Дик Фрэнсис - Decider

‘Oh, of course.’

‘Yes, but...’

‘You all do it to each other; you think no one’s capable of anything else.’

Conrad shrugged his heavy shoulders as if he believed that to be self evident. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘Keith asked me to give him the envelope our father had entrusted to me shortly before he died. I told Keith I couldn’t do that. We had a bit of an argument, but Father had given me very explicit instructions about not letting anyone else see it. Keith asked me if I knew what was in it, but I don’t, and I said so. He said he had to have it. He began opening the boxes and tipping everything out. I tried to stop him, but you know what he’s like. Then he came to the box where I thought I’d put that letter but when he tipped everything out it didn’t seem to be there... but how could you have taken it when you couldn’t have known it existed? In the end, I helped him look for it. Everything’s out on the floor, it’s a terrible mess and I’ll never put it straight...’

‘But you did find the envelope?’ Marjorie asked anxiously.

‘No, we didn’t.’ He turned to me, insisting, ‘I know it was in there, in one special box, under a pile of out-of-date insurance policies . Keith told me to bring the gun and kill you...’

‘But he knew you wouldn’t,’ I said positively.

Dart asked, ‘Why are you so sure?’

‘One twin,’ I said, ‘would kill the pilgrim. The other wouldn’t. They can’t change their natures.’

‘The fork in the road! You... you subtle bastard.’

Marjorie looked at me forthrightly, not understanding or caring what Dart had said. ‘Did you take that envelope?’

‘Yes, I did,’ I said.

‘Did you open it? Did you see what was inside?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then give it to me.’

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘This one...’ I took a breath, ‘this one I have to do alone.’

The telephone shrilled beside Marjorie. Mouth tightening with annoyance at the interruption, she lifted the receiver.

‘Yes,’ she said, her face going blank. ‘Yes, he’s here.’

She held out the receiver to me. ‘It’s Keith,’ she said. ‘He wants to talk to you.’

He knows, I thought, that I must have taken that letter; and he knows what is in it.

With foreboding, I said, ‘Yes?’

He didn’t speak at once, but he was there: I could hear him breathing.

Long seconds passed.

He said five words only before the line went dead. The worst five words in the language.

‘Say goodbye to your children.’

My brain went numb.

A flush of fear zipped from my heels to my scalp in one of those dreadful physical disturbances that come with perceived irretrievable disaster.

I stood immobile, trying to remember the Gardners’ telephone number. Couldn’t do it. Squeezed my eyes shut and let it come without struggling, let it come subliminally, known as a rhythm, not by sight. Pressed buttons and sweated.

Roger’s wife answered.

‘Where are the boys?’ I asked her abruptly.

‘They should be with you at any minute,’ she said comfortingly. ‘They set off... oh... say, fifteen minutes ago. They’ll be with you directly.’

‘With me... where?’

‘Along at the big top, of course.’ She was puzzled. ‘Christopher got your message and they set off at once.’

‘Did Roger drive them?’

‘No. He’s around the course somewhere, I’m not sure where. The boys set off on foot, Lee... is something wrong?’

‘What message?’ I said.

‘A phone call, for Christopher...’

‘I threw the receiver to Marjorie and sprinted out of her drawing room, across her calm hallway, and out of her front door and into Dart’s car. Never mind that the sprint was a hobble, I’d never moved faster. Never mind that I knew I was heading for an ambush, for some thought-out fate. There was nothing to do but rush to it, hoping beyond hope that he’d be satisfied with me, that he would let the boys live...

I drove Dart’s car like a madman through the village, but just when I could have done with a whole police posse, there was no police car to chase me for speeding.

In through the racecourse gates. Round onto the tarmac outside Roger’s office. Keith’s silver Jaguar was there. Nobody in sight... Yes ... Christopher... and Edward... and Alan. All of them frightened to eye-staring terror. I scrambled out of the car, driven by demons.

‘Dad!’ Christopher’s bottomless relief was not reassuring. ‘Dad, hurry.’

‘What’s happening?’

‘That man... in the big top.’

‘I turned that way.

‘He’s lit fires in there... and Neil... and Toby... and Neil’s screaming.’

‘Find Colonel Gardner,’ I shouted to him, running. ‘Tell him to turn on the sprinkler.’

‘But...’ Despair in Christopher’s voice, ‘we don’t know where he is.’

‘Find him.’

I could hear Neil screaming. Not words, nothing intelligible. High-pitched shrieks. Screaming .

How does one face such a thing?

I ran into the big top, into the centre aisle, looking for the fire extinguisher that ought to have been there at the entrance, and not seeing it, running on and finding Alan running beside me.

‘Go back,’ I yelled at him. ‘Alan, go back .’

There was smoke in the tent and small bright fires here and there on the floor; scarlet, orange and gold flames leaping in rivers and pools. And beyond, standing like a colossus with his legs apart, his weight braced and his mouth stretched wide in gleeful enjoyment... Keith .

He held Neil by the wrist, easily clamping the small bones in a vice grip, and lifting him halfway into the air, holding my son at almost arm’s length, the small body writhing and fighting to get free, but with only his toes touching the ground, giving no purchase.

‘Let him go,’ I yelled, beyond pride, into begging, into any craven grovelling needed.

‘Come and get him, or I’ll burn him.’

Beside Keith, in a tall decorative wrought-iron container, stood a long-handled torch flaring with a live naked flame, the sort designed for garden barbecues, for torchlight processions, for the evil firing of houses in raids; Neil on one side, torch on the other. In the centre, Keith held a plastic jerry can missing its cap.

‘It’s petrol, Dad,’ Alan yelled beside me. ‘He was pouring it on the floor and lighting it. We thought he might burn us... and we ran, but he caught Neil... don’t let him burn Neil, Dad.’

‘Go back,’ I screamed at him, frantic, and he wavered and stopped in his tracks, tears on his cheeks.

I ran towards Keith, towards his terrible grin, towards my terrified son. I ran towards certain fire, ran as fast as I could, ran from instinct.

If Keith wants to get rid of something, he burns it...

I would overrun him, I thought. I would crash down with him. He would go with me... wherever I went.

He hadn’t expected an onrush. He stepped back, looking less certain, and Neil went on screaming. One will do, I realised later, almost insane things in defence of one’s children.

I was conscious then only of flames, of anger, of the raw smell of petrol, of a clear view of the outcome.

He would fling the petrol can at me and swing the torch, and to do that he would have to... have to let go of Neil. I would push him away beyond Neil, who would live and be safe.

Six paces away, running towards him, I gave up all hope of not burning. But Keith would burn too... and die... I would make sure of it.

A small dark figure launched itself in the shortening distance between us like a goblin from nowhere, all arms and legs, ungainly but fast. He banged into Keith and knocked him off balance, setting him reeling and windmilling backwards.