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He wasn’t at all sure whether she would be upset, angry, or just deeply shocked. Either way, it was going to take a few days for the reality to sink in. Then there would invariably be anger because of it, and then there would be the gossip to face for a while. How Clementine would feel about it all would become evident in time. Right now, Moss didn’t want to think about anything other than getting everyone through the next hour or so.
“Let’s stay quiet,” Mr Billsdon ordered. “It won’t do to give this blackguard any hint that we are here.”
Everyone dutifully did just that and remained perfectly still while they waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Two hours later, when Clementine wasn’t sure she would be able to stand up any longer, Moss jerked.
“Over there by the trees. We have company,” he breathed. “To the right of the garden, half-way down, beside the conifers.”
Sure enough, when everyone looked through the curtains, a figure, dressed entirely in black, began to make their way up the garden.
“What do we do if they check the Captain and realise that he is not dead?” Clementine whispered.
“Make sure they don’t have a gun. Keep watching.”
“It is too dark to see much,” Cameron growled.
“I see them,” Moss replied with no small amount of relish.
Clementine blinked at his wording. Even now, he wasn’t giving anybody any clues as to the identity of the killer. She studied the figure moving ever closer but couldn’t even take a guess as to who it was. She tensed when the killer reached the Captain and stood beside the body, looking down at him. The tension within the room increased tenfold as they all watched to see what the killer would do. Eventually, the figure seemed satisfied that the Captain was dead and without anything more than a nudge of a booted foot, walked past before entering the house.
Clementine felt sick with nerves as she waited. Moss pressed a finger to his lips and crept into position. It was the worst thing Clementine had ever had to do to stand by and watch Moss move forward in preparation to challenge a killer. Her heart began to hammer wildly until she was sure it was going to beat right out of her chest. Clementine physically shook such was the strength of her fear, but she didn’t utter a word as she too crept toward the door. Cameron, as per the plan, remained by the window so he could keep an eye on the Captain. From his position, he could push open the French doors before him and race outside to challenge the killer if they tried to attack the man while he was lying on the ground.
They all heard the soft scuffle of footsteps inside the kitchen. Moss watched the figure move toward the cake. One black glove reached out and picked the piece the Captain had pretended to eat off the floor before placing it back with the rest of the cake. Wrapping it carefully, the killer re-tied the package before moving stealthily over to the washstand whereupon they removed their gloves so they could wash the surfaces down.
Moss knew that wi
thin seconds, all trace of the cake would be washed away, and the water thrown into the garden. The cake would then disappear silently into the night with the killer.
“Stay right where you are,” Moss commanded, stepping into the kitchen.
The killer whirled around and immediately tried to race for the door only to find their path blocked by Moss. Mr Billsdon then charged into the room with his gun drawn.
“Stand still. Stay right where you are or I will shoot,” he ordered loudly.
The loud click of the gun being cocked ricocheted around the room. The killer froze. Clementine stood gazing upon the scene before her with nervous anticipation. Her father nudged her out of the way and carried several lanterns into the room. Warily, Clementine stepped deeper further into the room when the Captain re-entered the kitchen. He looked pale, as if he had truly just been ill, but Clementine suspected it was because he was shocked.
“God in Hell,” he growled in stunned disbelief.
Wondering why the Captain should look so sickened, Clementine turned to study the still heavily cloaked killer. All sorts of thoughts swirled around in the back of her mind as she waited for their identity to be revealed.
“You were very clever,” Moss began. “You almost got away with it. Unfortunately for you, you tried to claim far too many victims.”
“You also tried to kill the wrong person,” Cameron warned. “Taking on a private investigator? You really are foolish.”
The figure didn’t move or speak. Clementine swallowed harshly and struggled to contain the urge to cross the room to stand behind Moss. She was scared, even though she knew the killer was now in a position where they would never be able to hurt anybody ever again. There was something sinister about the killer’s stillness; the abject silence of that dark and sinister figure whose only outward display of mortality came from their start of surprise when the Captain entered the room.
“Who is it?” Cameron demanded.
Billsdon stalked across the room. When he reached out to yank the hood off the killer the figure jerked back and slammed his hand out of the way. Billsdon lifted his gun and pointed it at the killer’s head. With the gun held inches from the killer’s face, Billsdon reached out once more and yanked the hood off.
Clementine blinked. She stared at the figure glaring defiantly at them and stared some more. Her mouth fell open and the world began to swirl alarmingly as she tried to absorb the shocking revelation. Her blink didn’t remove the horrific sight of the identity of the killer. She struggled to comprehend it; what it might mean for the village, her, Moss, the family, even the Captain. Her mind ran in all sorts of directions looking for a rational and credible explanation. At first, she tried to convince herself that it was all a case of mistaken identity. That it wasn’t at all possible that they were looking at the real killer. It couldn’t be.
But it was.
