DetectiveBrodie? Hewasmad.
I saw it in Blackwood’s eyes and heard it in his voice. Anything I attempted needed to be done quickly. That revolver at my back was a reminder. I would not endanger others.
The next train rolled into the station at the far end of the track. A rail clerk walked past and announced the arrival of the Dover-bound train. Those who had waited in one of those refreshment rooms began to fill the platform once more.
It was distant at first among the conversations that around us, amid the clatter and hiss of the train as it rolled toward us.
Then nearer, amidst sudden shrieks and shouted warnings from waiting passengers…
Fifteen
I was thrown backagainst the wall of the shop where we had been standing, suddenly joined by a snarling, familiar blur of white and brown fur.
Rupert? It had to mean that Brodie was near!
It was the moment I had hoped for, as Blackwood scrambled to regain his footing and I was momentarily free of that death grip.
His raised his hand with the revolver.
Three men were dead, and Brodie was supposed to be next.
In that moment I experienced an emotion I had felt only once before, when I believed that I had lost my sister. A coldness that trapped the air in my lungs—anger! For Blackwood and what he was determined to carry out in his insane plot for revenge!
His gaze met mine as he tried to fight off Rupert. He was too close for me to sweep his legs out from under him. His enraged gaze met mine, and I struck, driving my elbow into his face.
He howled in pain, shocked as blood spurted from his nose. He cursed and came at me.
I heard my name as Brodie pushed through the crowd of stunned passengers, then saw him raise his arm, the revolverin his hand. Then I saw the conflicted expression on his face at the risk of firing amid the crowd of screaming and running passengers.
Rupert continued to attack as I scrambled to retrieve the revolver Blackwood had dropped. I heard a dreadful sound and then a familiar whine as I reached it and turned back around.
Blackwood stood over Rupert, a bloodied knife in his hand. At his feet, Rupert whined again and fought to get to his feet, then lay still.
Blackwood cursed, eyes glazed with pain, morphine. And the certainty of his own death?
He laughed, a cruel broken sound of madness as he stumbled away. When I would have gone after him, I was stopped by a strong grip on my arm.
“Ye canna risk it,” Brodie said.
He followed, cutting through the throng of passengers, past a baggage trolley and the startled porter.
Munro appeared with two constables. He glanced briefly over at me, then followed. I ran after them.
Blackwood glanced back, the expression on his sunken features a terrifying mask as he stumbled, caught his balance, then suddenly stopped. I couldn’t hear the drug-filled words he shouted over the terrified screams of the passengers. It wasn’t necessary.
As Brodie closed in, Blackwood staggered from the effects of pain and the morphine, then launched himself toward the rail car of the train stopped at the platform.
Brodie shouted as he ran after him, whether in a last effort to stop Blackwood or warn him was uncertain. Then he suddenly halted along with Munro and the two constables.
Instead of attempting to enter the rail car, Blackwood climbed over the space between the two cars, fell, scrambledback to his feet and ran toward the adjacent tracks—directly into the path of a departing train as it gathered speed.
There was the sudden jarring sound, a rumble and clatter, and the screech of wheels on the metal rails, too late as the engineer attempted to stop the train.
Blackwood was thrown between the two rail tracks, his body bloodied and mangled.
I turned away. I had seen dead bodies before, but his was especially gruesome. Yet, somehow a just and fitting end for a man determined to carry out his scheme of revenge.
I glanced back down the platform where passengers slowly carried on. Some continued to gather as Mr. Dooley and two constables made their way across the tracks to the body. Others moved around the area where I had fought Blackwood, and where Rupert lay.
