Jake didn’t hesitate. He raised his hands, his eyes fixed on the barrel of the pistol that pointed straight at his chest.
‘Move to the centre of the room and stand perfectly still.’ The voice was calm and precise.
His face was in shadow, but Jake had no doubt who it was. Is this what had happened to Zoë? Had a gun, that gun, been pointed at her at the old bench and had this man somehow spirited her away without leaving a trail? He felt a bead of sweat run down his face as he stared at the shadowy figure.
‘Is this what they teach you at that damn adventure school?’ Bill Blizzard stepped into the room, and Jake could see his face was a mask of fury. ‘Breaking, entering, thieving too I expect.’
Jake tried to appear relaxed as the old man eyed him up and down. He looked so angry that he seemed capable of anything and Jake involuntarily raised his hands higher above his head.
‘You’re a cheeky faced brat,’ Bill Blizzard spat the words out. ‘I should have shot you on the spot.’
He walked around Jake, keeping the gun pointing at him. ‘Looking at my pictures, were you?’ he said acidly. ‘What else have you been doing?’
‘I was looking for my sister, sir,’ Jake said, surprising himself with the steadiness of his voice and with the ‘sir’ that he hadn’t meant to say.
‘You’re a cool customer, I must say,’ Bill Blizzard remarked, his face venomous.
Jake realised with some satisfaction that he was keeping a good distance, obviously wary of him. He was taller and perhaps stronger, but Bill Blizzard was the one with the gun.
‘Don’t move,’ he cautioned, walking slowly around behind Jake, the pistol steady. It was scarier when he couldn’t see him and a shiver ran down Jake’s spine.
He could hear what sounded like rummaging in a desk drawer and he tried to look around. Perhaps he should take his chance to get away? Two paces and dive through the open window, but he imagined the old man turning and firing before he got half way there and he stood still, his arms aloft.
Suddenly the old man was at his side, the gun prodding into his lower back. He reached up with his free hand and before Jake knew what was happening, a steel handcuff clicked closed around his left wrist. Now there was no way he’d be home by 8:30.
‘Cambodia, 1984, I seem to remember,’ Bill Blizzard said conversationally. ‘The policeman didn’t need them anymore.’
He pulled Jake’s arm down behind his back and barked, ‘Other one.’ Jake lowered his right arm, wondering whether he would now ever get home.
‘He’d died a gruesome death,’ the old man said as the dead policeman’s handcuffs closed around Jake’s right wrist.
‘Was it you that killed him?’ Jake asked, his heart drumming in his chest but determined not to show the very real fear that he was feeling.
‘Never mind about him,’ Bill Blizzard growled. ‘Let’s talk about you.’
He stood right in front of Jake. ‘Now, what are you doing here?’ he asked slowly, grinding out the words. ‘Oh, and don’t think of kicking me, I’ll take pleasure in kneecapping you if you do.’
‘I won’t kick you,’ Jake declared. ‘As I said, I was looking for Zoë.’
‘And why did you think breaking into my house would help?’
‘How did you get that photo?’ Jake countered.
‘Don’t ask me about my photos,’ the journalist exploded. ‘Just answer the damn question.’ He grabbed the front of Jake’s shirt with his left hand and gesticulated with the pistol.
Jake could smell alcohol on the old man’s breath and knew he was in real danger.
‘Sorry, I just…’ he began.
‘Sorry? Yes, you should be sorry,’ Bill Blizzard was shouting now. His grip tightened on Jake’s shirt and he pulled him forward until their faces were only inches apart. ‘You will be sorry,’ he hissed. ‘Unless you tell me exactly why you chose my house to break into.’
Jake arms strained uselessly at the handcuffs behind his back. ‘I’m desperate to find my sister,’ he said, meeting Bill Blizzard’s stare. The police have no ideas so I’m doing what I can to try to find her.’
‘Go on.’
‘You’re on my list of suspects.’
‘I see, a man living alone, not all that far from where she apparently disappeared…’
‘There are not many people it could have been; most of the villagers are too old.’
‘So, it must be me?’ His grip on Jake’s shirt tightened further. ‘A loner, a weirdo eh? A man who has murdered his wife if you believe half the people of Zengounas.’
‘I didn’t say you were a weirdo,’ Jake said, trying to calm things down.
‘So, Sherlock, why else should it be me?’
‘No real reason. I just wanted to look around to see if I could find anything.’
‘While you thought I was at the taverna.’
‘Yes,’ Jake admitted.
‘I knew someone was here the moment you entered the property.’ He let go of his shirt but didn’t take his eyes off Jake. ‘Haven’t been in the world’s trouble spots without learning a few tricks.’
He seemed to relax just a little and took a step back so that he could look his prisoner up and down.
Jake ventured, ‘That’s a great picture of Zoë.’
The journalist glared at him before turning slowly and looking at the photograph. ‘Incriminating evidence, is it?’
‘It was taken only a few days ago,’ Jake replied.
‘The police were here this afternoon, asking questions, too,’ Bill Blizzard said wearily.
Jake was surprised – maybe it was his mum who had alerted them.
‘They talked of eliminating me from their enquiries. But I’ve got a well-developed sixth sense from my years in newspapers. They’re not trying to eliminate me; they’re trying to implicate me.’
‘Why?’ Jake asked softly, matching Bill Blizzard’s quiet tone.
‘Why pin it on me? It’s convenient. They make a quick arrest so it gets them off the hook.’ He paused. ‘Maybe it gets someone else off the hook too.’
‘But if you didn’t do it, they won’t be able to prove it,’ Jake said.
‘Won’t they? I’m not altogether sure of that.’
‘But you didn’t do it…did you?’
‘That adventure school has trained you well; remarkably cool under pressure.’ He looked thoughtfully at Jake. ‘No, I didn’t do it.’
They stared at each other in silence for a few moments.
‘I believe you,’ Jake said. At that moment he did.
Bill seemed to reach a decision and walked around behind Jake. ‘The fact I didn’t do it might not stop the police coming for me,’ he said and unlocked the handcuffs.
‘Go and sit down,’ he said waving the pistol towards an armchair.
Jake sat down, rubbing his wrists.
‘As a journalist I know that when you go prying into people’s lives you’re never quite sure what you’re going to find.’
He was standing next to the photograph of Zoë. ‘Your sister is a lovely girl,’ he remarked. ‘I hadn’t really met her until a week ago when she came to the taverna to see Selena. She had a small digital camera and they were taking photos of everything: the taverna, the bay, each other… We got chatting and Selena asked about my work as a photographer. I invited them up here and to my surprise the pair of them came one afternoon. I showed them my old cameras and how they work. Zoë took some rather good pictures outside and I took their portraits with my Hasselblad film camera. I’ve got a darkroom in the garage and I printed a few. There’s a good one of Selena but Zoë’s is better so I hung it – it captures her carefree spirit.’
Talking of photography brought out a side of the old man that Jake hadn’t seen before.
‘They promised to visit me again today, but everything changes, doesn’t it?’
‘She didn’t mention coming here,’ Jake said.
Bill Blizzard smiled. ‘She suggested we keep our soiree quiet and Selena and I agreed.’ He looked regretful. ‘And now I’ve gone and broken our little secret.’
‘So, what do you think has happened to her?’
‘If I knew I’d tell you, believe me,’ Bill Blizzard said.
He fell silent for a while before continuing. ‘If anyone’s going to find her, I’d put my money on you. You’ve clearly got a decent amount of spirit. Now, I’ve detained you long enough,’ he said briskly and Jake wondered if he was joking.
He tossed the pistol carelessly onto the desk. ‘It’s only a replica anyway,’ he said, watching Jake closely.
Jake looked from the discarded pistol to the old man and smiled ruefully as he stood up.
Bill Blizzard led the way through the house. ‘If I were you,’ he said, opening the front door. ‘I’d check out the monastery.’
Jake looked at him enquiringly.
‘I rely on you finding Zoë before they come back for me.’
‘Why the monastery?’
‘I’ve been a journalist all my working life. I observe, I listen, I feel the pulse of a place, I detect little things out of the ordinary. The monastery…?’ He shrugged and held out his hand. ‘It’s just a hunch, I suppose, but based on instinct.’
As they shook hands he drew Jake towards him. ‘I’m relying on you,’ he said quietly. ‘If you don’t find her, they’ll come for me.’
As Jake closed the front gate behind him, the old man called out, ‘By the way, it wasn’t me who killed the Cambodian,’ and raised his right arm in a farewell salute.
