Death Knocks Twice. Robert Thorogood

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СКАЧАТЬ seconds, he was lost. The vines and vegetation pressed into his face, the fetid smell of the jungle was revolting – it seemed to be a pungent mix of rotting fruit and decaying animals – which, when Richard thought about it, was very possibly because the jungle was full of rotting fruit and decaying animals. He felt whole rivers of sweat run down his back. Where had the women got to? Richard heard some branches snapping up ahead of him, and he made himself push through the sticky vegetation another ten or so paces until he saw the figures of Camille and Lucy through a thick screen of vines. Before he lost his nerve entirely, Richard covered the remaining distance like a mad marionette – his legs and arms lifting as high and wide as possible – until he burst through the wall of vines into a little clearing.

      As Richard dashed the burrs, berries and sticky godknows-whats from his jacket and trouser legs, he could see Camille looking directly at him and smiling broadly. He gritted his teeth. As far as Richard was concerned, it wasn’t his fault he didn’t function well in a tropical jungle, was it? His last posting had been in Croydon, for heaven’s sake.

      ‘You okay, sir?’ Camille asked, pretending to be concerned.

      ‘Yes. I’m fine,’ he said.

      ‘Then I think you need to see this. I’ve found something.’

      Richard went over and saw that Camille and Lucy had found an area of ground that was littered with empty water bottles, paper bags that had once contained fresh food, crushed cigarette packets and an empty bottle of cheap vodka.

      ‘Someone’s been here,’ Camille said, indicating the food.

      Richard saw a column of bright red fire ants – each seemingly the size of his thumb – marching up to and engulfing a bag that had once contained a pastry of some sort, and he took a couple of steps back.

      ‘Although I don’t see any evidence of anyone sleeping out here,’ Camille said, looking about herself. ‘No tent’s been pitched. Or bivouac. Or rain cover of any sort.’

      ‘I see,’ Richard said, lifting his feet up one by one to check that an army of fire ants weren’t already marching up his legs. ‘So tell me, Ms Beaumont, is there anything else you noticed about the man you saw earlier today?’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Lucy said. ‘I’ve told you everything I can remember. He was definitely a man. And he was definitely old. I didn’t really notice his clothes, but he had this beard – sort of whitish, sort of grey – and long-flowing grey hair. That’s all I saw. And I had no idea that he had any kind of camp in the jungle here.’

      Richard looked about himself. It wasn’t much to go on, was it? An old tramp had been spying on Lucy from the jungle. And when Lucy had tried to confront him, he’d run away.

      There was a sudden bang from nearby – followed by a flock of parrots squawking into the air above the jungle.

      ‘What was that?’ Lucy asked.

      ‘That sounded like a gunshot,’ Camille said to her boss.

      ‘What?’ Lucy said, panicking.

      ‘Quiet!’ Richard ordered, trying to work out where the sound had come from. Like Camille, he’d already guessed that the sharp retort had been from a gun of some kind. But where had it come from?

      There was a second bang, and, without thinking, both Camille and Richard started running towards the noise – Richard this time pushing through the vines and vegetation without any thought for his personal safety – or that of his suit – and they soon burst out of the jungle and back into the blinding sunlight of the cobbled yard. There was no-one nearby. So where had the gunshot come from?

      Lucy joined them only moments later.

      ‘What do you mean, that was a gunshot?’ she asked.

      ‘Stay here,’ Richard said, before turning to Camille. ‘There might still be a shooter on the premises. We need to check the farm buildings.’

      Camille marvelled at how a man so personally timid could be so apparently brave when there was clear procedure to follow, but Richard was already heading off to investigate the nearest farm building.

      ‘Saint-Marie Police!’ he called out before entering the open door.

      Over the next few minutes, Richard and Camille announced themselves before entering the nearby farm buildings one by one, but there was no sign of anyone who might have fired the two gunshots, let alone any sign of what the gunshots might have been aimed at.

      Richard reconvened with Camille in the centre of the cobbled yard.

      ‘It was definitely a gunshot, sir.’

      ‘Two gunshots, Camille. I agree’.

      Lucy came over to join the Police, and Richard turned to her.

      ‘Do you have any idea why we just heard gunshots?’

      ‘No,’ Lucy said, but even as she said this, Richard and Camille could see the young woman’s gaze slide towards one of the few buildings they hadn’t yet searched. It was a long stone barn – a bit like a stables – with five evenly-spaced openings along the side, although Richard could see that the middle opening had a thick wooden door built into it. And while there was a gabled roof of red tiles running the length of the building, the area of roof directly above the central wooden door rose high into the air in a cone-shape that was shorn off at the top in a way that reminded Richard of the main body of a windmill. Or perhaps – more accurately – a Kentish oast house. But it was as Richard was looking up at the cone structure in the middle of the building that he realised he could see puffs of smoke or steam gently rising out of the top of it.

      ‘What’s that building over there?’ he asked Lucy.

      ‘It’s the old drying shed,’ she said.

      ‘Let’s check it out,’ Camille said, and started jogging towards the building.

      Richard and Lucy followed, and by the time they arrived at the building, Camille was already trying the handle to the heavy wooden door, but it wasn’t budging.

      ‘It’s locked,’ she said.

      ‘Is there a key to this room?’ Richard asked Lucy.

      ‘I don’t think so. There’s just an iron bolt you slide across on the inside.’

      Richard looked at the door and could see that it was ancient – maybe over a hundred years old – and it had wide black iron hinges holding it in place. It was the sort of door you’d expect to find on a safe-room in an old castle. Entirely solid, entirely impregnable, and with a locking mechanism that could only be accessed from the inside.

      ‘Saint-Marie Police!’ Richard called out. ‘Open up this door!’

      There was no answer. As Richard saw Camille go to investigate through one of the open doorways nearby, he turned to face Lucy.

      ‘Is there another way in?’

      Lucy shook her head. ‘No, it’s just an old room we’ve converted into a shower room. This is the only way in.’

      Richard stepped back from the door and СКАЧАТЬ