Page 73 of Pressure Head
“Maybe we should let the police deal with it, Lionel,” Patricia said.
“No . . . no police. I can’t— Darling, you don’t understand. It’s a . . . a business matter. You just go back in the house and let me sort all this out. It’ll be fine.”
“It’s not going to be fine!” I was desperate to reach her with my words, my gaze. “Patricia, I’m sorry, love, but he’s killed two people.”
There was a bang that echoed through the garage. At the same time, someone grabbed me violently from behind and pulled me back, catching my head on the open hatch of the Golf. There was a stinging pain in my arm to match the one next to my ear, and I looked down to see my sleeve turning crimson.
“You bloody twat,” Phil rasped in my ear. He was still holding me tightly by the waist, both of us half in the boot of his car. If he never let go, that’d be just fine with me.
Lionel stood there, his gun smoking. Patricia had both hands clutched to her mouth.
“You didn’t have to tell her,” he said brokenly. “Why did you have to tell her?”
I didn’t answer. His aim might be better next time. I felt Phil groping my arse and wondered wildly what the hell he was thinking of, getting frisky at a time like this—then I realised he must be looking for my phone. “Jacket,” I whispered. “Inside.”
The icy hand moved, extracted my phone, retreated.
“Darling, it’s all right, but I think you’d better give me the gun now,” Patricia said, almost carrying off a soothing tone. Only the wobble in her voice as she said the wordgungave her away.
Lionel turned towards her. Suddenly worried, I started in their direction, but Phil pulled me back. “Leave it,” he growled. “Stop being a bloody hero. He won’t hurt her.”
He didn’t. Looking like he was sleepwalking, Lionel reached out and handed the gun over to his wife. She smiled, unloaded it with surprising efficiency, then put it down on the workbench. She kept hold of the ammo. “Thank you, darling. Why don’t we go and have a cup of tea?”
Lionel let her lead him away, her arm linked in his. Suddenly weak, I slumped back against Phil’s chest. I could feel the damp chill of his clothes soaking into mine but somehow, I couldn’t give a toss.
“Oi. Trying to dial, here,” he muttered.
“Phone too complicated for you, is it?” I joked weakly. My arm was hurting like a bastard. And I’dlikedthis jacket. Not to mention the shirt underneath. “Or is it the number? Three nines. It’s not rocket science.”
“Tosser. I’m calling your mate Dave. You up to speaking to him?”
“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to talk to you. Hand it over.”
The phone rang several times before Dave picked up. He didn’t sound very happy. “Tom, this bloody well better be good—”
“I’ve been shot,” I told him.
“Fucking—what?” Sounded like I had his attention.
“Lionel Treadgood. I’m over at his place. He’s your murderer.”
“He’s confessed?”
“Yeah. It was a bit rambling, but yeah. Sounds like he’d been dipping into church funds and Melanie found out.” I paused for breath. “I’m okay, by the way. Got a shotgun pellet in the arm, but I think I’ll live. Thanks for asking,” I added pointedly.
“Tom, I’ve had calls from people who aren’t all right. Generally speaking, they do a lot more screaming for an ambulance. Right, I’m on my way. What’s the situation?”
“Er . . . Me and Phil are in the garage, and Lionel and Patricia are having a cup of tea.”
“Might have known bloody Morrison would be involved. Is Treadgood still armed?” Dave’s voice got a bit of an edge to it. “Is she in danger from him? Is anyone else?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. On both counts. Or all three. Whatever. We’ve got the gun here.”
“Good. Anything else I ought to hear about before I roll up there?”
“How about,I told you to go and arrest Lionel?”
“Don’t push it, sunshine. I toldyouto stay away from the bloke, remember?” He hung up.
