Herne rubbed at his ankles and wrists and tried to get the circulation going as quick as he could. His head throbbed constantly and each fresh movement sent a hammer blow juddering through it.
Footsteps were coming up the stairs fast.
The door to the far room was flung back and the big Chinaman came barreling through, Herne’s Colt .45 in one hand and a massive club dangling from the other.
He yelled something undecipherable and ran half way across the room.
The sight of Cord Daniel’s sprawled, dead body brought him up short.
Herne moved fast, snatching the blade from the carpet where Veronica had left it. His body swung through a low crouch and his right arm extended backwards, the vicious looking blade at the end of it. When the arm swung back, angling up, all that was visible was a dark blur with a silver tip. The bayonet left Herne’s hand at a speed that was too fast to pick out.
Its trajectory took it curving wickedly upwards towards the Chinaman’s chest and vainly he clawed his hands towards it. His left hand touched it as it sped past and his little finger sheered away. Nothing could prevent the point breaking the flesh above the chest bone and deflecting upwards off the edge of the bone and burying itself below the Adam’s apple.
The giant of a man swayed on his heels, rocked forward onto his toes. Six inches of the blade had disappeared from sight. His fingers sought the end of the weapon and strove to drag it free.
Herne went forward fast, snaked out his boot and kicked the Colt clear.
It was in his hand when Quinlan’s amazed face peered round the edge of the far door.
‘Mary, mother of God!’ he sighed and crossed himself.
Herne covered him with the gun.
The Chinaman finally succeeded in wrenching the bayonet from his throat and the effort sent him down against the floor with a thud that shook the boards. He groaned and rolled over onto his back, his face already a vivid mask of blood. His tongue rolled, his hands stretched up towards Herne and he kicked out with his boots, anything to strike out at the man who had killed him.
‘Get in here, Quinlan!’
The Irishman wasn’t about to refuse. He came with his hands as far towards the ceiling as he could, paused when he saw Veronica at Herne’s back, nodded in sudden understanding and waited to do as he was told.
‘Get that gun he carries with him,’ said Herne, speaking to Veronica without looking round. Then use that rope to tie him up.’ He glanced at the huge figure struggling amidst his own blood on the ground. ‘We’ll take him below first. The law can clear up the rest of this mess up here.’
Quinlan’s gun in her hand she looked at him, hesitant. ‘The law …?’
‘He came at you with a pistol, fired a shot. You’ve the wound in your arm to prove it. You didn’t have any choice.’ He looked back at the gambler’s still body. ‘Besides, Wallace won’t be getting any more from Daniels. He’s got no reason to protect him.’
Herne gestured with the Colt and the Irishman walked dejectedly down the stairs, doubtless rehearsing his story so as to come out of it as innocent as possible.
At the foot of the staircase, Veronica turned against him and her body was not quite still beneath the closeness of her dress. Her skin shimmered with sweat. For the first time he could smell her more strongly than the perfume she wore. He liked it. Her face was inches away from his.
‘You were good,’ he said quietly. ‘You had me worried for a long while, but you were very damn good.’
Her kiss was as he remembered it: now and much later. ‘You were pretty good yourself.’
Major Russell insisted on pouring the brandy himself, although it was necessary for Lucas to push the wheelchair around the room so that he could hand a glass to Herne and both of his daughters.
Cassie was looking pale and weak and her eyes seemed hollow, seeing little if anything that passed in front of her. Each time she moved, Lucas swung his head towards her in panic, as if thinking she might fall.
As for Veronica, she seemed to have been through no more than a hard night watching the roulette wheel spin the ball away from her personal number. She was wearing white and she looked like she’d just stepped out of a pack of ice from down on the dock. Once, she looked across the room and gave him a conspiratorial smile, but that was all. It was almost as if nothing of the last few days had happened; everything had slipped from sight beneath one of those sea fogs that came rolling up out of the bay.
‘You did a damn fine job, Mr. Herne,’ said the Major, lifting his glass towards him. ‘If it hadn’t been for you Daniels would have been bleeding what little life I’ve got left out of me and taking countless others for what he could get into the bargain. As for Bellour …’ His eyes passed over Cassie’s slight, childlike body and a shudder passed over his aging heart. ‘Men like him are best not born—born, they’re better dead.’
He nodded towards Lucas and grudgingly Lucas picked up a long envelope from the sideboard and came forward to Herne with it in his hands.
‘There’s a bonus there, Mr. Herne, for a job well done. I thank you, sir, with all my heart.’
‘Fine, Major. Only it ain’t finished. Quite.’
Lucas stopped in front of him and their eyes met and held.
‘Daniels didn’t kill Bellour. His men didn’t either. He wanted the body out of the way to stop the law poking too close into his business. Maybe there’s still one or two of ’em he didn’t have in his pocket. But he didn’t kill him … not Connors either.’
Lucas was staring at him hard, his breathing becoming loud and labored.
‘Whoever killed Connors did it out of jealousy. He was getting good looks from Cassie an’ I’d guess a whole lot more. Connors was looking after her in ways you weren’t exactly payin’ him for that didn’t go down well. Did it, Lucas?
‘As for Bellour, when you followed Cassie to his house and found out what was going on there wasn’t any way he was goin’ to get out alive.’
He took a pace towards Lucas and only stopped when he could feel the warm, stuttering breath on his face.
‘You killed ’em for good reasons, maybe, the way you saw it. You killed ’em for Cassie’s sake an’ Bellour, anyway, had it comin’. After what I saw I’d likely have killed him myself. But whichever way you look at it, you killed ’em both.’
Lucas froze for a moment and then swung his fist towards Herne’s face. Herne, waiting for the blow, swayed and blocked and at the same time his hand sped to the Colt .45 at his hip.
Before Lucas could throw another punch the end of the barrel was resting tight against his chest, hard under the heart.
The major stared in sorrow at the man who had served him so well for so many years. Cassie rocked backwards and forwards on her heels, her sobs growing as she realized her part in what had happened.
Herne glanced across towards Veronica. If you open the door, you should find that policeman, Wallace, outside. He’ll take over from here.’
She looked at him for a moment with something approaching admiration, then left the room.
She didn’t speak to him again.
The major did his best to persuade Herne to stay at the house for a spell longer but he’d seen all he wanted to of the city and knew that he wouldn’t breathe right until he was clear in open country once again.
He did see her, a fleeting image when he turned at the end of the drive. A dark-haired figure in white at the bay window above the door, there for a moment and then gone, blocked from sight as the shutter was pulled across.
When the image came back to him—as it sometimes would, nights alone in a rented bed or on hard ground under the moon—it was never real, but something he had seen in a painting, glimpsed in some strange restless dream. He knew that if he ever reached out and tried to touch it, his fingers would pass through cold air and the image would fade: and knowing that, he was glad.