Summoning the Dead (DI Bob Valentine #3)(66)

42

The handle was stiff and the door heavy, the old hinges sighing loudly as Valentine pushed forward. The room seemed disproportionately darker than the rest of the house until the detective realised the heavy velveteen curtains were drawn tight across the window. The only other light in the room came from a small, brass desk lamp, its green glass shade throwing off a yellowish glow.

In the hazy light beyond the lamp sat Fallon, slumped in a swivel chair with a heavy glass in one hand. Beside the glass sat a bottle of Glenlivet. It was almost empty. As Valentine approached the desk there was no movement from Fallon at all, as he stared, wide-eyed, into the room’s dark recesses. For a moment the DI thought he had found a corpse, until he leaned over the desk and saw Fallon’s other hand slowly moving up the stock of the Browning shotgun that was resting in his lap.

The only sound in the musty atmosphere came from a clock ticking somewhere on the bookshelves behind the detective. Beyond the regular tick, tick, tick came an occasional roar from the crowd outside, which was punctuated by the shrill blaring of a car’s horn.

When he spoke, Fallon’s voice sounded dislocated from the real world. ‘She’s left.’ He looked up, made eye contact with Valentine. ‘My wife. She read the papers.’

The DI’s pulse was quickening and sweat dampened his forearms. ‘You sound surprised.’

‘It makes you wonder what it’s all for when something like that happens.’ Fallon drained the last of his whisky and let the heavy glass fall to the floor; it rolled underneath the desk and out of view.

‘And have you reached a conclusion?’

Fallon remained motionless and silent as the noise outside started to rise again. He did not answer the detective.

‘Give me the gun,’ said Valentine.

‘No.’

‘You’re not going to shoot your way out of this, Fallon.’

‘That’s not what it’s for.’

Valentine leaned on the desk and held out an open hand, making sure all emotion and threat was removed from his voice. ‘Come on, give me the gun.’

Fallon pushed himself away from the desk and stepped out of his chair. His finger was on the gun’s trigger now. ‘I said no.’

The detective eased away and heard the blood pounding in his ears. ‘OK, if that’s the way you want it.’

‘You’ve got this all wrong you know, Valentine. All wrong.’

‘That’s funny, Garry Keirns told me that as well. Before he was killed.’

‘Bloody Keirns.’ Fallon spat the name. ‘He was always letting his mouth run.’

‘Is that why he was killed?’

Fallon dipped his head and formed a lopsided grin. ‘You’ll be accusing me of that next, I suppose.’

‘Well, did you?’

‘That idiot got himself killed. I can’t even say he was a useful idiot in the end.’ He lowered the gun and placed it on the desk between himself and Valentine, but kept his hand on the barrel. ‘Look, Keirns knew a little, and you know what they say – a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. But he didn’t know the whole story – nothing bloody like it!’

‘What’s the whole story then? Why don’t you tell me?’

Fallon rubbed the back of his neck as if easing out cramp. As he moved, the motion rocked the gun on the desk. ‘Not what you think. That picture you showed me, that’s nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with all of this mess.’

As the former MP spoke, Valentine became aware that Fallon was dressed very formally in a fitted dress suit and tie. The collars of his white shirt were stiff and starched, fastened low on his neck by a large Windsor knot. There was a pin in the tie – a red garnet stone, very like the one in the signet ring he was now wearing on the little finger of his right hand.

‘When I first came here with DS McAlister, you were wearing gloves,’ said Valentine. ‘You thought you’d get away with keeping them on when we went inside, but then you saw me looking at them and turned away to take them off.’

Fallon held up the ring. ‘You couldn’t have seen it. I took it off inside my driving gloves, and I was careful to leave it in there.’

‘I thought that’s what you’d done.’

Fallon lowered his hand and put it in his pocket. ‘Keirns told me about the picture, you know, but it was nothing to do with this absurd affair. I swear to you that was something different. I’ve never killed a child.’

‘Someone did. Someone killed two young boys who made the mistake of being alive and in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘And you think that was me?’

‘If not you then who?’

Fallon turned to face the other wall, pointing to a small oil painting of a yacht in a gilt frame. It was a colourful summer scene, with cloudless blue skies above and crystal-clear waters below, lapping at the bow of the boat. It seemed an image as far removed from the current situation as possible. ‘In there – the safe. Open it.’

‘What will I find?’

‘The answer you’re looking for.’

Valentine was uneasy turning his back on the man but walked to the other side of the room and took down the delicate painting with some care. Behind the frame was an indent in the wall where there sat a small grey security box with a black handle.