Uprising

Chapter Forty-One

Seymour Finch was in the gazebo, staring across Crowmoor Hall’s grounds at the river beyond and deep in thought, when he felt the presence and turned to see the young police inspector walking across the lawn towards him.

‘What a surprise, Inspector. I didn’t think we’d be seeing you again quite so soon. I’ve just been talking to the valuation people at Sotheby’s, by the way. You can expect to receive our invoice for damages shortly.’

‘Enough crap, Finch.’ Joel strode up the gazebo steps and looked the man in the eye. ‘You and I are going to have a talk.’

Finch’s gaunt face crinkled into a dry smile. ‘Splendid. And what will the topic of our conversation be?’

‘You’re going to tell me the truth,’ Joel said. ‘You’re going to show me how you open that hidden passage in the ballroom. And then you’re going to take me down to the crypt. I know it’s there.’

Finch’s smile widened to a grin, and then he gave a mirthless laugh, like the sound of sawing wood. ‘You do have a vivid imagination, Inspector. I thought the police only concerned themselves with the facts.’

‘Start talking.’

Finch shrugged. ‘Very well. If that’s what you want.’ He motioned down the gazebo steps. ‘This way, please.’

Joel looked warily at the man for a second or two, then started down the steps.

He hadn’t even reached the lawn before the flash of white light filled his head and he felt the wind explode from his lungs. The impact was like being hit by a train.

The ground suddenly rushed up to meet his face, and then he felt nothing more.

The first thing Joel registered as the smudged blur of unconsciousness slowly faded back into light was the familiar, concerned face of Sam Carter peering down at him. The second thing he saw was the police officers and paramedics milling about the lawn.

And then he saw Finch.

Joel did a double-take.

Finch was sitting on the steps of the gazebo with a paramedic crouched by him, mopping blood off his face. He looked like he’d been in a serious fistfight, one eye blackened and puffy, lips split open, his teeth rimed with red, blood smeared over his bald crown.

‘You’ve really done it this time, haven’t you, Solomon?’ Carter muttered out of everyone else’s earshot.

‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘Love to say I believed you, Joel, but look at the guy. Have you lost your mind?’

‘I didn’t touch him.’

‘Then how did he get like that?’

‘I don’t know — someone else did it. Or he did it to himself.’

‘He says you attacked him. Says he had to defend himself and got lucky.’

Joel shook his head in protest, wincing at the pain that lanced through his skull.

He felt as if he’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champ. It seemed impossible that Finch could have done this to him. And that was the whole problem, because there was no way anyone could see Finch as anything but the victim here.

‘No. I just came to ask him some more questions.’

Carter sighed. ‘You’re in deep shit. You know who Finch works for, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know who he works for.’

Finch looked like a frail old man as the paramedics escorted him into the ambulance. Joel watched as it drove away, and then it was him being escorted to the waiting police car.