Blood Red

by John Creasey

  One thing, which Bristow hadn’t mentioned, puzzled Mannering a great deal.

  Who had tipped off the police, and sent them to visit Rosamund’s flat?

  Certainly not Theo himself.

  So someone else had known that Odell was dead.

  It was an odd fact, but true, that Thomas called Tom had been back to the Kensington flat for some oddments that Rosamund had left behind, and must have been there only a little while before the murder.

  He could question Tom, Mannering told himself.

  Or he could wait until the police got round to that.

  He did not really suspect Tom. There seemed not the slightest motive, except that absurd one that Odell had threatened Rosamund. Yet it was true that from the moment that he had set eyes on her, Tom had behaved as if there was no other woman in the world.

  It was absurd, it was ludicrous, it was fantastic, it was childish even to remember the history of the Red Eye of Love, and to know that its legend gave it a kind of hypnotic power, drawing men towards whoever owned it, men who would give their lives for the woman on whose finger it lived.

  Why had he, Mannering, been so taken by Theodorus Wray almost from the moment he had first seen him?

  Why had he slipped so naturally, so easily, into the role of unofficial guardian of Rosamund Morrel? For he had: and Lorna had.

  Oh, it was normal and natural: Rosamund was so pleasant to know, anyone would want to help her, and yet – she’d caused a positive upheaval here. A girl whom they’d never heard of two days ago was installed in the flat, and Lorna was as worried about her as if she had been her own sister.

  Or daughter.

  There was a kind of fatal attraction towards her: a desire on Mannering’s part to make sure that she wasn’t hurt. He had been inwardly angry with Bristow because of the way he had questioned her.

  Another odd thing: Bristow’s voice had softened when he had last spoken to her, as if he had also come under her spell.

  Her spell?

  Spell?

  There was much to do at Quinns, but it could wait. Mannering went there to talk to Larraby, and find out if Larraby had anything to report.

  He had one thing, and it was damning: the story that Odell and Theo had arranged to meet was known by many of Odell’s friends and associates, for his wife had told several, and the story had spread. Even the newspapers had the story, but it was doubtful whether they would use it.

  ‘What shall we do if Mr Wray does get in touch with us?’ Larraby asked, in the quietness of Quinns office.

  ‘Arrange a rendezvous,’ Mannering said promptly, ‘and let me know at once.’

  Larraby smiled.

  Mannering found himself puzzled by his own reaction. He hadn’t come to the decision about a surreptitious meeting by logical thinking: the words had come out unconsciously, as if no other course was open to him.

  ‘I’m going over to the Panorama Hotel now,’ he went on, and looked at his watch. It was nearly six o’clock, and the rest of the staff had gone. ‘I’ll leave you to lock up, Josh.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Mannering walked briskly along the strip of carpet leading to the front door. Two young girls were looking at a jewelled comb which now lay upon the velvet, a comb so encrusted with diamonds that he could understand why one of the girls said, ‘It can’t be real.’ But it was real. It had belonged to the Spanish queens in the days of the greatness of Spain’s empire, and there was no other like it. In a few minutes, Larraby would take it out of the window, under the eyes of the night watchman, who was a comparatively recent acquisition. The alarm systems and the burglar-proof devices at Quinns were so complex that Mannering seldom gave serious thought to the risk of burglary.

  Mannering’s car was parked near Hart Row. The streets were emptying by the time he reached it, and he was soon at the Panorama Hotel, overlooking Hyde Park, on a lovely May evening without a cloud in the sky. Half London seemed to have decided to take advantage of the change in weather. Every seat and every bench was occupied: thousands sat on the grass, which was vivid green from the winter’s rain; thousands more strolled beneath the trees, which were just unfurling bright green leaves, as though they had given themselves a good shake and were waking for the summer.

  Mannering was known at the Panorama, as he was everywhere in London.

  He saw a Yard detective in the foyer, another near the lifts at the end of the sumptuous entrance hall, a third at the seventh floor, where Theo Wray had his suite, a fourth in the passage outside the suite. This large man, with a round-shaped head and startled blue eyes, knew Mannering and smiled as if this arrival didn’t surprise him at all.

  ‘Evening, sir!’

  ‘Hallo. Mr Wray turned up yet?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if he had.’

  ‘That man is full of surprises,’ Mannering said. ‘It wouldn’t astonish me if he came back dragging the murderer by the collar.’

  ‘Don’t you think he—’ The man was startled into a question that was both indiscreet and foolish, and checked himself in time.

  ‘Of course Wray didn’t kill Odell,’ said Mannering, in so confident a voice that he knew that the plain-clothes man would not only tell his colleagues, but put it in the report for Bristow.

  Mannering rang the bell, and almost at once a middle-aged, capable-looking woman opened the door: she had iron-grey hair, a beautifully ironed white blouse, without any frills, a neat black skirt. Inside the suite, Charley Southpaw Simpson was talking on the telephone in that quiet, courteous voice: but Mannering thought there was a note of exasperation creeping in.

  ‘… I’m afraid I don’t know when he’ll be back.’

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ the grey-haired woman said, standing with a hand on the door as if determined not to allow him to pass. ‘I’m afraid that Mr Wray is not in.’

  ‘I’d like to see Mr Simpson. My name is Mannering.’

  The shiny, rather rugged face cleared. ‘Oh, Mr Mannering! Please come in. Mr Simpson has been hoping to get away to see you, but the telephone never seems to stop ringing, and—but you can imagine the difficulties, can’t you?’ She positively smothered him as she closed the door, and her voice dropped and her cheeks reddened a little more. ‘I hope you won’t think me impertinent if I tell you what a pleasure and an honour it is to meet you. It’s like meeting a famous film star, or a general, or – if you know what I mean.’

  Mannering’s eyes were smiling with her.

  ‘I do, and it’s charming of you, but there’s really no cause for it.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t agree with you! Some of the investigations you have conducted, often in defiance of the police – well, in my considered opinion, they make you an outstanding personality. I’ve assured Mr Simpson that if anyone can help to absolve Mr Wray from this crime, it is you. Of course, Mr Wray didn’t do it. The very idea is absurd.’ She led him through a sumptuous apartment to a great room with an enormous window overlooking the park: and, standing at a desk, with an expression now of annoyance more than exasperation, was Southpaw Simpson.

  ‘I’m covered with confusion, really,’ went on the secretary, ‘because I didn’t recognise you the moment I saw you. Unfortunately so many people have attempted to get in on one pretext or another that I was suspicious. Ah, Mr Simpson has nearly finished.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ growled Southpaw, and banged the receiver down. Mannering remembered that in the ring he had sometimes looked as he did now, with a frown that was not quite a scowl, and would soon break into a smile. It did. Simpson came forward, with a massive shrug of resignation. “Thank the Lord you’ve come to see me; I don’t think I’ll get away from this collar and chain all night. All right, Miss Bettley, go back on guard, will you?’

  ‘I think I ought to remind you, sir, that Mr Wray was quite definite about the New Fortune shares. He wanted to sell them today, and we did not do so. However, Mr Courtney said that he was interested in private dealing. Shall I get him on the telephone?�
��

  Simpson said, rather slowly, ‘No, I don’t think so. I can only push everything off until Mr Wray gets back.’

  ‘I don’t wish to make difficulties, but Mr Wray was quite definite about it. You will have to make some decisions sooner or later.’

  ‘When they’re necessary, I’ll make them,’ Simpson said sharply, and Miss Bettley tightened her lips and went out, closing the door. Charley Simpson stood near the window, looking over the park. Mannering felt the attraction of the lovely sunlit scene, stretching far into the distance yet in the midst of London.

  He was quite sure that Southpaw Simpson wasn’t thinking of the scene.

  ‘The devil of it is that she’s right,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to make decisions sooner or later, and later means tomorrow. Theo had about thirty big deals pending. If I don’t say yes by tomorrow, in most cases it will mean no. And if Theo comes back and finds I’ve lost him two or three million pounds—’

  He threw up his hands in a hopeless gesture of resignation. ‘Oh, it’s crazy! Do you know, Mannering, I meant that? It’s nothing I’ve dreamed up. The difference between the right and the wrong decisions on the matters pending will be close on three million pounds. I know that if you say it quickly it doesn’t sound so much, but it’s a hell of a responsibility.’

  ‘Didn’t Theo leave any guide as to what he was going to do?’ asked Mannering. ‘Notes, or records, or—’

  ‘That’s the trouble; it’s almost impossible to interpret Theo to the average man who thinks in terms of notes and card indexes,’ Charley said. ‘The only card index he ever kept was in his mind. He’s quite fantastic, and—’ He broke off, and stared out over the green heart of London. His face was set and his jaws worked before he went on. ‘It’s hell to think he might spend the rest of his life in jail.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Find Theo

  ‘So you think he killed Odell?’ Mannering asked quietly. Something about the thrust of Charley’s jaw suggested that he wanted to refute that: but he didn’t. He turned to look into Mannering’s eyes, but it was several seconds before he spoke. Then it was slowly, and deep in his throat.

  ‘I didn’t say that, Mannering. I hope to God he didn’t. I can’t bring myself to believe that he would, although lately he’s got into such shocking rages, sometimes he hasn’t seemed to be himself. The very devil has got into him. He used not to be like that. He used to be indifferent to everything and everybody who opposed him. That was before he started thinking he was infallible.’ Charley’s voice quickened; he was almost challenging. ‘I’ve been with him for seven years now. I was boxing in Melbourne, and we were staying at the same hotel. He’d seen me knock out a goodish man, and came straight up to my room next morning and offered me a job as his chucker-out. That’s what he called it. He offered me five thousand pounds a year, free of tax. It was making money talk. When I realised that he meant it, I took the job. He doubled the salary after two years. Don’t think me just a heel if I say that it’s going to make a hell of a difference to me if he is put in jail.’

  ‘That’s a lot of money,’ Mannering remarked.

  ‘He’s always talked big, since I’ve known him, and he’s always behaved big. First he talked in tens of thousands, then it became hundreds of thousands, and three years ago he started to talk in millions of pounds. I can’t say now how much he’s worth, but it’s a fabulous sum. He seems to smell anything which will make money. When he buys land, before you know where you are there’s oil or uranium or diamonds in it. He actually bought a played-out diamond mine in British West Africa – the big boys had given it up – and he found a fortune within three months. It’s crazy luck, and I’ve always been afraid that it wouldn’t last. Don’t get me wrong,’ Charley went on, his voice sharpening again. ‘It isn’t all luck. Most of it is sheer courage – courage to buy big and sell on the rise. That, and his fantastic memory, and his way of picking hunches—’

  ‘Charley,’ Mannering interrupted, ‘I’ll grant you all this about Theo. When did he start throwing these fits of rage?’

  ‘As I told you, soon after he began to think he was infallible. I think he’s driven himself too far. He hardly sleeps, by normal standards. Three or four hours a night is his average, and I’ve seldom known him to sleep five hours. He’s often worked right through the night. He seems to have some kind of dynamo inside him, which drives him on and on and on. It’s crazy for a man with so much money to go on trying to make more, but that’s what he does all the time.’

  ‘Isn’t it the only thing he can do?’ Mannering asked.

  Charley looked startled for a moment, and said in a wondering voice, ‘I hadn’t seen it that way before. You mean, he can’t do any of the ordinary things, like golf, swimming, tennis – goddammit, he doesn’t even drink or smoke!’ Charley’s eyes became strangely bright. ‘He’s dedicated himself to making money, in other words, and got so deep into the habit so that he can’t get out of it. When he’s not thinking in digits, he’s restless, can’t concentrate on anything else, except—’

  ‘Rosamund.’

  Charley gave his expansive grin. ‘That’s right! She’s heaven-sent. I’ve never known anything to take Theo’s mind off the stock market and real estate until he saw her. It was frightening, really. I was at this cocktail party when they met. It was just another party, thrown by an old friend of Theo’s and Rosamund came late. Theo saw her come in. It was as if the moment he set eyes on her he said: “I want her; she’s mine.” He’s said that about a lot of things before, but never about women. Before the evening was out, I knew what he was going to be like, and I was as nervous as a kitten in case she didn’t see it the same way, or was married.’ Charley shrugged. ‘All right, in case she was lying in wait for him. Everywhere that Theo goes, the gold-diggers are sure to flock. When I saw how things were going, I could hardly believe the luck. It looked as if he was ready to take a rest, and do nothing but go about with Rosamund. I could have kissed her for it. He even began to look better, wasn’t so tight-lipped, lost the lines round his eyes. Then he got the crazy idea of doing all the work he’d planned for the next three months in three weeks, so that he could have a long honeymoon.’

  ‘Do you think he’s just overtired? Or is he afraid of being attacked?’ Mannering asked.

  ‘Sometimes I think one way, sometimes another.’

  ‘Has he told you he’s afraid of being attacked?’

  ‘Sometimes. People he’s beaten on the market hate his guts.’

  ‘Anything recently?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When did he first start losing his self-control?’

  ‘When we were using a little broker in New York,’ Charley said. ‘He never liked dealing with big firms; they would always argue, and he didn’t want to waste time. He told this chap to buy some stock, and the man thought he’d said sell. The broker claimed that he said, “Get rid of it”, not “Get it”, but I don’t think Theo would make a mistake. I’m sure he wouldn’t blame any man for something he didn’t do. That kind of integrity has become God to him.’

  The picture of Theo Wray was becoming much more vivid even than it had been before.

  ‘What happened to the New York broker?’

  ‘Theo walked out on him, after accusing him of deliberately selling him short. That was just before he left for England.’

  ‘No signs of nervous strain before then?’

  ‘No,’ answered Charley. ‘It was about then he saw a doctor in New York, and got this tranquillising drug. It works, and he’s better than he was. I tried to stop him taking the tablets, but you don’t argue too much with ten thousand pounds a year, tax free. I did take one of those tablets to an analytical chemist. They’re okay – not really habit-forming.’

  ‘Has Theo been worse these past few days?’

  ‘Ever since he started overworking again.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s the overwork, or is something else bothering him? What about the men who attacked him outside my
flat – did he tell you about that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Charley said. ‘And he told me they made cracks about Rosamund. I see what you’re driving at,’ Charley added thoughtfully. ‘Was he being needled into killing Odell?’

  ‘Or doing something violent that would get him put away for a while.’

  ‘Revenge by one of his victims? Could be,’ conceded Charley.

  ‘Do you know who it might be?’

  ‘No. I’ll dig a bit.’

  ‘Make it as soon as you can,’ Mannering urged.

  ‘I will,’ Charley promised, and added almost awkwardly, ‘He had one of his sudden enthusiasms about you and Mrs Mannering, you know. He decided that you were the absolute tops. I can see what he means. I only wish that I could do something to help him in this jam. Er—I have power of discretion up to a point,’ Charley went on. ‘I can sign cheques and make purchases up to certain limits, for instance. I hope you won’t want to pitch me out of the window when I say that the sky’s the limit for fees, if you’ll try to help him. I can guarantee that. And I could advance up to five thou.’

  ‘Forget it,’ Mannering said. ‘I couldn’t drop this affair now if I was paid to.’ That remark came without thinking, too; it was as if someone had put both thought and words into him. ‘Have you any idea at all where he is?’

  ‘No,’ answered Charley flatly.

  ‘I shan’t tell the police, if you have.’

  ‘Mannering, if I had an inkling, I’d tell you. I haven’t the faintest idea. I had to give the police a list of all his business contacts, and could let you have a copy of that. I can’t tell you anything else.’

  ‘What about this old school friend who threw the party where he met Rosamund – Norman Kilham, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, there’s Norm,’ mused Charley. ‘I only know that he was an old friend, and that Theo consulted him on tax problems. I expect the police have talked to Norm by now,’ Charley went on. He thrust his hands deep in his pockets. ‘I suppose you might be able to squeeze more out of Norm than the police, if he had a guilty conscience. Care to try?’