Blood Red

by John Creasey

  Lorna said quietly, ‘I can see how your mind is working. You think that Theo might have been framed, that someone who saw the quarrel this morning seized a chance. That might be right and it might be wrong, but whichever it is, you mustn’t get involved any further. You must leave it to the police.’

  Mannering didn’t speak.

  ‘John!’ Lorna said sharply. ‘You mustn’t work on this case anymore. I said before, from the moment he stepped into the shop, we’ve become involved in Theo Wray’s troubles. He’s quite capable of dragging you down with him, if he does go down. It’s a job for the police and the police alone.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mannering agreed, as if he didn’t like to admit it. ‘A job for Scotland Yard. No respecters of persons. No room for sentiment. They’ll just drive straight ahead at Theo, and they won’t mind whom they hurt in the process. If it’s suggested that he’s been framed, they’ll laugh. Wouldn’t you, if you didn’t know what we know?’

  ‘I don’t care what you say, you’re not to have anything more to do with this.’

  ‘My sweet,’ said Mannering gently, ‘there are two reasons why I must. The first is that the Yard wouldn’t believe that I had stepped out – and if they did believe it, would think it was because I was scared and would soon guess why. The second is that Rosamund—’ He broke off.

  There was a footstep below, quick and light, and then Rosamund called up in a clear, now-untroubled voice, ‘I’ve finished, Lorna. May I come up, or are you busy?’

  ‘No, come up!’ Lorna called. ‘John is here, and we’re having a cup of tea.’ She could not have sounded more normal.

  There was a creaking sound, as Rosamund stepped on to the ladder, and then a different sound, of the front-door bell ringing. Immediately the creaking stopped. Mannering, who had stepped to the hatch, looked down and saw Rosamund’s upturned face, her hair a little wispy from the steam of the bath, her skin as fresh and clear as a child’s, without any powder or lipstick.

  ‘I’ll go,’ she said, and turned and hurried off; there was a short pause, while Mannering and Lorna heard the opening of the door and her ‘Good afternoon,’ before a man asked, ‘Is Mr Mannering in, please?’

  There was only one voice like that in all the world: the voice of Superintendent William Bristow.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bristow Barks

  Mannering started to go down the loft ladder the moment he heard Bristow’s voice, and reached the passage below almost as he heard Rosamund say that she wasn’t sure, and would find out: Rosamund might be sweet and innocent, but in some ways she was very quick-witted.

  Mannering called out, ‘Yes, I’m here! Come in, Bill!’ He went into the hall as if eager to see Bristow, and smiled at Rosamund, who was wearing a simple linen dress, and looked fresh and scrubbed. Bristow was contemplating her thoughtfully.

  ‘I called you at the Yard, but they said you were out on that smash-and-grab job at Golders Green,’ said Mannering.

  ‘We’ve got the men and the jade, and now we’re after a Japanese collector who’s somewhere in London,’ Bristow replied. In turn, he smiled at Rosamund: he could seem extremely friendly, although the appearance of affability meant nothing. ‘Is this Miss Morrel, John?’

  ‘Yes.’ Be very wary, Mannering warned himself. ‘Rosamund, this is Superintendent William Bristow of New Scotland Yard.’ He wondered what her reaction would be. She must feel alarmed, fearing the possibility that Bristow had really come to see her because of some charge which Odell had made. But she managed to look only a little surprised, and her voice was steady as she said, ‘How are you, Mr Bristow?’

  ‘I’m well, thank you. Is your fiancé here?’

  ‘Theo?’ She looked surprised. ‘No, he’s not. I haven’t seen him since’—there was the slightest of pauses, before she went on a little more quickly—’since this morning.’

  ‘After he saw Odell?’

  Bristow was set on turning the conversation the way he wanted it, as obviously determined to try to make sure that Mannering could not give the girl a lead. It was never possible to be sure of what the Yard man was getting at, invariably wise to assume that it wasn’t quite what it seemed. His first attack was on Rosamund, even though smoothly delivered; it might switch at any time.

  Rosamund didn’t try to avoid Bristow’s eyes.

  ‘Yes, after he’d met Mr Odell.’

  ‘Come in and have a cup of tea,’ Mannering suggested, closing the door behind Bristow. ‘Lorna is in.’

  ‘Just a minute, please,’ Bristow said, without looking away from Rosamund. ‘How well did you know Mr Odell, Miss Morrel?’

  Could she understand the significance of the past tense?

  Obviously Bristow meant to step up the pressure because she seemed completely unprepared. He could be stopped; but should he be? If he thought that Mannering was trying to head him off, he would probably assume that the girl knew much more than she did. The five-year-old affair with Odell was comparatively insignificant now: the important thing was Odell’s murder. It would be far better if her reaction persuaded Bristow that news of it took her completely by surprise.

  Mannering heard the creaking on the loft ladder: Lorna was on the way down.

  Rosamund still kept her composure. The fact that she had on no make-up emphasised her pallor, but her eyes were quite calm. ‘I’ve known him for several years.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Fairly well, at first.’

  ‘What do you call fairly well, and what do you mean by at first?’

  Bristow was driving her into a corner, as if he knew that he had only to increase his pressure to make her give way. She must feel sure that the Yard had been told about the story of that ‘nice old man’. She glanced at Mannering almost desperately, and over her shoulder at Lorna, who was very near them. Bristow was still smiling, but that didn’t alter the fact that his last question had been sharp and hostile.

  ‘Crowding Miss Morrel a bit, aren’t you, Bill?’ asked Mannering. ‘What’s the trouble?’

  ‘Leave this to me, please.’ That was almost a bark. What was Bristow up to? Breaking the girl down, or trying to force him, Mannering, to interfere? ‘Answer my questions, Miss Morrel, please.’

  Lorna said easily and with a smile as charming as it could be, ‘Of course she will, but we needn’t stand in the hall and talk.’ She took Rosamund’s arm, and led her towards the drawing room quite naturally; she was half a head taller than Rosamund. Bristow looked exasperated; Mannering smiled as if he had no idea what was in Bristow’s mind.

  ‘If you’re worried about the quarrel this morning, Bill, I can tell you that Theo Wray had some grounds for it. Odell had made himself very unpleasant.’

  Bristow barked, ‘Unpleasant enough to be murdered?’

  Mannering was ready for it: prepared with the gasp of astonishment, the missed step, the hand raised slightly, as if by reflex action. Lorna must have been half prepared. But Rosamund was taken completely by surprise. She turned round, freeing herself from Lorna’s grasp. No one could doubt the genuineness of her astonishment.

  Bristow watched her very closely.

  Mannering began, ‘Bill, are you sure—’

  ‘Quiet, please! Miss Morrel, when did you last see Mr Wray?’

  ‘This—this morning.’

  ‘Haven’t you seen him since lunch?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Quite sure?’

  ‘Yes. I’m positive.’ Colour was coming back into her cheeks, and Mannering suspected that she was feeling angry about the sharpness of Bristow’s question and his hectoring manner: but above everything else there was her fear: that Theo had killed Odell. On the heels of such fear there might come panic.

  ‘Have you spoken to him on the telephone?’

  ‘No. No, but why—’

  ‘Did you know that he meant to kill Odell?’

  Here came the panic, storming into her eyes, showing in the way her lips quivered, and in the nervous spasms of her finger
s. It couldn’t be wondered at: it was probably exactly what Bristow wanted. It would be possible to stop Bristow and to give the girl some relief, but wouldn’t it be better to get this over? Lorna seemed to be pleading with Mannering to interrupt, but he didn’t speak or move.

  Bristow’s voice was very sharp. ‘Come, Miss Morrel. Did you or didn’t you?’

  ‘I—I don’t believe he—he killed anyone.’

  ‘I asked you if you knew that he intended to.’

  ‘No, and it isn’t true.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean, Miss Morrel? You were there when he made a vicious attack on Odell. And after Mr Mannering had prevented him from committing murder then, you were present when Wray said he would like to kill him.’

  ‘He was angry. He didn’t know what he was saying!’

  ‘He knew enough about what he was doing.’

  Rosamund looked despairingly at Mannering, and said in a low-pitched voice, ‘He told you he wouldn’t let himself go like that again, didn’t he? He said he wouldn’t.’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Supposing we get back to the questions,’ Bristow said brusquely. ‘How well did you know Odell? Exactly what did you mean by saying that you were fairly friendly at first?’

  Mannering began, ‘I can tell you—’

  ‘I’d rather Miss Morrel spoke for herself,’ Bristow rasped. He seemed a different man from the friendly trencherman of the previous day’s lunch at the Cannon Row pub. But at least he had shown his hand; he had come to question the girl, to break down her resistance: yet he had come alone, so nothing said here could be used in evidence. ‘Now, Miss Morrel, if you will answer—’

  ‘Don’t say another word,’ Mannering advised cheerfully. ‘Bill, I’ve let you go on long enough. Miss Morrel’s our guest. As our guest, I’ll try to look after her interests. Care to come and sit down and talk this out reasonably?’

  To ease the tension he took out his cigarette case, fingering the matte-gold surface. ‘Or would you rather go and get a copper with a notebook?’

  Bristow the policeman would take umbrage.

  Bristow the friend would stay.

  After a long pause, Bristow stretched out a hand for the proffered cigarette, and Lorna took the girl into the drawing room. Rosamund seemed to lean heavily against her, as if suffering physically from the shock and from the interrogation. Mannering drew in the smoke, and asked in a very quiet voice, ‘Is Odell dead?’

  ‘Of course he is, or I wouldn’t have said so.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Knifed.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like Theodorus Wray.’

  ‘Whether it sounds like him or not I’d like to get my hands on him,’ Bristow said aggressively. ‘You know that he looked like a killer only this morning.’

  ‘That’s a far cry from being one.’

  ‘You dragged him off Odell,’ Bristow said, so proving that he had heard the whole story. ‘And if that girl knows where he is now, I want to hear.’

  ‘She’s been here all the time since the shindy in the street. I sent young Thomas from the shop to help her back, and see her here. She arrived in time for lunch, and hasn’t left the flat.’

  ‘Never heard of telephones?’

  ‘You’re being a bit cantankerous, aren’t you?’ Mannering said. ‘If he’d telephoned, Lorna would have told me. I want to see him myself.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘His right-hand man wanted to find him, and has been trying to get him everywhere.’

  ‘Simpson, you mean,’ Bristow said, and sounded mollified: so far he had not given any hint that he had reason to think Mannering had been at the girl’s flat that afternoon, but he was capable of keeping that shot in his locker, and firing it when he judged Mannering’s defences were weakest. ‘Yes, Simpson told me that. I’ve just come from the Panorama Hotel. Wray left there about two-twenty. Odell was killed somewhere between two and three o’clock, as far as we can judge. The body was quite warm when we found it.’

  ‘Where did you find it?’ Mannering asked innocently.

  ‘At Rosamund Morrel’s flat.’

  ‘Good God!’

  Bristow looked at Mannering broodingly, as if he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by that vehemence or not. At least he was giving Rosamund time to recover her composure. Probably he knew that Mannering would not let him keep up the pressure any longer, and that he’d learned as much as he could from his attempt at surprise.

  ‘That’s about right,’ he said grimly. ‘And I don’t want you to run into trouble. I didn’t know the girl was here: I came to see you.’ His eyes were calculating, enough to set Mannering’s pulse beating faster. ‘I don’t know what particular job you’re doing for Theodorus Wray. I don’t know whether he’s persuaded you to protect him and the girl while he’s in England, but he’s made a lot of enemies, that much I do know. And as far as I can judge, he’s a ruthless operator on world markets. He’s also so pleased with Mr High and Mighty Wray that he seems to think that he can get away with anything. Well, he’s wrong.’ Bristow was very gruff. ‘I don’t want you to get yourself entangled any further with him. I think we’ll be able to prove that he killed Odell, but if you quote me, I’ll deny having said it. I’m telling you for your own good.’

  He sounded as if he meant it.

  ‘Thanks, Bill,’ Mannering said. ‘But you could be wrong. If you got to know him, you’d rather like the chap.’

  ‘He wouldn’t be the first killer I liked,’ Bristow said, with grim humour. ‘Let me tell you something that will shake your belief in the mastermind. We know he had a local telephone call about ten minutes before he left the hotel. We know that he made an appointment with Odell at a place specified as “her place”. We’ve got this from two sources: first from Odell’s wife, who was with her husband when he made the call from his apartment: second, from a hotel operator who listened in to part of the conversation. The operator was holding a call from Japan on the line, and wanted to see if she could interrupt the conversation. She says that the tone of the men’s voices was such that she didn’t feel that she could. Wray rang off, but called her a moment later to postpone the call from Tokyo. Even you couldn’t be such a lunatic as to ignore that kind of evidence. And even if you gave it to Wray’s lawyers, it wouldn’t help them. But don’t let a word get into the Press, or you’ll be held up for contempt of court.’

  ‘So you’ve a warrant out for Theodorus Wray,’ said Mannering heavily.

  ‘Yes,’ Bristow declared, ‘and we’re going to get him soon. If you do anything to shelter him, you’ll be neck deep in trouble. I’ve a couple of men outside,’ he added. ‘Mind if they have a look round here? We’re already searching Quinns.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Spell?

  Twenty minutes afterwards, the two Scotland Yard men whom Bristow had called in left the flat, after reporting that there was no sign of Theo Wray. Bristow looked at Mannering with a kind of grim amusement as the door closed. Mannering kept quite straight-faced. ‘Not guilty, you see.’

  ‘If he gets in touch with you, and he probably will, let us know at once,’ ordered Bristow.

  He looked up as the telephone bell rang. There was an extension in Mannering’s study, the door of which was ajar, and Mannering went into the small room, with its oak panelling and its centuries’-old furniture: a room which might have been entitled to a corner of Quinns itself. Bristow sat on an oak settle which was not exactly what it appeared to be; it was an electrically controlled safe, too small for a man to hide in.

  Mannering answered the telephone.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said, and handed the instrument towards Bristow. ‘For you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Bristow leaned forward. ‘Hallo? … Oh, yes, Smart … Not there? … Yes, all right, tell them you were sorry to trouble them, and warn them to tell us if he shows up.’ He rang off.

  ‘So I’m not sheltering a murder suspect anywhere,’ said Mannering dryly.

  ‘Not yet,’ Bristow said,
and moved out of the study to the drawing room.

  While the search had been going on, Rosamund had put on a little rouge, powder, and lipstick, and had brushed her hair. There was a scared look in her eyes, but she was much more herself. Bristow, seeing her made up for the first time, looked at her almost in surprise. There was a softer note in his voice when he said, ‘Miss Morrel, it’s your duty to inform the police if Mr Wray makes any attempt to get in touch with you. Failure to do so would have serious consequences, possibly for the two of you. I hope you understand that.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘To your knowledge, did Mr Wray know Odell before today?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Bristow. ‘The same applies to all of you,’ he went on, and added abruptly, ‘Where is the diamond ring which Wray bought yesterday? The Red Eye of Love.’

  ‘In a safe,’ Mannering answered promptly, and didn’t add that, a few minutes before, Bristow had been sitting on it. ‘You don’t think that’s involved, do you?’

  ‘I’m not sure what’s involved yet,’ Bristow said. ‘I am sure that Theodorus Wray can tell us a great deal that we don’t know.’ He nodded and turned to go.

  Mannering saw him out, and went back into the drawing room at once. He half expected Rosamund to ply him with questions, or to talk hopelessly and helplessly about Theo. She did neither: all she said was, ‘He must be mad if he thinks I’d give Theo away.’

  The tone of her voice and the expression in her eyes told Mannering that she believed that Theo had killed Micky Odell.

  Certainly the police believed it.

  The hunt was up, and from this moment on, the search for the fabulous millionaire would be going at full pressure. The evening papers would carry it, television and radio would probably make reference to it, for he was too sensational a character to be ignored. The morning papers would blazon the news. It was hard to believe that Theodorus Wray could hide for long. He’d had no time to get to airfields or to sea-ports: the call for him must have been out within an hour of Odell’s death.