Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

188 Kerry Greenwood
‘Chaim,’ she said to the man. ‘Let him go.’
‘I should let him go?’ demanded Chaim Abrahams. ‘Never.
You let me go and maybe I won’t kill him.’
‘Uncle,’ said Simon. He was on his knees, his hands tied
behind his back. His face was dirty and he had, perhaps, been
crying. But his voice was soft and there was no thread of hysteria
in it. ‘Uncle, you can’t kill me,’ he said.
‘I can,’ said Chaim.
‘Simon,’ said Phryne, and the boy tried to smile.
‘I’m all right. He hasn’t hurt me, he’s just tied me up.’
‘Send for his brother,’ said Phryne to Robinson in a low voice.
Then she addressed the murderer cheerily, sounding in her own
ears like a district visitor. ‘Now, now, a respected gentleman like
you, Mr. Abrahams, why are you making a scene like this? We’ve
got you bang to rights, put down the knife.’
‘Him, I’ve got,’ said Chaim, between his teeth. He took a fistful
of Simon’s hair and shook it. ‘You come any closer, he’s dead.’
‘Keep back,’ ordered Robinson. He did not like the wild look
in Chaim’s eye. He turned from the scene and walked away out
of Chaim’s hearing. ‘Go and get the boy’s father, Constable, on
the double. Keep a man at each door, keep the public out if any
come along on a dirty night like this. And get me a marksman
with a rifle. Station him out of sight if you can. He’s to fire as
soon as he’s got a clear shot. Might save the boy’s life.’
‘Yes, sir. What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to wait,’ said Detective Inspector Robinson grimly.
Thunder rolled. The storm was getting closer.
‘I’m going to get a chair,’ said Phryne conversationally. ‘So
tiring to stand on a night like this, don’t you think?’
She sat down on a wrought-iron bench and regarded the
tableau critically. It was rather sculptural. Chaim was standing
behind the kneeling boy, and the knife was held firmly in his
tremorless hand. Phryne greatly feared that Chaim was determined,
and that if she didn’t think of something very impressive
the boy was going to die.