‘I believe you’d better leave before I call the police,’ he said politely.
‘Why don’t you make me . . . ?’ He launched himself across the room, swinging a telegraphed right hook designed to break the younger man’s jaw. Jamie saw it come and timed his response to perfection. With a twist of his body, he swayed clear and stepped aside, allowing his attacker’s momentum to take him past. When he was placed just so, Jamie rammed a lightning one-two into his kidneys that brought a grunt of agony.
The intruder turned and stretched, rubbing at his lower back. He was hurt, but he’d been hurt before. Warier this time, he tested Jamie with a couple of jabs, one of which stung the younger man’s shoulder. So, he fancied himself as a boxer? That suited Jamie just fine. He hunched his shoulders and raised his guard. In the next minute and a half he connected with two good shots to the head that left the other man bleeding from the nose and lip, following them with a right to the solar plexus that doubled him in two. Jamie stepped forward to finish him off, but the intruder had other ideas. The twinkle of a knife point betrayed the blade in his right hand and Jamie felt a surge of adrenalin as he understood the battle was now in deadly earnest. He was close to the kitchen door, but there was no question of retreating. Dropping into the classic self-defence crouch, the voice of his close combat instructor whispered in his ear: It’s all about the timing, laddie. Let him make his move, then use his own momentum to hurt him. But his opponent was better with the knife than he had been with his fists. As he feinted a darting jab to the body, the point came slicing up towards Jamie’s eyes. Forced to retreat, he stumbled on a chair and fell to the carpet. As he tried to squirm away, he found the other man looming over him and probing for the opening he needed. ‘Now we’ll hear you squeal, you bastard.’ Helpless, Jamie waited for the knife to plunge. Instead, the man glanced away, distracted for a vital second. Jamie saw his chance and brought his heel up hard into his opponent’s unprotected groin. With a groan, the intruder doubled over and dropped the knife. Jamie hauled himself to his feet. Very deliberately he brought his knee up into the man’s face, sending him backwards over a chair.
‘Right you bastard,’ he said. ‘What—’
The whole world went dark.
He found himself hovering just below wakefulness. He couldn’t be entirely certain where he was, but a combination of scents, sounds and the feel of threadbare linen sheets told him it must be hospital. The pain was out there waiting for him. He decided to let it wait a little longer.
The next time he came to, he realized how sensible his earlier decision had been. From a delicate point just below his waist to the top of his throbbing head, his body was one big ball of suffering, an all-over toothache only time would cure. He had a vague memory of being in a fight, but felt as if he’d been run over by a bus. He risked opening his eyes, or, rather, an eye singular; only one appeared to be working. A female figure rose at the end of the bed and he recognized his secretary. ‘Hello, Gail,’ he croaked. ‘Are we still in business?’ She looked up in alarm and he saw something in her eyes. He wondered why he’d never realized how much she cared for him. As he tried to think of something clever to say, she waved to someone beyond his line of vision and a large, uncomfortable-looking man hove into view, accompanied by a young nurse.
The nurse placed a cool hand on Jamie’s brow, shone a light in his good eye and asked with a professional smile if he felt up to answering a few questions from Sergeant – a cough from the background – sorry, Detective Sergeant Milligan.
‘Tell him if he’s here to arrest me, I surrender.’
She laughed in a way that he found reassuring. ‘It may not feel like it, Mr Saintclair, but your injuries are mostly superficial bruising. No broken ribs or internal injuries, thankfully. The blow to your head was the one we were worried about, but any concussion you have is mild.’
‘They gave you a right going-over,’ DS Milligan confirmed. ‘You were lucky.’ Jamie had a flash of his attacker’s face as he stood with the knife at the ready and silently agreed. He was lucky to be alive. Whoever had hit him from behind must have hauled the knife-man off before he could do any real damage, then allowed him to have a little fun just to even things up.
‘Why . . . ?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out, sir. I’m afraid the house is a bit of a shambles, although you won’t be worrying too much about that just now. This sort of thing often happens after the death of someone who lives alone. The crooks see the notice in the paper and reckon the house will be empty. We’ll have to ask you to check if anything is missing, but for the moment all we know is that they didn’t take any of the valuables that would normally be targeted by people like this. Very professional. No stone unturned, if you see what I mean, but it appears they were after something specific. You wouldn’t know what that might be? No Picassos stored at your granddad’s, given your profession and all? No little stashes of diamonds the taxman doesn’t know about? Not that it would be any business of mine.’