Craig Russell - Dead men and broken hearts

Then I thought of Ellis’s eyes searching mine, just before the light went out of them. About his final moment being shared with me.

I stepped out of the shed just as a figure walked past the mouth of the drive. I ducked around the side of the shed and into the shadows just as a dog began to bark in my direction. For a split second I wondered if the ever-vigilant Maisie McCardle and her ugly pug had a city-wide beat, before a male voice ill-temperedly told his dog to shut up and come on. I waited a moment to make sure the dog-walker was well along the street before crossing the path to the back of the house.

I found two doors into the rear of the building, both locked. The first looked like it led into some kind of pantry or boot room, so I gave up on that one, fearing that it may lead to a second time-consuming locked door. The other door led directly into the kitchen. It too was locked, so I eased the chisel in between the door and its jamb, slowly and steadily leaning my weight against the chisel until I was rewarded with a splintering crack and the door flew inwards. I shot an arm out and caught it before it crashed into something and made more even noise than I had already made. I paused for a moment, listening so hard I thought my ears would bleed, watching the house next door for lights coming on.

No lights, no dogs barking, no footsteps on the drive. Once I was convinced that no one had heard me, I slipped into the kitchen and drew the door closed behind me. Laying the chisel down on the kitchen table, I made a mental note to pick it up on the way out and return it to the garden shed. The damage to the back door would make it obvious that the house had been broken into, or at least someone had attempted to break in, but I wanted to leave as few traces of my presence as possible. After all, the police would be able to hazard a pretty good guess at who the burglar had been.

I started with a quick survey of the whole house, just so I would know what I was dealing with. Downstairs there was a large kitchen, a cloakroom and WC, a laundry room attached to a small vestibule — which had its own separate door to the back garden, the one I had discounted as a way into the house — the large flock-wallpapered lounge I had been in before, a dining room, the hallway leading to the front entrance vestibule and Ellis’s study. I marked the study for special attention later, once I had checked out the upstairs. The upper floor had a bathroom, two double bedrooms and a single bedroom that was little more than a large closet with a window. From what I could see in the small pool of light cast by the penlight, everywhere was furnished with the same predictable conservatism as the lounge.

The study was definitely my best bet. But there was nothing to say that Ellis hadn’t secreted information about Tanglewood somewhere less obvious; somewhere his wife wouldn’t think of looking. But I didn’t have time to turn over mattresses, dip into toilet cisterns or rifle through sock drawers. I had been accused of all kinds of crap over the last few days, none of which I had done, but this time I really had committed a crime by deliberately breaking into the Ellis home. If I were caught, it would give Dunlop all the excuse he needed to keep me locked up while he took his own sweet time to pin on me anything else he could dream up.

I was jumpy. This wasn’t the first time I had broken and entered, and the last time I had very nearly been caught in the act. Speed was of the essence and I would have to concentrate on the study. Then, if I didn’t find anything worthwhile, and I had time to spare, I would maybe look elsewhere in the house.

I came down the stairs as quickly as I could. It was a detached house, and empty, so I didn’t have to worry too much about sound, but I had to make sure the light from my penlight didn’t scan across the drawn curtains.

At least that’s what I thought.

I heard the key in the front door.

I was half way down the stairs and froze. The stairway led into the hallway that fed from the entrance vestibule; there was no way I could get down into the hall and through to the kitchen before whoever was unlocking the front door came into the hall. I had to go back up. Which meant I would be trapped. I had closed the door from the kitchen to the garden behind me and only close examination would reveal that it had been forced, all the damage being on the outside, but if anyone tried the door handle, then it would be obvious that an unwanted guest had gained entry. And could be still in the house.

Killing the penlight, I backed up the stairs, keeping my eyes fixed on the glass panel door that led into the hall. Just as the hall light was switched on, I reached the small stair landing, where the staircase turned on itself and couldn’t be seen from the hall. I let out a long, slow, quiet breath, realizing I had held it since hearing the key in the door.

I heard footsteps in the hall, one set, high heels sounding on the parquet. I looked around the angle of the stairs and saw Pamela Ellis drop her keys onto the hall table. I braced myself for her heading towards the stairs and readied myself to make a quiet dash for the single bedroom, which looked as if it hadn’t been used for anything in some time. I’d be very unlucky if she looked in there. Another sigh of relief as she headed along the hall, away from the foot of the stairs. I congratulated myself on leaving Ellis’s study till last. She made her way into the kitchen, where, unless she had some reason for going out through the back door, she would see no evidence of my presence.

Shit. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth in a silent curse. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The chisel.

I had left the chisel in plain view on the kitchen table.

Once more I measured the distance to the front door. If I made a dash for it while Pamela Ellis was still in the kitchen, there was a chance I could make it out through the front door without her seeing. But the odds were against it and, anyway, her police escort was probably sitting patiently outside and I would run into the welcoming long arms of the law.

I heard her switch on the kitchen light, the sounds of her moving around.

Making sure I didn’t cause a single floorboard to creak, I went up the rest of the stairs two at a time, along the upper hall and into the front bedroom. Easing back the heavy drapes I checked the street. Right enough, the Austin Cambridge was back on sentinel duty. I cursed again. I tried to remember any details of the rear wall of the house, such as any drainpipes that might offer an escape route from the single bedroom; but, skulking around outside in the near pitch dark, I had been too focussed on breaking into the house to check out any ways of getting out of it from upstairs.

I made my way back to the stairs landing. I could hear Mrs Ellis was still in the kitchen. Only a matter of time before a shrill scream or shout brought the two coppers in from the street.

Then, suddenly, she switched off the kitchen light and marched back down the hall, something tucked under her arm, snapping up her keys as she passed the hall stand and walked out through the front door, slamming it behind her. She had forgotten something. That was all. I couldn’t guess how she had missed the chisel on the kitchen table, but she had.

A horrible thought seized me and I rushed back up the stairs and into the front bedroom, again checking through the carefully parted drapes. What if she had seen the chisel and was acting cool until she was out of the house and safe. Now, she could be telling the coppers what she’d found and her belief that the burglar was still in the building.

Instead, she climbed back into the Daimler and drove off. When the Cambridge took off after her, I realized that they had had their engine running all the time she’d been in the house.