‘They’re getting very restless,’ Michael told Reaper, up on the chancel. ‘If this goes on too much longer, someone’s going to blow.’
‘They’re fine for now,’ Reaper said. ‘Half of them are asleep.’
There had been some heated discussion a while back, after Eddie Leary, the redheaded young guy ordered by Amos to the ninth row, had suggested they tie up John Tilden, and several others had agreed. Tilden had taken fright, protesting, and Mark Jackson had asked Simon Keenan if he’d loan them his cincture, his narrow rope belt, which had angered the vicar, but Reaper had pointed out that Tilden was not about to escape, and everyone had subsided.
‘How much longer?’ Jeremiah asked, passing by just below.
He and Joel patrolling now, checking every pew, every hostage.
‘As long as it takes,’ Reaper answered steadily.
Michael regarded Joel, presently near the back of the nave. He looked exhausted and unhappy, the shotgun suiting him no better than it had at the outset. No balaclava, no real sense of threat about him, and if he thought that, then one of those younger guys had to be similarly aware – and come to that, if this blew up into some open act of defiance, what the hell would he do? he wondered, gripping his own shotgun. He had limited knowledge of what was going on now, what they were waiting for, was seriously worried about the fact that Liza had become involved in that too, and Revelation might finally be wholly clear to him – the link between their two stories, as Reaper had promised – but at what cost?
Another thing seemed clear to him now. That Reaper – Joshua Tilden – had only really been using him to help in the slow, painful exposing of his father’s guilt. Which surely he could have done without bringing Michael along for the ride – and maybe he’d just been the icing on Reaper’s cake?
Or maybe there was worse to come.
‘Waiting’s always hard, Isaiah.’ Reaper was watching him.
‘Why are you still calling me that?’ Michael asked quietly.
‘It’s your Whirlwind name,’ Reaper said.
‘I need the bathroom, and I need it now!’
Janet Yore again, her voice high and sharp with distress.
‘Not the only one,’ another woman agreed.
Keenan stood up. ‘Couldn’t you organize for us to use the restrooms in the undercroft? We could be escorted, a few at a time.’
‘Not yet,’ Reaper said. ‘Sorry for the discomfort.’
‘I’m going to pee my pants,’ a teenager halfway back said.
‘I already did,’ another male voice said from somewhere.
‘Oh, what the fuck,’ a third man said.
‘Language,’ Stephen Plain said.
And almost everyone laughed.
And then, a moment or two later, a few more of them began to cry.
Michael looked at Reaper, wondered how Liza was coping.
Wished, for at least the hundredth time, that he’d never answered that email.
The house was as handsome as Liza had expected. She’d seen photographs at school, Shiloh Oaks being a building of local historic interest and, after St Matthew’s, the most important structure in the village, but she’d never been inside.
They were in the library now. The drapes were closed, only one desk lamp lit, but the room was nothing short of gorgeous. Money beautifully spent over a long time, not just on antiques and old leather furniture, but on the books themselves.
‘Where?’ Amos asked tersely.
‘I wonder,’ Osborn asked politely, ‘if I might be permitted to visit my bathroom?’
‘You went in church,’ Amos said. ‘Where’s the safe?’
‘Open it, Mr Osborn,’ Nemesis said, ‘and I’ll take you to the bathroom.’
‘Good of you,’ Osborn said. ‘I need to fetch some medication from there, for myself and my wife.’
‘Where’s the fucking safe?’ Amos demanded.
‘No need to get tetchy.’ Osborn pointed. ‘There. In that base cabinet. Open the door, you’ll see.’
Amos crossed the room in two strides, bent to open the cabinet, and for just one insane instant, Liza wondered if she had any hope of disarming Nemesis while the big man was occupied …
No chance. The masked woman totally focused, shotgun firmly gripped.
The contents of the safe clearly as vital to her as the big man.
‘Numbers.’ Amos stared at the steel box, its electronic keypad.
‘Digits,’ Osborn corrected. ‘Let me see my dogs first.’
‘Your dogs are fine,’ Nemesis said. ‘Give Amos the numbers.’
Osborn glanced at Liza, and she nodded, hoped he’d give them what they wanted before things got out of hand, and no prizes now for guessing why they’d made her leave the camera behind.
‘Give me the fucking numbers,’ Amos said.
Osborn hesitated.
Nemesis turned swiftly, jammed her shotgun up against his neck. ‘Now.’
‘For God’s sake, Bill,’ Liza said. ‘Tell them.’
Osborn’s smile was grim. ‘Six digits. Three, nine, one, four, one, eight.’
The masked gunman keyed the numbers in, and Liza held her breath.
Heard the door open. Exhaled in relief.
‘This isn’t it,’ Amos said.
‘Sure it is,’ Osborn said. ‘Just as I told you. Go ahead, take the money.’
Amos stood up, holding a bundle of what looked like fifty-dollar bills. ‘Where’s the real safe, you bastard?’ He came at Osborn, thrust the money in his face, then threw it on the floor. ‘Where’s the real cash?’
‘Nonexistent.’ Osborn turned to Nemesis. ‘Will you take me to the bathroom now?’
‘Where’s the money, Osborn?’ she said. ‘You don’t want to jerk us around any more, believe me.’
Liza looked at the telephone on the writing desk, thought that maybe if she said she needed to sit down …
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Amos snapped.
‘Why not?’ Liza said. ‘Would you shoot me?’
That wasn’t brave, she told herself, just idiotic, because she wanted to survive this whole thing, not bleed to death on some Persian rug.
‘I’d rather not,’ Amos answered. ‘But I wouldn’t mind shooting this scum.’
‘Where’s the real money, Mr Osborn?’ Nemesis asked again.
Amos returned to the safe, took out a flat leather box and opened it.
‘That’s my wife’s,’ Osborn said.
‘Not any more.’ Amos took out a diamond and emerald necklace, tossed the box onto the rug, stepped over to Nemesis, stuffed it in one of her jacket pockets and zipped it up. ‘You’ll need to be careful how you sell it, but it might help.’
Definitely for profit then, in Nemesis’s case, Liza registered.
‘It’ll be money,’ Osborn had said hours ago.
Not necessarily money in Michael’s case, Tilden’s confession surely more important to him. Though she couldn’t be sure, not of that, not of anything, especially as he’d seemed shocked by Tilden’s guilt.
‘Unzip another pocket, Nemesis.’ Amos was back down at the safe, pulling out more boxes – Cartier, red and unmistakable.
‘Please,’ Osborn said, pleading for the first time. ‘Not that one.’ He pointed to a small square box. ‘Take the rest if you must, but not that one.’
‘Sentimental value?’ Amos was sarcastic.
‘I’m not explaining myself to you, you piece of filth,’ Osborn said.
Amos stood up, moved fast, sideswiped him on the side of his head with the butt of his shotgun, and the old man fell onto his knees.
‘Jesus.’ Liza got down and put her arm around Osborn’s shoulders. ‘Bill, are you OK?’
He seemed unable to answer, his eyes glazed, blood trickling down from his right temple, his breathing too shallow.
‘My God, what have you done?’ Liza’s heart was pumping hard again, that single brutal act removing any hope that this might still end well. ‘Bill, try to stay awake. I’m going to help you.’
‘Bill’s going to help himself by telling us where the cash is.’ Amos took a diamond ring out of the red box that had caused Osborn such distress, tucked it into another of Nemesis’s pockets and zipped it up. ‘Aren’t you, Bill?’
‘Can’t you see he’s hurt?’ Liza said.
‘He doesn’t look good.’ Nemesis sounded uncertain.
‘He’s old and he’s a son of a bitch,’ Amos said. ‘There’s different ways of hurting people, and this bastard’s done plenty.’
‘Even if that’s true, please just leave him alone now.’ Liza kept her arm around the injured man’s shoulders. ‘Take what you’ve got – the jewelry’s obviously valuable. Go back to Reaper and tell him that’s all there is.’
‘But it isn’t.’ Amos hunkered down in front of Osborn. ‘Here’s a deal for you, fuckface. You tell me right now where the real money is, and I won’t go back into church and cut your wife’s throat. How about that?’
‘He won’t do that,’ Liza said softly to Osborn.
‘I think you know by now that I would,’ Amos said. ‘Because there’s a fortune somewhere in this house, and Whirlwind has plans for it.’
‘Just tell him, Osborn,’ Nemesis said. ‘Please.’
Osborn said something unintelligible.
‘What?’ Amos leaned in closer. ‘What?’
‘He can’t speak,’ Liza said, afraid the old man might be having a stroke.
‘The hell he can’t.’ Amos pulled a folded knife from his pocket. ‘Tell me now, or this is for your Freya.’
William Osborn’s eyes were suddenly less glazed, clear with loathing.
‘Cellar,’ he said, slurred but intelligible. ‘You were looking right at it.’
‘Where in the cellar?’ Nemesis asked.
‘Floor. Near the champagne.’
‘Come on.’ Amos put away the knife, grabbed Osborn’s right arm, hauled him up off his knees and the injured man cried out.
‘Stop it!’ Liza protested. ‘You’ll kill him.’
‘She’s right,’ Nemesis said. ‘We don’t need another death.’
Amos let go of his arm, and Osborn crumpled to the floor. ‘Then think of your wife now, old man, while you still can, and tell me what kind of safe it is.’
‘Not a safe,’ Osborn whispered. ‘Locked hatch.’
‘Where’s the fucking key?’
‘In this safe,’ Osborn told him weakly, giving up. ‘Over there.’
Amos was there in an instant, and for such a big man, Liza thought, he moved nimbly, and in another moment he had two keys in his hand. ‘One of these?’
Osborn didn’t answer.
‘Which one?’ Amos yelled.
‘He’s passed out,’ Nemesis said.
‘Oh, God.’ Liza ripped off her gloves, felt for a pulse in his neck. ‘He’s alive, but he needs help.’
‘Leave him.’ Amos bent and pulled her up.
‘He has to have help,’ she told him.
‘Not from you,’ he said. ‘You’re coming with us.’
‘At least let me dial nine-one-one,’ she said. ‘We’ll be gone before they get in.’
‘They’ll be blown to fuckdom if they try.’
‘You wired this house too?’ Liza stared at him.
‘So come on.’ Nemesis took her arm.
‘If he’s been lying,’ Amos said quietly, ‘I’ll do what I told him I would.’
‘No, you won’t,’ Nemesis said.
‘I don’t think he was lying,’ Liza said.
‘Who the fuck asked you?’ Amos said.
‘I’ll get you help, Bill,’ Liza said at the door, urgently. ‘Soon as I can. You just hang in there.’
There was no answer.
‘What have you done with my husband?’ Freya Osborn was on her feet. ‘They’ve been gone for over an hour.’
‘They’ve been gone for fifty-two minutes,’ Reaper said. ‘Please sit down, Mrs Osborn. I’ve done nothing to him.’
‘Not you, maybe, but I don’t trust that big brute.’ She stood her ground in her dark mink, gloved fists clenched, makeup smudged, exhausted but furious. ‘Where have they taken him? He’s an old man and he’s sick. He needs his medication.’
‘So long as your husband is cooperating, you have nothing to worry about.’
Freya Osborn turned to the vicar on the other side of the aisle, back beside his wife. ‘There are offices down there, aren’t there?’
‘My office, yes,’ Keenan said.
‘So there’s a computer?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s what they’ll be using,’ Osborn’s wife said. ‘It’s money, just as Bill said, and the rest of it’s hogwash. Some kind of computer fraud. They’re here to steal.’
‘Sit down, Mrs Osborn,’ Reaper told her again.
She sank down, leaned back, shivered, pulled her fur around her, closed her eyes.
‘Try not to worry too much, Freya,’ Stephen Plain called to her. ‘Bill’s tough.’
‘He’s brave,’ Freya said. Then, close to tears, added: ‘That’s what’s frightening the hell out of me.’