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Chapter Three: The Screenroom

were all but deserted as I made my way down the highstreet. Through the rain I saw the lights of the cinema; the
cold blue paint of its ageing faade echoing the sky. I
hurried inside. Six-o-clock I would only just have missed
the start of the evening screening. Having bought my ticket,
I entered the theatre.
I stood at the back of the smoky screenroom and
looked down across the red velvet seats. Something was
wrong; where were all the people? The seats were all
unoccupied except for one in the front row where a smartlydressed gentleman sat. Was this the man I was looking for?
He certainly didnt look like the fifty-something I saw in the
picture; he looked much younger. Perhaps it was because
his glasses now lay folded on top of his coat.
The film had already begun; flickering train
carriages flitted silently across the screen. This was a classic
admittedly an older black and white film with no sound
but who needs sound when youve got a good imagination?
The air felt heavy and somehow charged as I found
my seat. The bright light of the projector cut harshly
through the gloom, casting a silver glow over the rows of
empty seats. Just then the gentleman spoke.
Its a quiet night tonight isnt it Inspector?
Through a need to remain undiscovered and collected, came
my reply:
Well, the killers still on the loose. People are
steering clear of the streets after dark.
Even the police Id heard completely at a loss.
Surely an Inspector of your calibre must have some idea?
There must be some sort of pattern emerging if you look
closely enough if you read between the lines

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103

SEVEN STEEL HORSES

Suddenly I remembered the address in the

newspaper: 3 Edge Road. It all made sense. The symbol
drawn on the business card was a sign left by the killer, not
the victim!
But why would the killer choose to leave a sign, least
of all one so blatant? Perhaps he wanted to be found. The
gentleman watched the realisation in my eyes. His hand
moved up towards his jacket and I froze.
It must have been after the poker game, when
Dalton had found the Queen of Hearts in Fords inside
pocket that things had very suddenly turned sour. If it was
Dalton, then he had been in league with the murderer the
whole time!
I knew youd make the link at some point, he said
coolly, reaching into his pocket to produce a small brown
envelope with a triangle drawn on it. He opened it and
removed the missing Queen of Hearts. There was a lot of
money resting on that game of pokerI couldnt let him win
of course if I hadnt been so unfortunate as to lose the keys
to my house, it would never have been a problem.
I recalled the perfect circle that was indeed
beginning to form on the street map pinned to my office
wall. If the house to which he referred was the one in the
photograph, then it formed the missing link. The murders
had been planned all along. The emerging pattern wasnt
simply coincidence. But without seeing the map in my office,
how did he know?
A vintage car shot across the screen like a bullet as
the reflected pictures danced in his wild eyes. His
knowledge and intelligence was vast and deeply unnerving.
He already knew me, and I knew nothing of him. Yet still,
even facing him, his character remained more

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