DEATH TAKES A BOW

Chapter Twenty Six

"So should a murderer look; so dead, so grim."

Mac stared at Fliss.

"Disappeared? Are you sure he hasn't just left?"

She gazed back, full of doubt. "You know Adam better than me, I'll admit. Does that sound like the sort of thing he'd do?"

Her obvious concern was touching, and also rather contagious. Mac gave her words the consideration that they deserved. Would Adam simply disappear? Without an apology, or a reason? He pictured the lab tech, always so eager to please, and so thoughtful - a quiet word of encouragement here, a bright smile there.

"Not at all," Mac told Fliss firmly. "I'm sorry. You're right, of course. Though I'm sure that, when we find him, there'll be a rational explanation." Not to mention a frantic apology. Mac smiled at the image. "Where have you looked?"

Fliss opened her mouth to reply, but before she could do so, they were interrupted by Peter Reynolds. He stood behind Mac with one hand clutching the doorframe for support. His knuckles were bone white, and his whole body was shaking but his painted face was a study in fierce resolve.

"Forgive me," he said. "Detective Taylor... I need to speak with you. Alone."

Mac caught the wild look in his eye and nodded at once. "Danny," he said. "Go with Fliss. Find Adam and bring him back here."

"Sure thing, boss." Danny gave Peter a puzzled glance before turning to Fliss. "Danny Messer," he said, as he stuck out his hand. She shook it warmly. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," Fliss grinned. "Are you a friend of Adam?"

"Are you kiddin' me?" Danny gave a wicked laugh. "Fliss, right? The guy's a legend. There was this one time in the lab, okay... Adam spilled the cyanoacrelate - that's super glue to you - all over his workstation. When he bent down to pick up the bottle, he grabbed the desk for balance..." Smiling across at Mac, Danny finally saw the meaningful look that his boss was trying to send him. He let his little anecdote tail off into silence - just as Fliss gave a giggle of understanding. "Um. Well, there's plenty of time for that later. We'd better get going. Lead the way, Fliss..."

Feeling a sudden twinge of doubt about the wisdom of his decision to let Danny loose in the theatre with Adam's new girlfriend, Mac watched them set off down the corridor together.

Too late now.

He only hoped that Adam would forgive him...

Shaking his head in dismissal, he turned to face Peter.

"Shall we take this conversation somewhere more private?" he offered, gesturing into the dressing room.

They entered together; Mac steering Peter gently by the arm and setting him down on a nearby couch. Once the door was closed and they were alone, he sat down next to Peter and waited quietly for him to speak.

Several minutes passed. Watching Peter's face, Mac could chart the progress of his internal struggle.

When his voice returned at last, however, it was calm and perfectly under control.

"I'm sorry for lying to you, Detective Taylor," he said. "I want to confess now. I'm the one. It was me. I killed my wife."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adam had been wrong many times in his life, and he didn't enjoy it - the feeling or the consequences. Right now, however, he wished with all his heart that this was one of those times.

"Henry," he managed to blurt out as his brain rebooted. "Why do you have a gun? That's insane..."

Not the wisest thing to say, on reflection, but nerves had always been Adam's downfall when it came to speaking. Either he talked too long and too fast, or he came up with random statements that were hopelessly inappropriate. Mac, and the rest of the guys at the lab, had always been tolerant. Well, fairly tolerant. Maybe they liked him enough to see beyond his embarrassing flaw.

This was a different situation.

Adam shivered.

Deep down, he already knew what Henry's unspoken answer would be.

Which led to another, far more important question. What in the world was he going to do?

All his wonderful plans to be kind and brave fell away from him in tatters, as he continued to stare at Henry's hands, and the dreadful object that they clutched.

I can't do this, Adam thought.

How do you stop a boy so lost in grief and pain that he wants to take his own life?

"Shut the door," Henry gasped. His body, normally lithe and graceful, was rigid with fear, making it hard to draw breath. Adam's unexpected appearance had shattered his plan, but he clung to the broken pieces all the same.

Humour him, Adam decided. That was the way to go, for now. Until he found the right path into Henry's troubled mind.

Swallowing hard, he took a small step forward and held up his palms in a silent gesture of friendship.

"Don't do that!"

Henry waved the gun in his direction. It was all too obvious that he had never used one in his life before.

Adam was struck by a sudden, insightful thought. I wonder where he got it.

And straight away, he knew.

For the first time since entering the room, Adam stopped to look - really look - at his surroundings. Stretching back as far as the eye could see, he saw shelves and cabinets filled with wild and improbable items. A medieval crown outshone a moth-eaten trilby. Goblets went slumming in the company of pewter mugs. An old-fashioned typewriter lurked beside a pile of curling manuscripts, eyeing them greedily as though they were fodder for its shining rows of teeth.

I'm in the prop room, Adam realised.

Could it be, then...?

Was Henry's gun just a prop?

A risky assumption. If he was wrong... If the gun was a real one, stashed here in this robber's cave of fakery... Adam closed his eyes. The result could be catastrophic. Be careful, he thought. For once in his life, he needed to choose his words with absolute conviction.

"Henry," he said. "Can we talk?"

"Talk?" The young man sighed. "I've had enough of 'talk'." The look on his face was that of a hunted animal who knows the end is near.

"You mean the argument." Adam kept his voice low, and his head down in a gesture of submission. He peered at Henry through his lashes; studying the way his body moved, the expressions that crossed his weary face, and the tenuous grip that he had on the gun.

"You heard that?" Unbending slightly, Henry leaned towards him. Adam's quiet, harmless manner seemed to be having a positive effect.

"Not really. Bits and pieces. It's just... I know how that feels. To be beaten down with words. And..." Blows, he added to himself. But that was another story, and one that he hardly ever told. Adam paused.

"I started it. The argument."

"You did?"

Taking a chance, he inched a little closer. Henry didn't notice. He was absorbed by the earnest look in Adam's bright blue eyes, now raised once more and staring directly at him. Pleading. Trust me...

One more step. Now he was close enough to touch the boy.

"It's my fault," Henry murmured.

"I'm so sorry," Adam told him.

One hand snaked out from his side and reached for the gun.

But Henry had seen the deception cloud his gaze, a moment too soon for Adam's luck to hold.

Wounded beyond all measure, Henry clung to the weapon and shoved the other man away with every ounce of strength that his wiry body possessed.

Adam felt himself flying across the room. A shelf barred his way, and he slammed up against it, so hard that his head rocked back upon his neck and he fell to the ground in an startled, dizzy heap.

Even worse - the middle shelf had struck him right across the bruise left by Nathan's fist.

He would have howled in pain, but every ounce of breath was trapped in his body and couldn't get out.

He would have risen to his feet, but his legs refused to work.

Adam's world spun. Little black dots filled his vision.

He knew exactly what was coming next.

Great timing, he sighed, as the world went black.