Free Counterpoint by John Day

at Carla’s
portrait. It was not as he remembered Lana. He looked to the other
portrait. Yes, there she was. He paused a moment longer than he
should have, remembering the secret passion they had often shared,
then he looked back at Carla and stiffened. Take away the ringlets;
remove the glamour, it’s her! The bitch is even grinning at me.
    Philippe’s face was red with anger now,
the Duke read the whole scene in his face. Twenty-eight years ago,
Philippe practically lived in the Dukes home. Any chance he could,
he stayed. The Duke was in his prime then, always away on business,
seeing his young wife only fleetingly. Then Lana suddenly went away
to England for a year without giving any reason, and would not
return in spite of the Duke’s pleas. Eventually she did come back,
and their relationship took some time to adjust.
    Seven years ago, she went away again
for nearly six months, again giving no reason. The night she did
return, driving a hired car from the airport, she died at Angel
Pass. Apparently, she stopped at a roadside cafe to talk with
someone, and then drove to her death over the pass, when her brakes
failed. He never did find out to whom she talked, but he did
discover she had a child; the first time she left him.
    The Duke had not considered the
possibility before, but now the motive and opportunity fitted, just
as the cold and barbaric murder fitted Philippe.
    The Duke pressed a button on his desk
and a small automatic pistol, shot out into his hand.
    Philippe saw the look on the Duke’s
face, he knew Philippe had murdered Lana and now the Duke had a
gun.
    Like lightning, Philippe leaned over
the desk and snatched the gun away from him.
    “That seals your fate,” growled the
Duke, but Philippe fired at the old man’s chest, the impact sending
the Duke rolling back across the marble floor, in his chair.
    Max and Carla had just reached the
office door when they heard the shot from within. Max opened the
door and ran in with Carla behind him. Philippe calmly swung the
gun around to shoot Max in the head, but caught sight of Carla
behind his shoulder. As she ran in, Carla was looking at the Duke
collapsed in the chair, then looked past Max, at the attacker.
    “Philippe!” She gasped, recognising him
instantly, even with the bandages. Philippe re-aimed at Carla’s
face, behind Max’s shoulder.
    Seeing the gun pointing at her, she
ducked behind Max. Tracking her move with the gun and pulling the
trigger at the same time, the gun fired hitting Max in the face. He
screamed a sharp cry of agony as he spun round, Carla crashed into
him, and they fell to the floor. Max fell back, fracturing his
skull on the unyielding floor, with Carla partly under him.
    Doors were now opening into the room as
staff came to investigate the shots. Philippe could not afford the
luxury of hanging around, he had to get away. He headed for the
door by which he had entered, pressed the release button and ran
out, down to the garage. A security man was running up the stairs
and challenged Philippe, who promptly shot him through the right
eye. This gun fires down and to the left, noted Philippe, who had
aimed centre forehead.
    The garage doors were starting to
close, Philippe aimed at the electrical trunking near the motor and
fired several times, shorting out the power cables in a shower of
sparks. The motor stopped closing the door.
    Running to his car, he shouted to the
chauffeur to get going, and fell into the back of the saloon. With
squealing tyres, the sleek car shot forward and out of the
garage.
    As they drove down the road from the
plateau, they could see cars coming up. They were in convoy,
approaching the last bend.
    The driver saw a way through by using
the emergency escape road; it cut across the loop, bypassing the
approaching cars. Philippe saw the plan as well and braced himself
for a rough ride.
    The escape road was designed to bog
down and stop runaway vehicles that could not negotiate the tight
bends, on the way