Page 72 of Pressure Head
He stared down the barrel of the gun at me, his face red with anger and twisted in disgust, as if he’d just found the place infested with cockroaches and I was the pile of shit they’d been rolling in. “How dare you trespass in my home?”
Too busy trying not to crap myself with fear, I didn’t point out it was actually his garage. “You—you killed them, didn’t you?” I stammered out. “Melanie. And Merry.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, not lowering the gun one inch. “Meredith Lewis killed her, and himself.”
“No,” I said, before I had time to work out if it was a good idea or not. “It was a setup. You set him up. The police know it wasn’t suicide.”
Lionel’s face paled, and the end of the gun trembled, just a little. “You’re lying,” he said. “Why would they tell you anything? You’re nothing.”
“Got a mate on the force, haven’t I?” Inspiration struck. “He’ll be here in a minute. DI Southgate. I called him, soon as I found Phil. He’d better be all right,” I added darkly. God, I wished I wasn’t bluffing. Why the bloody hell hadn’t I called Dave the minute I’d found Phil?
“You’re lying,” he said again. “You came here on your own.”
“Maybe I did, but I won’t be leaving on my own.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.
Apparently I didn’t. Colour seeped back into Lionel’s face. I’d liked it better pale. “You won’t be leaving at all,” he said quietly. “I’m not letting you ruin everything. Not after all I’ve been through.”
“Why did you do it?” I asked desperately. “Why Melanie? What did she do to you?”
“I didn’twantto kill her,” Lionel said, sounding put out. “She shouldn’t have threatened me.”
The barrel of the gun lowered by about an inch.
Hope searing my throat, I pressed on. “You didn’t mean to kill her?”
“She— I— It’s all that bloody Reece woman’s fault. If she could only have pulled herself together and trusted me . . . Itoldher I’d pay the money back—it was a loan. I wouldn’t steal anything,” he finished in a tone of outrage.
“Course not,” I said, trying to sound encouraging. I still had my chisel in the back pocket of my jeans—maybe I could throw it at him or something? I could feel Phil shifting behind me, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off Lionel.
“If Meredith Lewis had had an ounce of backbone, he’d have convinced her. But no—he was useless. Completely useless, just like he always was. Maybe now we’ll get a proper vicar,” Lionel muttered.
“So . . . what did Judith Reece do?” I prompted, hoping it wouldn’t make him even more pissed off.
“Judith?” Lionel seemed to have forgotten we’d been talking about her. “Oh, she worried herself into a bloody nervous breakdown about the whole thing. Said she couldn’t carry on as parish administrator. Absolutely ridiculous. Then that wretched girl had to come poking her nose into everything.”
“Must have been a right pain,” I said, edging my hand around to my jeans pocket.
“Well, of course! A girl half my age, lecturing me on what I could and couldn’t do with the funds entrusted to me—and then she threatened me. Me!” He wasn’t even looking at me now, the shotgun pointing over to the side.
I closed my fingers around the head of my chisel, started to ease it out of my pocket . . .
“Get your hands where I can see them!” Lionel snapped. The shotgun swung back up, aiming directly at my heart.
Slowly, reluctantly, I moved my hand away from the chisel. Despair flooded through me. Maybe there had never been much chance I’d manage to take that gun off him, but it’d just gone down to zero. All I could do now was stall for time, desperately hoping for a rescue—but who the hell was going to rescue me now?
Then Patricia’s musical voice rang through the garage like the bell at the gates to heaven. “Lionel? Darling, is everything all right in here?” The last word was cut off by a little gasp, and she stood just behind Lionel, one hand pressed to her mouth. “Lionel?” she asked uncertainly.
“Burglars,” Lionel said wildly. “They’ve broken in. You go back to the house, darling. It isn’t safe for you here.”
“Call the police!” I begged her.
Troubled grey eyes looked from Lionel to me. Then Phil groaned and tried to sit up.
Patricia’s eyes widened. “Is your friend hurt?” she asked me.
“Yes—he needs a doctor. Please, Patricia.” I turned to Phil and helped him swing his legs out of the car boot.
“No!” Lionel shouted it, making us all jump. “Stay where you are! Common criminals—breaking into our property. They deserve all they get.”
