’
He was too sincere, and my eyes spilled over at the creeping realisation he could never let her live. That no bargaining or pleading was going to secure her safety, and I was deluding myself to believe otherwise. Frustration ate me up, and I slammed my head against the table, knowing it was my own intransigence that had put her in harm’s way.
I raised the revolver I’d taken from the dead gunman, aimed it at the wall along from Layfield and fired. He jerked, gaping at me at first. The single shot ripped through the silence, reverberating around the walls and out into the night beyond them.
‘It’s done,’ I shouted. ‘Let her go.’
No response came.
No spoken response—
There was the sound of a bottle smashing, and then flames leapt in all directions around me.
I shielded my face with my arm. By luck alone, the firebomb had landed on the other side of the upturned table I was sheltering behind. I looked over, saw Layfield batting at his left arm, the sleeve of his jacket alight. There were pockets of fire all around the room, the carpet, the drapes, the bedstead ablaze.
Layfield wrestled himself free of his coat and threw it across the floor, his face contorted with pain. The heat was increasing as the flames spread. There was black smoke all around the room and it triggered a bout of choking coughs in both of us. I covered my mouth with my jacket tail, but it made little difference. Layfield had slumped against the wall, holding his arm gingerly across his chest, his eyes screwed shut. I thought about Jimmy, damning myself for recognising I was on the same path as him and following it anyway. Right into the flames.
I rolled to the front window and got to my feet, sucking in fresh air. I peeped from behind the man’s body that hung there like a dead fish on a scale.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
I ignored Layfield. I bobbed up and down to look, but no pot-shots came – Tindall’s men content to wait us out now. I could make out a car on the far side of the parking lot, maybe twenty yards distant, and behind it, Tindall’s newsboy cap outlined in the moonlight.
I crouched again and held my breath, choking inside, thinking their complacency was my only out. The flames were spreading across the carpet and along the skirting boards, and through the smoke I could see the roof starting to blacken. Layfield edged himself along the wall, caught between the blazing dresser and the exposure of the open doorway. His face was red and covered in sweat.
To hell with waiting to die.
‘I’m going after Tindall.’ I shouted it, the words barely audible over the fire. Layfield turned his eyes to me, but I wasn’t sure he’d even heard me.
I burst out of the doorway and dived over the path, landing between Layfield’s Chrysler and the LaSalle. After the heat of the room, the night air was like cold hands clamped to my skin. A shot rang out, dinging off the bodywork. I pressed my cheek into the dirt to look under the chassis of Layfield’s car and saw there was a man behind a pillar outside room three, covering the doorway from the blindside. His face was jagged as lava rock. I couldn’t get an angle to fire on him. He was aiming in my direction but holding his position, waiting on me.
I ran numbers. Two of Tindall’s men were dead, one more on the path covering the doorway. Made four including Tindall. At least one more around back. If they’d only brought one car, chances were that was all of them – but no way to be certain there wasn’t another somewhere in the darkness.
The thought of taking Tindall spurred me. He may never have intended negotiating for Lizzie, but everything changed if I could put a gun to his head.
The man on the path was calling for me to show myself. It was a twenty-some yard dash to where Tindall stood, across open ground. A clear field of fire for the shooter. Tindall too. I didn’t like my chances, but didn’t see any other way to save Lizzie. I got my feet under me.
Then all hell broke loose. Layfield came flying out of the room, sprinting across the lot towards Tindall, his revolver held out in front of him. I shouted to him, but my words were lost in the sound of gunshots.
The shooter on the path had spun to track him and opened fire. Layfield stumbled as if he’d been hit, but kept going, legs pumping like a madman. I lifted my head and brought Barrett’s gun up to aim at the gunman. Hand shaking, I pulled the trigger.
I saw blood spatter the pillar. Before the shooter even hit the ground, I was stumbling to my feet chasing Layfield. ‘DON’T KILL HIM.’
He didn’t look back.
His head start was too great. I ran after him, shouting. ‘I NEED TINDALL ALIVE—’
Tindall had his gun out, a look of stunned terror on his face. He hesitated before he took his shot, and Layfield fired first. Tindall dropped out of sight behind his car.
‘NO, NO, NO—’
Layfield dived across the hood of Tindall’s car, to where Tindall had gone down. I ran harder.
I rounded the car and saw Layfield on top of Tindall, his fingers in Tindall’s mouth to pin him down, using his other hand to hammer at his skull with the pistol butt. I hooked Layfield around the throat and pulled him away. I wrestled him backwards, his heels dragging and kicking in the gravel. Tindall wasn’t moving.
Layfield threw his head back, catching me on the cheekbone. The pain made my grip falter and he spun free, then followed in with a straight right that put me down. I smashed my head on the stony ground as I landed.
I looked up at Layfield, head pounding, my vision blurred and fading. His shirt was covered with blood, as though he’d been shot, and in his eyes I saw only hate. He pointed his gun at me and fired.
There was a click. No bullets left.
He whipped back to Tindall. Before he could resume his attack, a gunshot rang out, and then another. Blood sprayed from the side of Layfield’s face, and he dropped to his knees, clutching his cheek. Then he pitched over onto his face.
A red light danced around the parking lot, and I heard a screaming noise. I thought it was coming from Layfield. The shooter on the pathway outside the room staggered past a little distance from where I lay, his eyes on something across the lot. He was dragging his left leg, the barrel of his gun still smoking from the shot that felled Layfield. He opened the back door of Tindall’s car and started to heft him to it. Tindall’s face was a mess of blood, his eyes shining out from it like wet stones. His gaze was empty, but as the heavy dragged him to the car, Tindall reached out his hand and his fingertips brushed against Layfield’s head.
Through my daze, I realised the screaming was a siren, and the red lights were everywhere now, encircling me. Tindall’s man slammed the rear door shut and dived behind the steering wheel. I battled to get to my feet and threw myself against the car. I clawed at the door handle as the driver gunned the engine. It came open, but the man stamped on the accelerator and took off, the door swinging on its hinges.
I chased after them, yelling for Lizzie.
I heard cars skidding to a halt and doors being thrown open. I kept going, tripping and lurching, my brittle legs failing me, the back lights of Tindall’s car all I could see. I sensed someone on my tail – their footfalls, hard breathing. Then I was tackled from behind, brought down in a tangle of arms and legs. A voice shouted at me to be still, but I lifted my head in time to see two police cruisers pull up in front of Tindall’s car, penning it in. The driver jumped out and was felled with the crack of a shotgun.
I felt a hand on the back of my neck, forcing my face into the ground. I turned my head to ease the pressure, saw the night awash with red. The edge of my vision went dark. Before I blacked out, I heard Sam Masters somewhere near me, breathless, barking an order: ‘Go easy on him.’