My text was hurried. Thankfully I received his reply in seconds, but it wasn't what I wanted to see.
Not soon enough. The killer wasn't going to wait that long.
I heard a clatter and dull thump from below us.
'What's he doing?' Marianne asked.
I'd been thinking the same thing. Sounded like he was in the kitchen.
MEET US SOBE, I sent to Rink.
In her schoolgirl guise, Marianne might not have been much help in these circumstances. But as the sleek trophy Jorgenson had made of her, perhaps there was something she could bring into play.
'Marianne, you have perfume in here?'
Marianne stared at me as if I was mad. In all honesty she wasn't so far removed from the truth. 'Perfume?'
'Good stuff. Concentrated.'
She nodded, pulling free from Jorgenson's embrace. She took a wide berth round the dead man and went to a credenza where she pulled open a compartment and grabbed at bottles of scent. Judging by the brands and designs of the bottles, she handed me the makings of a bomb that would cost thousands of dollars.
Checking that the killer wasn't sneaking back along the landing, I snatched a look. The sounds from below reassured me he was still being industrious in the kitchen. For a second I considered leading Marianne and Jorgenson out of the bedroom, taking our chances on getting out while he was busy with whatever the hell he was doing. He'd hear us, though, and would pick us off as we came down the stairs.
When I turned back to the bedroom, Jorgenson had joined Marianne beside me.
'This better not be what I'm thinking,' Jorgenson said. His head shake was pure denial.
'We have to make a diversion; otherwise we aren't going to get out of here alive.' I began unscrewing tops off the perfume bottles. 'Find me something larger than these. That wine bottle over there will do.'
'But my father…' Jorgenson croaked.
'Your father is already dead,' I pointed out. 'But I'm pretty sure he'd want you to live. Now go and fetch me the fucking bottle.'
I stepped out on to the landing and peered over the railing. The killer immediately shot at me, and I ducked back. I unloaded five bullets directly through the floor. Not really an attempt to hit him – the wooden joists would probably sap much of the velocity of the rounds – but it was enough to force him back into the kitchen.
Two could play at the same game. The killer's bullets drilled upwards, lifting tatters of carpet in front of my eyes. I jumped back into the room. Good enough, I thought, I'd got his attention. Plus he was using the kitchen for cover.
'Empty the perfume into the wine bottle, and get me some sort of rag for a fuse,' I whispered to Marianne. She understood my train of thought and nodded. She turned to the bottles I'd set on the floor.
Jorgenson brought the wine bottle. He walked slowly, and his eyes never left the still form of his father. His father was a sick man, dying from cancer as I recalled, but I don't think that Jorgenson expected to be cremating him so soon.
'If there was any other way,' I said, by way of apology. His face was set in stone. There'd be no consoling him. It'd be pointless trying, so I turned away, concentrating on keeping the killer at bay.
Behind my back Jorgenson sobbed for his murdered father. It was enough to make him step over a precipice.
The stupid son of a bitch swung the bottle and smashed it over my skull.