Chapter 74 (Part 5)
Monday evening at the Highgate Police station usually did not hold much excitement.
For Detective Constable Robert Shaw, it had been day of extremes. The otherwise self-controlled and stoic police officer had gone through the intense satisfaction he felt when he heard the news from the isle of Barra. News that had brought him one step closer to get MacDonald, even if it was for abduction. It was a serious enough crime that could keep him for a decent amount of time behind bars. And if others would be persuaded to talk... who knows what could be revealed, with MacDonald as the main culprit.
If only the rest of his day had gone as swimmingly...
Second phone call he had received by someone unknown, informed him Raven's plan was off. Christian had pulled out, there was no burglary to take place that night...
So there was no MacDonald and no Raven for him, to catch red handed. When he took on this case, he had perceived it as a game of patience, of cat and mouse, where Robert waited around the corner for that one mistake. Then, out of the blue, Christian had confessed his identity as the Raven, and in that moment which Robert now regretted, he had decided to trust him, and follow his plan instead.
On hindsight, Robert should have been more resolute, more in control, rather than following a plan from a thief. His ambition to bag both the Raven and MacDonald together, had blinded him.
"A bird in the hand is better than two in the bush." The saying goes.
He should have arrested Christian when he could. The Raven could have been behind bars by now and... Robert had ways to make people talk. After all, Christian had looked quite determined to bring MacDonald down. Certainly if he had been detained, that would not have changed his aim. With the right incentive of a lesser sentence, Christian could have been more useful in prison, than out. And then again, that infamous plan from Christian could have been a lie, to throw Robert off the scent. Perhaps the Raven and MacDonald worked together. Perhaps he'd been played like a fool. He definitely was left high and dry, with doubts ransacking his brain.
With those doubts holding him hostage and a temper running high, he had decided to confront Charles, earlier in the day. He was angry. In fact, he was fuming. And it was a big mistake of facing MacDonald in that state. The man was hardly rattled. Not only that but Robert handed Charles the satisfaction to throw him out of the Blind Beggar and he couldn't do nothing about it.
The only thing that remained for the Detective was to wait. He had ordered none of the police officers to leave for home that evening. His anticipation had reached fever point. The plan he put together with James Barrach may had been risky, but both had decided; they had to take all their chances. Tom Duffy and the girl used as bait, would lead them to MacDonald's man who was waiting in Glasgow. Robert had a good measure of trust for the head of the Police of Barra who was on the other side of the line. He sounded as if he had a strong hand over the situation.
Bu the waiting made the Detective impatient, restless, tense. He had tried to take a break, left the Police station in the afternoon. He had gone home, hoping in vain, he would find some peace. But alas, peace would not come. His mind would not stop running, churning the thoughts, round and round, making him feel increasingly agitated and frustrated. A foul combination.
It was precisely half past ten when the phone rang. Robert's thoughts alongside his breathing seized to exist. He picked up the phone.
"Detective Constable Robert Shaw." He answered the line.
The conversation did not last long. It did not have to. It contained what the Scotland Yard Detective prayed to hear all day long. He didn't ask how they managed to make MacDonald's man talk. James Barrach just said it had not been too difficult.
It must had been the careless death of Tom Duffy.
His murderer, in an attempt to act quick and leave no witnesses behind, he had killed the small time Glaswegian crook and dumped his body at the rail lines, between the two carriages. He had not expected of being in Glasgow still, when he did that. In his plan, he should have been on the road for some time, driving to London with Candy by his side. Instead he was being interrogated by the police. When they found Tom Duffy's body, he knew his time was up. So James Barrach offered him an exchange. He wouldn't have to face the death penalty if he gave them MacDonald. The man only asked to be locked to an unknown prison... Then he gave them the statement.
Detective Shaw slammed the phone down. With a renewed energy and a stare that carried the lightnings of a summer storm, he put together two teams of police officers. One would go to MacDonald's town house, the other would follow his lead to the Blind Beggar. This time, he had enough power to drag that bastard to the police station, kicking and screaming, if he had to.
It didn't take long for the Detective Constable Robert Shaw, to arrive at the Blind Beggar with a large number of police officers, following him, all armed and ready to face MacDonald and his gang. He turned to his men and ordered some of them to stay outside, cover all exits, front and back.
Just when Robert opened the door and they entered the pub, all music and banter stopped as if cut by the free fall of a guillotine blade.
Not a sample of a sound.
The street outside felt noisier than the inside of the place. Robert's stare swept the place. Everyone were on edge. The police officers, the punters at the pub... Some of them with their own secrets to hide. Not knowing the reason behind the whole police station having entered the pub, a lot of those men felt the sweat turning cold over their brows. Others felt more daring. Robert spotted a few. With a stare that spelled danger... The Bling Beggar at eleven o'clock at night was soaked in alcohol and bad intentions. All it needed was one wrong move.
He hastened his steps. Reached the bartender. Asked him to lift the bar flap.
"We seek no trouble."
They were after Charles MacDonald.
"Scotland Yard." Robert said with a determined voice.
The man behind the bar did not offer resistance. He obeyed without saying anything back.
Two police officers lead the way down the narrow stairs. They burst inside the room.
"Police. Stay everyone where you are."
The poker tables were half full. Everyone froze on their chairs. Some tried to find a way out in the quiet, but they were stopped. Some police officers were left upstairs. Robert was downstairs with his most able men.
"Everyone act nice, now." He raised his voice. A police officer opened the door in front of him. He walked towards MacDonald's office. He wasn't prepared for what he saw. A couple of bloodied towels were thrown on a chair nearby. And the smell of gun powder in the air hit him.
The man in question was absent. Instead, three men were there. Two, who by the looks of them, must had been bodyguards and a third man who looked completely out of place.
And then-
A woman, not moving at all, unconscious...
Was she dead?
There was blood spilled on the floor near her. She looked as if she had been placed, limb bodied, on Charles' chair, with her head having fallen forward, face down, chin on her chest. There was blood smeared on her blouse and she was handcuffed. It didn't take him long to realise.
"Alice..." He said between his teeth. He unlocked the handcuffs.
"What happened?" He asked right away, but no one from the men gave an answer.
His pressed lips, the frown between his eyes, and the hard stare he fixed them with, confessed his feelings for her. He didn't wait to hear of an answer. He'd get none. He knelt in front of her and took her face between his hands. Pushed her head back. She did not make any attempt to keep it upright. She didn't provide any resistance. If he left her, she'd fall forward as she was before.
There was a path of dried blood coming out from her nostrils. Her eyelids had taken a purple shade.
"Alice!" He yelled her name.
He gave her cheeks a couple of slaps. He put two fingers on her neck and stayed silent. He knew Alice wouldn't have a good ending when she became Charles' girlfriend, but seeing her like this, angered him more with himself, rather than anything else. He could have done more, do some things differently maybe. He tried to dispel those self-criticisms. At this point, he needed his wits about him to be as sharp as they could be. He wished in silence that she wasn't dead.
He felt a pulse. He took a deep breath of relief.
"Where is Charles?" Robert asked the men a second question, without taking his eyes from Alice. He was still kneeling in front of her.
The men did not say anything of importance. They just shrugged they shoulders. "We have no idea, boss."
"Alice!" He shouted once more, more desperate. Again no response. He heard a faint grunt, escaping her lips.
"She looks drugged." He said to himself. He got up.
"Handcuff those bastards." He ordered his men.
With the fear of the handcuffs and perhaps a further lock behind bars even, suddenly the one man who had looked completely out of place, with his round glasses, bookish face and short stature, sprung to life. He had stayed quiet and anxious looking, at all that time.
"Detective Constable, I was made to do it!" He confessed immediately. His eyes darted back and forth, between the two bodyguards already in handcuffs and Robert. The man was afraid.
"I am a doctor, Detective!" He added and came close. Took out a bottle of smelling salts from his breast pocket.
"I always carry this with me." He said. He took the cap off and put the small bottle next to Alice's nostrils. "Come on, Alice!" He coaxed her. It was at his best interest for the woman to wake up.
She winced, almost immediately. "They forced me to give her an injection of morphine, Detective. They wanted her subdued." The doctor said. "I had nothing to do with this. There was a gun shot heard upstairs, and then someone came and asked for a doctor and I offered first aid to Mr. MacDonald, but they kept me here."
"Alice, can you hear me?!" Robert asked her, trying to wake her up. The whole scene started to make sense to him. She started to move. Heavy movements, accompanied by deep groans. Her eye lashes fluttered. He could see the white of the eyes when she tried to lift her eyelids up.
"Bring me a glass of water, someone!" He shouted. A police officer run out of the room.
"You tell me everything, or by God, you'll end up in the same cell with those two." He turned and shot with a murderous stare the frightened doctor.
"This woman... Alice, she shot Mr. MacDonald. I just came afterwards as I told you." The man said once again. He offered the smelling salts to Robert who took the vial and put it under her nose one more time.
"Go to hell!" Her voice came out stronger this time. She pushed the vial back.
"Where is MacDonald now?" Robert asked.
The Doctor had no idea.
"He's going to kill him..."
Robert turned towards Alice.
The policeman came with the glass of water. Robert knelt once again in front of her. He tipped the glass on her lips. "Drink, Alice." She obeyed and made an effort to drink a little. She opened her eyes more. With renewed strength, she spoke.
"Charlie is going to Highgate cemetery with two men of his. He plans to kill Billy and Christian."
Robert raised his brows. The frown between them deepened. "What the hell is Christian and Billy are doing at Highgate cemetery?"
"There a passage... to the Grandchester mansion... Christian... found it."
"Fuck!" Robert shouted.
That bloody bastard played him. He's carrying the job after all!
As if Alice read his mind, she spoke again. "He was blackmailed, Robert. Charles pushed him against the wall. He told him he had his girl and that actor followed at Barra."
"For fuck sake! He's fucking stupid!" He started swearing. Pushed his hand through his blond hair.
"Go, Robert! You may reach him at the mansion. Please, save him..." She said, feeling breathless.
Robert had no time to lose. He ordered the doctor to stay with Alice. "Do look after her, ok?!"
The two bodyguards were sent to the police station accompanied by police officers.
Robert jumped on the police car, together with 3 more police officers. One more car following them.
The time of reckoning was upon them. He had no time to lose. He pressed the pedal down, racing against the clock. He was on his way to the Grandchester mansion.
Christian reached the end of the tunnel. The underground dampness covered his face like a second skin; made the stray hair stick on his forehead and the nape of his neck.
He placed the fire torch on its holder on the wall. There, under the flickering orange light of the burning torch, he stood in front of the locked door, taking a few moments to focus, calm himself down. Leave every single thought and feeling of his behind, when he'd be ready to enter the house. Once he opened that door, he'd be officially inside the Grandchester mansion. There was no going back. He took a deep breath and let it come out from his nostrils. The air smelled of moist earth and gasoline.
Τhe wooden frame of the door was old. Rotten in places. It wouldn't take him much effort to open it. He had carried a large weathered leather satchel, passed across his chest. He placed it on the ground, opened it and took out an iron pry bar. He fitted its sharp end between the door and its frame. He put all his weight on it. The wooden frame cracked and splintered. It caused it to break. He let the tool down and then it was just a matter of giving it a good kick at the point where it had broken. As he expected, it didn't take more than two strong kicks. The door opened in front of him. He put the pry bar back into the bag, pulled its strap across his chest once again and started walking further into the tunnel. It was much better kept that side of the door. The walls had been properly plastered and there was a stone floor, not just compressed earth.
He reached the staircase that was leading to the vault, the one that was hidden behind the bookcase inside Richard's study. His steps up the spiral stairs were those of a ghost. He held a small torchlight to illuminate his way.
Each step he took, it was a breath, it was a heartbeat, it marked his ascendance from below the ground to the vault. Half way, on those stairs, it was when his heart beat became stronger, faster. He noticed faint light at the top of the staircase. Sweat started prickling the back of his neck. He decided against the alarms ringing inside him to continue.
However, when he reached the top of the stairs, and he stood at the vault, what he saw, stopped breathing all together.
The safe had been wide open...
And so was the part of the bookcase that kept the vault hidden from view...
He switched off the torchlight. There was a tall floor lamp that was lit, inside the room. Although it didn't light up the whole room, it made it visible enough for Christian to see what was nearby him. He walked carefully. Almost tiptoeing.
All of the Duke's treasures, the same ones he managed to glance that morning where there. On top of the table. As if they were left there from the time the jeweller had cleaned them. Had they not put them back inside the safe? He dry swallowed. Definitely something was not right but then again, he was alone in the room... was he not?
He opened the satchel. Took out a black canvas bag, he had kept folded inside it. He had no time to think things over. He had spent enough time, hesitating. He started with quick moves, putting everything inside the bag. As he went, he acted more frenzied.
Hurry up
Hurry up
There was nothing in his mind at that point. Only the light reflected from the diamonds, the emeralds, the sapphires. They all glimmered like stars, the Milky Way spread all across the dark oak table, where some of the most beautiful jewels he ever had laid his eyes upon, were waiting for him.
He was almost done. There was just that big jewellery box left. He remembered it from before, once again. It was heavily decorated and as large as a small chest. Fit to hold untold treasures. It was unlocked. He opened it. There were not as many jewellery pieces in there as he had originally imagined. The ones that were, were, without a doubt, breath taking. They were of a different style from the very ostentatious pieces which were already in the canvas bag. They looked older, the kind of jewellery which are passed down through generations. Christian realised, those must had been the Grandchester family jewels. Alongside them, there were some personal items. Various things of no monetary value, but more of a sentimental one. One in particular caught his attention.
Two small strands of hair. Each with a white silk ribbon tied around them. One of them ribbons had the name "Terence" embroidered with blue silk thread. Christian looked at the other one. The embroidery on the other ribbon wasn't that of a name. Instead, there was the phrase "Our angel in heaven" sown with the same blue silk thread.
Not knowing why, but Christian remembered his mother all of a sudden. A flash of a memory; a window opened only for the briefest of moments.
He glimpses at her, smiling to him. He is only a toddler. Irene, his mother, waiting for him to run inside her open arms.
"My angel!" Her voice is so sweet. His mother's embrace smells of jasmines.
"Christian is our little angel, don't you think, Philip?!" He remembers her saying to his father.
The look of love inside her eyes.
Christian put the strands back inside the box.
He had no time for sentimentalities. He won't take anything from this box. Already , there was enough loot inside the bag. The memories get locked away as quickly as they had escaped before.
He turned his gaze back towards the vault. It was time for him to go.
"Are you sure you have taken everything you need, Christian?"
The Duke's voice made him stop. Everything froze. His body, his breathing, his mind.
The flick of a switch, the room becomes brighter with more light.
Christian shut his eyes. Cursed in silence. He had been so preoccupied, having found the precious gems laid on the table, it had been made so easy to him to just take them all, that every alarm in the head had been silenced, despite how this entire set up stunk to high heavens. It had been a set up and Christian had walked right in it.
The famous Raven, caught by plain greed.
He turned. Richard had been sitting on the grand leather armchair, behind his desk. The two men measured each other through their locked stares and pressed lips.
Despite the apparent trap, Christian had fallen into, he tried to calm down and play along to whatever plan the Duke οf Grandchester had in mind; whether as an aristocrat, he wanted to protect the valuable assets he had amassed during his blue blooded life, or whether as a powerful Duke his ego could not stand of getting bruised by a nobody painter or even as a man, he wished to play the role of an aged hero, Christian would give Richard the brief satisfaction of having tried to catch the Raven.
When in fact, the escape route was still open and all he had to do was to just ignore his opponent and run. Comfortable in the certainty, that he wouldn't be threatened by the aged aristocrat, if he decided to do so. He did not run however.
Once the initial shock started to die down, a deep sense of intrigue invaded Christian. The Duke of course was a clever man. What did he want, and how would he try to stop the thief from completing his task? Immediately, after this question, Christian thought of another possibility, more dangerous.
The mansion was huge even by modest estimation. The Duke could have hidden the entire Scotland Yard if he wanted. That was when Christian realised... Robert Shaw must had spoken to the aged aristocrat at some point after Christian's letters. Nothing - from Christian's secret alias, the Raven... to tonight's break in... - were surprising to the Duke. He had played his own little trick, as it seemed.
He got up from the chair. Christian reacted to this move. His body tensed up and took a back step. His eyes were fixed the door of the study.
"There is no one here, Christian." Richard said, realising the sudden change in Christian's body language.
The intrigue in Christian's eyes deepened. "Who was the lucky bastard that you send in your Rolls?"
"My butler, James." The Duke said. "There is no stuff here, tonight." He repeated his previous statement.
"I see..." Christian said.
The Duke passed by him, under Christian's uninterrupted gaze which followed him as he approached the drinks cabinet.
"Drink?" Richard asked him, having opened the heavy crystal decanter with the bourbon.
Christian could do nothing else but laugh. "Seriously?" He asked him, raising his brow.
The Duke poured the first drink. He did not commend, or tease or say something clever back to Christian. Instead he stretched his arm, holding the glass with the bourbon, towards him, offering it to him.
Christian pressed his lips while his stare remained amused. "No, it is ok... I don't drink during..." He hesitated.
"Burglaries...?" Richard completed Christian's statement. His blue eyes sparkled from the heat, the bourbon provided him as it travelled down his throat.
Despite the calm nature of the Duke's treatment, Christian was not feeling comfortable. He could not put his finger on what bothered him, but there was something he felt strange.
Why the theatrics?
He felt damn curious about the reason behind Duke's presence there - of course, he wouldn't stay with his arms crossed while he was burgled - but he could have asked the police to be at the mansion. Instead, he acted as if nothing much was happening, offering a drink to Christian. He was not going to stay and ask him. There was no time to start a chat about whatever the Duke had in mind.
"Burglaries, yes..." Christian repeated. Definitely he felt something was off. Perhaps the Duke was buying time.
Christian took a few back steps towards the open bookcase panel. Always facing the Duke who also kept looking at him with a face that was almost impossible to read. He glanced at his back. He was just standing before the opening of the vault. It was time...
"Well, I'd love to chat, but I have to go." He sounded brazen, cocky.
Better this way...
He turned his back to the Duke of Grandchester, ready to take the first step back to where he came from.
"You left this behind..."
The Duke's statement stopped him taking that step. Whatever it was, he didn't care any longer.
It was his life he wanted to leave behind.
How ironic...
"Keep it... I don't need it any longer." Christian replied without turning.
"But you do. You kept it for twenty seven years..."
Τhe air stopped midway inside Christian's throat.
A secret waiting to come out for twenty seven years. Twenty seven years of questions, left empty and unanswered. He hesitated.
Christian Blake, the famous Raven, who like a shadow broke into the mansions of the rich, the one who had been at war with that pretentious world around him, stood still. He dared not to turn and face whatever truth was waiting for him. He tightened his fists. Lowered his head.
"I don't want to know." Christian's voice was a little more than a whisper.
Not now. Not now that he had decided. He had to leave.
The Duke however, was not stopping.
"This handkerchief I had specially made for the woman I loved and let go." He said.
"Eleanor Baker..."
"I do not want to know." Christian raised his voice.
When the truth decides to finally come out, it's like a flood. Nothing stops its passing. Everything changes after that.
"or... Eleanor Graham as it was her surname back then."
Christian turned.
"I said I don't want to fucking know!" His voice came out like a wounded cry.
Before he could even think further, he rushed like a bull towards its target. Grabbed Richard by his jacket. His grey eyes glimmering with tears. Richard did not provide any resistance. He did not put any fight. His stare stayed unwavering, locked on Christian's face, when he uttered the next two words.
"Your mother..."
"That's a lie!"
"It is not, Christian."
"Have you lost your mind, old man?!" Christian shook the man who took care of rewriting his past with his words.
"Let me tell how it was alright?! I was fucking sold!
I was not wanted!
So whatever bullshit you have in store for me, keep it. I don't want to know!"
"You-were-not-sold."
Despite the obvious anguish the revelations was causing to Christian, the Duke of Grandchester did not stop.
"The only one who was told lies was your mother. They told her you were stillborn. You were born dead, that's what they told her. But you weren't... You were taken from her."
Christian's eyes darted back and forth, wanting to penetrate Richard's mind, to find out whether he was being played. He wasn't. His whole world was crumbling down like a house of cards in front of him. His grip on Richard's jacket lessened.
"I should have been there... and I was not. I blame myself for-"
A question sprung in his mind. One he feared the answer for.
"How long did you know...?"
The Duke did not reply straight away. Here came the part he worried about the most.
There was a faint tremble, audible in Christian's voice when he repeated the question.
"How-long-did-you-know...?"
"Since the scandal broke out." Richard said. He frowned, pressed his lips. Difficult were the words he had to say to his son.
"Doctor Gardner confessed to me in private; when he was in prison. Terry's twin brother was alive... he..."
Richard's admission cut Christian. Should it matter? It shouldn't really. Perhaps two months ago. Even one month ago; it could have made a difference, perhaps.
By now, the water flowed under the bridge.
"You did not look for me."
Christian said. He released the Duke from his grip.
"It sounds bad the way you say it, I know, Christian." Richard's eyes followed the young man as he paced in the room. His stare was sombre. "Believe me, if I could have, I would have looked for you, but-"
The Duke hesitated. How could he explain to his lost son of the problems he had already faced with Terry? His going off the rails? The animosity with his step mother.
"But what?" Christian prompted him. Time was running out. Half of him thought of his encounter useless, half of him wanted to stay. Find out more. Find out about his real parents.
His mother...
Terry... His rival. The scenes between them, played inside his mind. The times they were together. Some were explosive, others funny, sad... close, as close as brothers could have been, the night Billy had brought Terry at his flat, badly beaten up. Terry's reaction... it was-
"You boys were fifteen. And Terry..."
It was more or less, how Christian would have behaved.
"Terry was rebelling..." Christian suddenly said. A bitter acceptance of fate. His and Terry's, unbeknown to both brothers, run like parallel streams. Different but same. Christian somehow knew, his brother's troubles at fifteen. Shame they did not have each other.
The Duke remained stunned with Christian's comment. His guess was absolutely correct.
"Yes." He replied. "Terry hated me, pretty much, more and more as he grew up, till he left to US." The resignation was evident inside Richard's words.
The two men remained silent.
"And my..." Christian said. Eyes glimmering under the dim light. He stopped, cleared his voice.
"Mother..." The word felt strange to him when he heard himself saying it.
"Eleanor is in New York, with Terry."
Christian closed his eyes. He tried to imagine her. All he had to go by were some silent films he had happened to watch with her in the main female role.
"She's blonde." He said with quiet voice.
He remembered the sketching of the woman at the river. The faceless blonde maiden.
"Yes... she is." The Duke replied.
The two men fell in thoughts with a deep silence having descended between them. Christian's resolve was disintegrating fast, washed away like a castle made of sand.
"Does Terry know any of this?" He asked.
"No, he does not." The Duke was quick to reply. "He is completely unaware. He's at Barra with-"
"Rose" Christian said.
"Candy" Richard said.
Both names were heard simultaneously. Christian avoided the stare of the older man. He looked down. A battle had started taking place inside him.
"I know..." Christian commented.
A sudden, strong knock was heard at the front door of the mansion. Its echo multiplied its intensity inside the lone, dark corridors, with the silver beams of the moonlight filtering through the windows, breaking the darkness.
Both men were pulled out violently out from the mind's journey each one had been contemplating. They lifted their heads. Their stares locked.
"Your Grace!" A loud, urgent voice was heard. It was Robert Shaw, Christian recognised it.
Just as he recognised what was all this that took place between him and the Duke. An elaborate trap. No, he believed everything. He had no doubt. But the Duke had decided to open his cards on that night. Like the light to attract the moth, let him burn. Caught by the Detective Constable. He could not allow that. Not now.
Richard's stare turned anxious, fearful even. He realised what Christian must had been thinking.
"Please, this is not my doing!" He defended himself.
More knocking continued. "Your Grace! We will break the door, if you don't open up! You are in danger, your Grace!"
"Christian believe me."
"How?" Christian replied. "How can I... after all you said, and everything you did."
He shut his eyes. It was time. He looked at Richard one more time. Perhaps under other circumstances, it would have been different. He turned his back. "I'm sorry, I have to do this." He said.
"No, you do not have to do this Christian...there is another way...
My son..."
The Duke pleaded, under a continuous and thundering banging at the door. The police officers were trying to break in the mansion.
Christian hesitated for a moment. His grip tightened on the heavy satchel. The loot was all there. He had to give it away.
"It is too late... Father."
He did not wait any longer. With no air inside his lungs, he made a run for it.
Soon after his escape, Robert Shaw would run after him. The Duke had let him in.
It was now a run for life or death.
A beam of light tore through the underground darkness. The sound of running steps hit the narrow walls. Christian had not waited for Robert. Charles should not have suspected anything. If he did, one word of his, and the fate of Rose and his brother could have been unknown.
Sweat was trickling down his forehead, his neck. Tears were stinging his eyes. The air was cold and thick. He was running, taking big gulps of it. Even so, he felt like choking. Soon he'd be out. Whether it was his imagination or not, he thought he could hear running steps behind him, faint, far away in the distance.
There was an eeriness spread, a silent foreboding at the Egyptian Avenue, the part of the Highgate cemetery where the mausoleum of the Grandchesters existed. The light of the moon illuminated the floating fog. It made it look like a silver white veil had descended within the dark silhouettes of the trees and the tombstones, ready to hide anything and anyone, friend or foe that could have been lurking around there.
Frank Jones and Jack Scott had arrived on time. The Raven had not appeared yet. The body of Billy lay right in the middle of the Egyptian Avenue. He was not difficult to take out. He was always a softie at heart. He trusted too much. He went out of his way to help. But he had helped the wrong people. Christian, Alice, Terry even...
He always swore loyalty to Charles but Charles wanted ruthless men with him. Granted Billy had worked with Christian, he was his wing man, the guy who looked out for him. He had gone over and beyond, in order to bring him to Charles. The boss knew of the ask he had put to Billy. Even if he was impressed to start with, he quickly lost his trust over Billy's ability to carry out an order. He -unfortunately- had to go. Collateral damage. And a very good bait for the Raven...
Frank and Jack had split. One had hid himself over one side of the road, opposite the mausoleum. The other a little further down. Both having visual contact with the bait. All they had to do was wait. They were getting excited. Having taken Billy out, made the adrenaline pumping inside their blood stream. They were curious of who was the Raven. Had they seen him before...?
When they'd finish with him, they'd get the loot to Charles who was waiting at the car. At the entrance of the Highgate cemetery.
A lone man, dressed in black, burst out of one of the mausoleum. Frank saw him first. He was running. Once he was out, he kept running but very quickly he came to a halt. He saw Billy's body.
"Billy?!" He said.
"Fuck..."
In hindsight, it was a mistake to stop. But he had to. Even if it was to check his friend's pulse. Had he been alive. Jack saw him approaching Billy too. He was the one who appeared in front of the Raven first.
The two men sized each other. The Raven took a step back. His face was illuminated by the moonlight. Jack saw his face. He recognised him.
Fate runs in circles. Every one that opens, needs to close. Months before, the two men had an encounter outside a pub at Shoreditch. They had followed a hottie who had entered the pub, asking for a painter. And they could have had good time with her, if that asshole had not showed up. He had thrown a blade to Jack. Got him at the foot. Cost him his toes.
"It's bloody you..." He said to Christian.
"Take the bag to your Boss." Christian replied. He had no idea who that man was.
"I'll disappear."
"Wrong, mate..." Jack said. "We'll make sure you disappear."
The more Jack was approaching, the more Christian was backtracking. Till he and his friend had Christian where they wanted. Christian had not paid attention.
Frank came out from his hiding point. Right behind Christian. And he was a tall fella. Same height as Christian but bulkier. He had bulked up while trying to get into Charles' gang. He held a thin cord wrapped and held taut between his hands. Strong enough to cut the air supply.
With a swift move he caught Christian by surprise, passed the cord over his neck and started pulling back with all the strength in his body.
"Fucking bastards." Christian said between his gritted teeth. He tried to fight but it was a lost battle. He already had been too tired. He tried to pull the cord. Pass his fingers behind it. Try to find release.
Jack was on the lookout. He pulled Billy's body back.
"Come on man." He prompted Frank was still struggling.
More and more everything turned into a blur. Memories, sounds, feelings, a life turned into tumbles blown away by a desert wind. Like a dying match that had lit a room for a moment, Christian struggled for air. His muscles burned. His lungs ached. The cord kept tightening. Cut short his swearing. His heartbeats turned frantic inside his ears. His body jerked and twisted. He was kicking his legs on the dusty road.
"Hey!" A voice was heard, cut through the sounds Christian's body was making.
The two murderers stopped. Grabbed Christian's satchel that lay on the ground and did a runner. As fast as they could.
Robert run as fast as he could to get to Christian's unconscious body. A blue tinge had coloured the skin of his face. He knelt down. Grabbed Christian and pulled him towards his legs. Pulled the cord away from his neck. His skin was bruised and scratched by him trying to get his fingers through.
He shouted to his men to run after the two guys. He put two fingers on Christian's neck, trying to feel any pulse. He glanced on Billy's lifeless body.
Silence...
A light breeze made the trees sway. It cooled the sweat that run on Robert's face. He shut his eyes for a moment. His jaw tensed. The Raven was caught but there was no happiness to be had about it.