Fourteen Days(74)

“I don’t believe you,” he said, moving away from the window. “You’re just some attention-seeking nutter.”

Richard shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on the gun. “I’m not. And I’m telling you the truth. That’s why I’m here—to talk you out.”

Peter’s hand had started to shake, causing the shotgun to quiver. Beads of sweat had gathered on his brow. He wiped them away quickly with his sleeve. “You’re talking shit,” he stuttered. “Nobody even knows I’m up here.”

“They know everything, Peter.”

“Bullshit.”

“They’ve been to your house on Old Hall Street. They know you kept Christina locked in the house.”

“Bullshit!” Peter screamed, his voice quivery.

“They know you tied her to the bed.”

“You’re lying!” He was now almost in tears, with the tip of the gun pointing down at the floor.

“They know you brought her body here.”

“How the hell…”

“And they know you took her baby.”

Stunned, Peter turned to the child, who had stopped crying. “This is my baby. And no one’s gonna take him away from me.”

Richard, as discreetly as possible, tried to pull his ankles and wrists apart to create enough space to pull his hands and feet out. “He’s not your baby. He doesn’t belong to you.”

“Yes he does. He’s mine!”

Richard’s feet were almost through the rope’s loop. “No he’s not. And they’re gonna come for you. But I promised them that you’d go quietly. They know what you’ve been through, they understand. That’s why they agreed to send me in first.”

“Bullshit!”

“It’s not bullshit. It’s the truth. They know absolutely everything. They know that you loaded Christina’s body into the boot of her car. They know you wrapped her up in a white sheet. They know she was wearing a white dress the day you took her. And they even know about your sister’s involvement.”

“It’s got nothing to do with my sister! You leave her out of this!”

Cautiously, Richard slipped a shoe off his foot, allowing more space to part his ankles. He wriggled his feet subtly until finally he managed to free a foot from his bounds. Peter hadn’t noticed. “They will—as long as you promise to give me the baby. Otherwise she’s an accessory to murder.”

Peter shook his head in denial, clearly unable to comprehend what was being said. He sat heavily on the sofa chair, as if his body carried the weight of his problems. His head dropped and the grasp of his gun loosened. “He’s mine,” he mumbled quietly. “He’s my baby.”

Richard’s wrist was merely an inch from freedom. He pulled and pulled, all the while trying not to show any strain on his face. He could feel the flesh under the rope blister as it rubbed back and forth. “You have to do what’s right. It’s not too late.” He gave one last tug until he finally managed to slip his hand free; his wrist was bright red and sore. This was his chance to make a break for it. Leaping to his feet, with his heart beating fiercely against his chest, he made a dash for the front door directly behind him. Grabbing the handle, he frantically turned it. Locked. Panicked, he unbolted the large sliding-lock at the top of the door. Pulling at the handle again without luck, he reached down to unbolt another lock, but stopped suddenly when he felt something hard touch the back of his head.

“You stupid f*cker!” Peter yelled, pressing the end of the shotgun against the back of Richard’s skull. “You think I’m stupid enough to leave that door unlocked.”

Richard didn’t reply as he raised both hands up in surrender.

“Turn around. Now!” Peter ordered.

Richard slowly turned as Peter backed off slightly. “Don’t try anything clever, ’cause I swear to God, I’ll blow your head off.”

Terrified, Richard followed him back toward the living room. Just as Peter approached the stone archway, leading back into the living room, he accidentally backed into the wall, causing him to lose focus of Richard. Using the distraction, Richard leaped forward, grasping the gun and pushing it so that the end was pointing up at the ceiling. The two men wrestled to the floor, with Richard on top trying to prize the gun from his grip. But it was no use, he was no match for Peter’s strength. Using the gun’s stock, Peter smacked Richard’s chin, causing him to lose hold of the gun and roll off Peter in agony. Clutching his jaw, Richard reached for the gun again, but Peter drove his thick leather boot into his face. Richard tasted blood as he flew back, hitting his head hard on the stone archway.