Descent - 4/16

Descent - 4/16

Galway, 1751

"Stop!"

Lady Russell spoke sharply to the coachman, who reigned in his horses, bringing the carriage lurching to a halt. She leaned out of the open window and called to the young man loitering there on the side of the road.

"Pardon me, Sir, but is this the Galway road?"

"Madam!" the coachman protested, but she gave him a stern look and turned back to the youth.

"My coachman has been lost for the last hour, though he won't admit it. For the love of God, tell me where we are?"

"I will..." said the young man (for young man he was, now that she got a proper look at his face) "...if you tell me your business here."

The coachman almost bounced out of his seat, "Madam, I hardly think..."

The man approached the window, and she shrank back slightly. Her coachman fumbled with the bundle at his feet, trying to lay his hand on the pistol. But the stranger didn't try anything, merely removed his hat and made a slight bow. "After all, you might be robbers."

Lady Russell's mouth dropped open, and then she saw the glitter in his eye and threw her head back in laughter.

"Your caution is very reasonable." she began, when her mirth had died away, "We must indeed look a desperate party. Very reasonable, not to say commendable, in one so young. I'm visiting a house in the neighbourhood. The Great Hall - do you know it?"

He took a step forward and placed a boot on the foot plate. "Know it? My Lady, I could take you blindfold."

"Could you, though?" she drew forward again and appraised his figure, in the easy manner of one who has enough wealth and title to dispense with the usual formalities, if it pleases.

"Any time your Ladyship desires it."

"Do you know The Hall, Mr...?"

"Liam, your Ladyship, call me Liam. I do know The Hall. The beds are very comfortable."

"I'm pleased to hear it. And these comfortable beds - how do we find them?"

His eyes travelled over her dress, with an easy insolence. "Give me the word, my Lady. I'm always at your service."

She bit her lip to avoid smiling again. Really, he was too fresh for a local lad. There was no need to encourage it. "You misinterpret me, Liam. I desire to be directed to The Hall, so that my coachman can drive me there. I'm in a hurry."

"Are ye desperate, then?"

"Only to arrive at my journey's end. I've travelled many a long mile." She gave the coachman a look. "Some of them twice."

He stepped down. "Then I'd turn right at the next gate. And may your Ladyship have a pleasant ride."

"You see me, Liam. I'm in a carriage. Not riding."

"Not yet, your Ladyship. But there's fine stables at The Hall. Many good rides to be had."

"Ah, then you know something about horses?"

"Horses? No, your Ladyship, nothing at all. I know a lot about stables."

There was clearly no way she could win with dignity against someone who knew no limits with innuendo. Certainly, not in front of a servant, anyway. "Peters?"

"Madam?"

"Drive on."

As she sat back in the gloom, her china-blue eyes met the identical pair that danced on the mirror opposite. She tucked a blond curl into her hat, and made a mental note to take advantage of her new brother-in-law's stables, whenever she could get away from the newlyweds. Perhaps this visit would not be so dull, after all.

Los Angeles, 2001

"Angel Investigations! We help the..."

"Is he there?"

"Kate? Hold on, I'll check."

In his office, Angel picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Angel, Kate's on the phone. I'm going to put her though, but just remember she's the competition now. Okay? Don't give her any client names."

There was a click and then silence.

"Kate?"

"Angel? Get yourself out."

"What?"

"Get out of there, right now. Don't worry about the others, they're perfectly safe. Go to my apartment. I'll meet you there. Don't tell anyone where you've gone. No-one, not even Cordelia, you understand?"

The line went dead. Angel held the receiver to his chest for a few moments, then dropped it back into its cradle and rushed into the lobby, grabbing his coat on the way.

"How's Lockley PI?" Cordy said, as he went past. "In trouble already?"

"Seems so. She wants me to meet her. She says there's no danger, but we're not to tell anyone where I've gone and why, no matter what they say."

Cordy saluted, army-style. "Death before dishonour!"

"It's a bit late for me, on both counts." Angel smiled. "Wesley's coming back, right?"

Cordy nodded.

"OK, then I'll go. I'll call you later."

"If it takes more than twenty minutes," Cordy yelled after him, "tell her we'll be sending an invoice!"

The building was quiet, and the concierge was standing in the street outside, lighting up a cigarette. Angel slipped past him and climbed the stairs to Kate's apartment two at a time. He rapped sharply on her door.

It swung open. The interior was dark, and Kate stood in the doorway. The gentle smile she wore when she left the bar earlier was gone, and her face was marked with the old suspicions and the troubled loathing she'd never tried to hide. She was dressed in a sweatsuit and trainers; either she'd planned a lazy evening in or was just about to run. Maybe she was planning to run from him, again.

"Can I come in?"

"Did you do it?"

"Depends what you mean by 'it'." He took a step towards her, but stopped before he reached the threshold. He was almost certainly excluded even now; there had never been an invitation. But he didn't want to test it. If she knew for certain he could come in, she might take flight. "What's happened, Kate?"

She backed away from him, and seemed deliberately to take a stand, just barely beyond his reach.

"Just tell me, what am I supposed to have done?"

"There's been another murder. A young woman. Shawna Copeland. I just found out the details... it was identical to Eddie Brown. Same weapon, same MO."

His face remained passive; he challenged her silently to find any guilt written there.

"She was a tourist too. Australian."

"I don't know anything about this, Kate."

"She asked the receptionist at her hotel to place a call to The Hyperion on the day she was killed. It wasn't picked up."

"Our answerphone is kaput, it has been for days. I've no idea who she is. To my knowledge, I've never met anyone of that name."

"She was carrying a picture of you in her handbag."

In frustration, Angel aimed a blow at the invisible barrier that kept him out, only to find it wasn't there and his arm flew through the doorway. He managed to snatch it back before it hit her, and she didn't move, didn't even visibly flinch. She wasn't surprised. Possibilities raced through his head, one by one discounted, until, having ruled out the impossible, he was left with only one, improbable, explanation.

"You don't live here anymore?"

She shook her head. "No. I moved out a while ago."

Kate waited for him to enter, and, finding Angel had no intention of doing so without her permission, waved him in. As she closed the door behind him, he caught a sheen of tears on her face, reflecting the light from the hallway. He stepped cautiously towards her, and awkwardly circled her with his arms.

"You don't believe I did this."

She didn't answer but allowed her head to fall forward and rest on his sweater. Just for a second.

"Kate, you wouldn't have got me out of there if you did. They're coming to arrest me, aren't they?"

She nodded, and wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Her eyes were raw and swimming with new tears. Angel sensed she was frightened and relieved in about equal measure, but, somehow, she trusted him. He pulled away to a less threatening distance while Kate explained, "They've got enough evidence to bring you in now. I overheard them talking about it in a bar, one of the bars that police use, in my old patch. I was meeting a friend there. They were going to arrest you tonight. I thought... well, I thought..."

"You thought?"

"You could stay here. Until we figure it out. Until the real murderer is found. I don't have a tenant at the moment. No-one will think of looking here for you."

"Katie..." After the surprise of finding her on his side subsided, gratitude welled up in him, and he instinctively cupped her damp cheek in one hand and kissed her forehead. It was a mistake. She pulled away.

"Don't."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." He gave up trying to formulate an explanation; he didn't know what he meant and anything he said was only likely to make matters more tense. Changing the subject, he asked, "So, do you have a plan for clearing my name?

"As a matter of fact, I do." She moved towards the door. "Best if you don't know anything about it. Make yourself at home. Don't call the hotel... the police will be there by now. And I wouldn't go out. They know what you look like and any patrol car can pick you up."

He nodded, and she gave him a small, encouraging smile. "I'll call you."

The door closed behind her, and Angel curled up on her sofa, listened to the faint gurgle of the plumbing, and watched car headlights fan across the dark ceiling, until sleep claimed him.