The Executor (Keith Calder Book 10)

by Gerald Hammond

  ‘Terminated with Extreme Prejudice. That’s what they call it in the upper-underworld. They’ll have found “D. Bruce” in his diary. I couldn’t point out the connection without admitting I’d been poking through the clues before they got there, which is enough to put any hidebound copper’s back up. But Strathclyde will have told them about my enquiry by now. So they’ll see that there was a connection after all and they’ll be wondering whether mine was an inspired guess or whether I know something they don’t. And any minute now there’ll be a posse at the door, wanting to keep me hanging around making statements until the cows come home.’

  Before Molly could speak, the front door bell, right on its cue, chimed in the hall.

  ‘Too late,’ Keith said with a sigh. ‘Would you give me a minute and then bring them to the study? Then listen at the hatch.’ The trunk of a former dumb-waiter led down from the study to the basement. ‘And listen carefully. I may want a witness to what I really said.’

  Before settling, Keith stole a glance from the study window. A fawn Granada stood on the gravel. Two men occupied the front seats and Keith could hear voices at the front door. A large party, then. He sat down at his desk and began to scribble on a sheet of paper, playing the part of the solid businessman being interrupted by unwelcome public servants.

  The door opened. ‘Mrs Anguillas,’ Molly’s voice said, in the tone which she used to announce that the puppy had made a mess on the carpet. Keith was puzzled. He knew nobody of that name.

  Mary Bruce rounded the corner and came into the room.

  As he rose to his feet, Keith nodded to himself. Now he understood. Before his marriage, he had had an affair with Mary Bruce. Less forgivably, it had been renewed on one short but pleasant later occasion. Molly suspected both these facts but without, he thought, being quite sure of them. Whatever they got up to now, he thought with inner amusement, they had better keep the conversation going.

  ‘Mary!’ he said. ‘How nice to see you again! Do sit down and forgive me if I finish what I was doing. Hang on, Molly. This is urgent. Would you type it up and get it away, please?’

  Molly waited. She was too wise to comment. Keith did all his own typing.

  As if continuing his draft Keith wrote, ‘Phone your brother, get him to follow when she leaves. Fawn Granada outside with two men. Are they staying locally? Who do they see?’ He gave it to Molly who scanned it briefly, nodded and withdrew.

  Keith returned his attention to Mary Bruce – Mary Anguillas, he must now learn to say. ‘I heard that you’d entered Holy Bedlock,’ he said, ‘but nobody told me your new name.’

  She smiled. She was older and her face had changed, losing most of what little beauty it had ever had, but she had looked after her figure and she retained more than her share of animal magnetism. ‘It was never intended to be a permanent arrangement,’ she said. ‘But while the heat was on – thanks to you – dual nationality had a lot to be said for it. How are things with yourself? Is that little wife of yours keeping you at peace with the world?’

  Keith hoped very much that Molly was engaged on the phone. ‘I’m content,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure you didn’t come all this way to enquire after my sex-life.’

  She laughed coarsely. ‘Are you? There was a time you might have hoped that I had. But no, Keith. This is a normal business visit.’ She looked him in the eyes. ‘Following up your phone-calls.’

  He tried to keep from showing concern, but he knew how much his eyes must be giving away. ‘What phone-calls?’

  Mary modestly pulled her skirt down, thereby drawing his attention to her wholly admirable legs. ‘Dad was sitting quietly in one of the shops yesterday when the phone rang and a badly-disguised voice advised him not to try to move “the guns” because the police were taking an interest. It meant nothing to him at first, because any guns which have been through the shops lately have been legit and in ones and pairs. But mention of guns made him remember you, and he decided that the voice could have been yours and you always did have a penchant for tricky phone-calls. And he remembered seeing Old Man Winterton’s death in the papers and hearing a whisper that you were his executor. So he starts phoning round friends in the trade. And he picks up a rumour that there was something very special in Winterton’s collection and that you’re running around in a flap because some knocker conned the widow into unloading the whole lot for a few quid. Well, Keith?’

  ‘No comment,’ Keith said.

  ‘He also hears that Duncan Laurie was found with his throat cut. You wouldn’t have done that, would you, Keith?’

  ‘Good God, no!’ Keith said explosively. ‘When did I ever use violence?’

  ‘You want a list?’

  Thinking back, Keith realised that he had from time to time been involved – defensively, of course – in violent clashes. ‘I didn’t kill Duncan Laurie,’ he said. ‘In fact, I found him yesterday morning and I called the police straight away.’

  ‘You must have changed. How long had he been dead?’

  ‘You know that even a trained pathologist’ll jib at telling you that. Long enough to give me an alibi, anyway.’

  ‘Make a guess.’

  Keith thought about it and could see no harm in divulging what would be in the papers soon enough. ‘I’m only guessing. But from the congealing of the blood I’d think the evening before. Give or take a couple of days, if I only had the blood to go by.’

  ‘I see. . . . Later, another voice phoned, a woman this time, to say that she had a customer for the guns. That was one of your cronies, of course. And a very good friend tells us that the Strathclyde police have been tipped off that we might be moving some incriminating goodies abroad. You again, of course, and not very friendly.’

  ‘You’re jumping to a hell of a lot of conclusions,’ Keith said.

  ‘If I’m wrong, if you’re not interested, just say so.’ Keith remained silent. ‘So, if Dad should by any chance get a clue to where those guns are, you’d be interested?’

  ‘I am not buying them back,’ Keith said hotly. ‘The widow had no right to sell them, so there can be no valid title. I suppose I’d be justified in offering a finder’s fee.’

  ‘Ten per cent of the realised value?’ She had lowered her lids but was watching him intently.

  ‘Hold your horses,’ Keith said. ‘Switch off that greedy gleam in your eye. That could be a hell of a lot of money.’

  ‘Which means that the collection’s worth ten times as much,’ she said.

  ‘But every one of those guns – the valuable ones, anyway – is individual. If they come on the market at any time, I’ll know. And if I can track them back to your old man, he goes inside again.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Believe me. Because he could hardly come by those guns without linking himself with Duncan Laurie’s death. Five per cent, and he’d be doing very nicely. Provided that the collection’s complete. I’m not having him sell off the commoner items and claim a finder’s fee on the unique ones.’

  She nodded and he knew that they could have a firm agreement, if they cared to abide by it. ‘But this is pie in the sky,’ she said. ‘What I really came to say was that there’s some good stuff in Halleydane House. If it’s coming on the market, Dad would like a chance to offer.’

  ‘It’ll probably be auctioned,’ Keith said.

  ‘Suit yourself. If the dealers make a ring, he can probably get what he wants cheaper.’ She relaxed in her chair and looked around the room. ‘You’ve come up in the world since you were living and dealing in the back of a converted bank-van. I hear you bought this place with the rewards you got, you know when.’

  ‘It helped,’ Keith admitted.

  ‘No hard feelings. Not a lot, anyway.’ She nudged the front of his desk with her toe. ‘If your doing so well, it’s time you traded some of these fakes for the real thing.’

  ‘They’re not fakes,’ Keith said hotly, ‘they’re reproductions.’

  ‘Same difference. Dad handles a lot of g
ood stuff these days. Play ball and he could give you a good trade.’ She looked at her watch. Diamonds sparked in the light. ‘And now I’d better be going, or the boys will think you’ve decided to tie me up and torture me.’

  ‘I won’t bother,’ Keith said. ‘You’d probably enjoy it.’

  ‘Make me an offer I can’t refuse,’ she said lightly. She got up to go, smoothing her skirt down over her perfect hips. ‘And don’t forget what I’ve said.’

  ‘I’ll remember what you said,’ Keith promised, ‘as well as what you didn’t say.’

  *

  Keith returned from the front door and met Molly in the kitchen. ‘Anything left in the coffee-pot?’ he asked.

  Molly filled a mug for him and sat down opposite. ‘You’re not still in a hurry, then?’

  ‘There’s no brattle now. Unless that whole thing was a bluff to put me off while they got the guns out of the country. What did you think?’

  ‘What did you?’ Molly retorted. ‘I couldn’t see her face, such as it is.’

  ‘Her face wasn’t giving anything away, except her age. If Danny’s got the guns, he knew about them beforehand. He’s ready to deal, but Duncan Laurie’s death’s turned the heat on. He’ll maybe make me an offer later on – if I didn’t push too hard, offer too little.’

  ‘And if he hasn’t got them?’

  Keith was staring into space. Molly waited patiently. ‘In that case,’ he said at last, ‘I probably said too much.’

  ‘Which do you think it is? You must have some idea.’

  ‘Or else Danny was supposed to get them and they’ve gone adrift because somebody killed Duncan Laurie for them. Which would have to be somebody who knew their value. I think. . . . on balance, I think he’s got them. Did you get hold of Ronnie?’

  ‘He was just leaving his house, but I caught him. He said he’d come straight away. He’ll do what he can.’

  ‘If he can tell me what Mary and her little lambs do next, that should give us a lead. If they try to follow me around, I’ll know they haven’t got the guns but they’ve come through on spec to try and grab them. I only hope Ronnie got here in time. I couldn’t keep her talking any longer – she’d have become suspicious. Those Bruces have a sixth sense for deviousness, being so damn devious themselves.’

  ‘He must have been here in time,’ Molly said. ‘I sent Deborah to meet him at the road. She’d have come back if he’d missed them.’

  ‘You what?’ Keith said loudly.

  ‘She came downstairs while I was phoning and wanted to go with Ronnie. I thought it might be helpful if somebody was at the main road to see which way they turned, in case Ronnie just missed them, so I shot some breakfast into her and sent her out. She’ll be all right with Ronnie.’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder about you,’ Keith said. ‘You get up to high doh if I let her out of my sight for a few seconds in a crowded street to buy shoes and then you send her off to wait on a deserted country road for yon daft brother of yours when he’s trying to shadow Mary Bruce and two of her father’s hard men. Suppose they realise they’re being followed and try to run Ronnie off the road?’

  ‘Ronnie’ll be in his Land-Rover,’ Molly said. ‘I don’t see anybody running him off the road very easily.’

  Keith could see the logic of her argument. If anybody was run off the road, Ronnie was more likely to be the aggressor. ‘They’d need a tank. All the same,’ he said, ‘suppose she’s out of the car for a moment and Ronnie sees his quarry drive off. What’s he going to do? Leave her behind?’

  For the first time, Molly looked anxious. ‘I hope he wouldn’t do that,’ she said.

  ‘I hope he would,’ Keith said. ‘This is important.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Fancy Mary Bruce turning up again, after all these years.’

  ‘Do you?’ Molly asked in a small voice.

  Keith blinked at her. ‘Do I what?’

  ‘Fancy Mary Bruce. You used to. . . .’ She got up and came round the table to put an arm round his shoulders. ‘You don’t still find her attractive, do you?’

  ‘Do you know,’ Keith said, ‘I never saw the two of you at the same time before. As far as sexually attractive goes, it was like seeing a pair of lace briefs beside a panty-girdle.’

  ‘Oh yes? And which was I?’ Molly asked.

  ‘You know which you were,’ Keith said. He gave her bottom a reassuring pat and realised to his dismay that she was wearing a panty-girdle.

  *

  There was no point now in trailing away to Glasgow. On the other hand, even if Keith had known where his brother-in-law and his daughter were being led, he would have been more of a hindrance than a help in following Mary Bruce and her helpers. If Mary had done her homework with her usual thoroughness, his cars would be as well known as his face while, as far as he could remember, Mary had never set eyes on Molly’s brother, and Land-Rovers displaying mud over the original green were a common sight on the local roads.

  Keith decided to go in search of background. When you don’t know what facts you want, get what facts you can, he told himself.

  Although the Calders were now a two-car family, there was the usual tussle over cars. Keith had been unanimous in deciding that the second car would be one of the new Japanese jeep-type vehicles, ideally suited for use on shooting days. Molly had tried it once and, having changed into four-wheel-drive by mistake and signalled several times with the wipers, refused to drive it again. Keith argued that the hatchback was more suitable for the longer run on good roads but he lost the argument. Molly had shopping to do and that was that.

  Keith consulted the telephone directory and a map and set off, steeling himself to ignore the stiff suspension and higher noise-level.

  The Winterton family, and in particular their financial affairs, would stand some looking into. He had already met Robin Winterton’s widow and his son, but the stepson, Steven Clune, he had only glimpsed in passing. Reluctantly, because Keith was nervous of homosexuals, he left the main road at Soutra and headed towards Haddington. The only Clune S. in the phone-book lived near North Berwick.

  He crossed the Al and continued north towards the Firth of Forth. He made two turns in accordance with his patchy recollection, and had just decided to stop and refresh his memory of the map when he saw roofs ahead and the spire of a small church.

  Then he braked hard and, because the jeep had ferocious brakes, nearly hit his nose on the windscreen. Ronnie’s ox-like figure was out in the road and waving his arms and Keith saw the Land-Rover pulled tight against the hedge and his daughter’s head at the window. He pulled in behind the Land-Rover and got out. A curve in the road hid them from the village.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘It’s lucky yon wee bizzum’s observant,’ Ronnie said. ‘They’ve stopped round the corner at the first wee house. If she’d not seen you coming you’d’ve run on to them. Get in the Land-Rover and you’ll see the place.’

  Keith climbed in beside his daughter. Through the windscreen and a gap in the hedge he could see across a field of barley stubble to a post-war bungalow, painted in pastel colours. The Granada was pulled on to the verge, pointing away from them.

  ‘They came straight here?’ Keith asked.

  ‘Except for a stop at a phone-box. Got here about twenty minutes back.’

  ‘And you’d no trouble?’

  Ronnie’s craggy face screwed up. ‘I wouldna’ say that. There was aye some other traffic I could hide in, but I’d a job to keep up. They fairly flew.’

  Deborah nodded vigorously. ‘So did we,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know a Land-Rover could go so fast.’

  ‘Nor me,’ Ronnie said. ‘The Land-Rover didn’t know it either.’

  ‘Well, you ken fine now,’ Keith said. ‘When they leave, you follow them again. Deborah can bide with me. I’ll try to find out what they were after. When you can, phone Molly to say where you are. And, Ronnie, you have a gun with you?’

  ‘Not a shotgun. Just rifles.’ Ronnie was by profession a stalker.r />
  ‘That’ll do. Stay well out of the way unless they seem to be loading a lot of stuff into the car.’

  ‘And if they do?’

  ‘Stop them,’ Keith said. ‘Any way you like.’

  Ronnie nodded grimly and Keith was satisfied. Whatever attributes Ronnie might lack, he had not been hiding behind the door when ruthlessness and grit were handed out.

  ‘They’re more likely to drive on and circle back to the main road,’ Keith said, ‘but if they turn back this way, keep your head right down out of sight.’

  ‘I wish I knew what the hell’s going on,’ Ronnie said plaintively. ‘Molly said she’d no time to tell me a damned thing and Deb says you swore her to secrecy.’

  ‘See me tonight and I’ll fill you in. For the moment, just believe that it’s important.’

  ‘Something’s happening,’ Deborah said.

  Mary Bruce came out of the bungalow followed by two men – the two, Keith presumed, who had earlier been sitting in the car. As far as Keith could judge at a range of a hundred yards, they seemed pleased with themselves. One of the men was carrying a polythene bag which held something brown. It seemed to weigh lightly – if it contained guns it could only have held a pistol or two. They got into the Granada and drove away.

  Keith and Deborah climbed down and got into the jeep. Ronnie drove off in a hurry and they followed more slowly. Keith pulled up in front of the bungalow. He thought about leaving Deborah in the jeep but decided that the Bruce party might return. Anyway, it was none too soon for her to learn a few more facts of life. ‘You’d better come with me, Toots,’ he said.

  The bungalow was expensively finished with a stone front and hardwood windows, double-glazed. A double garage stood open and the car which he had seen in Newton Lauder’s square was looking out at them. The bungalow’s front door, of teak, was slightly ajar.

  Keith was about to press the bell-push beside the door when a sound from inside made him pause. Somebody was groaning, regularly, with each outgoing breath. The sound was piteous and he felt the hair crawl up the back of his neck.

  Without stopping to think, he pushed the door open and went inside. The hallway was deeply carpeted and, despite the terracotta and moss-green paint, there was light enough to see that it was hung with prints of Aubrey Beardsley’s quite shocking illustrations to Lysistrata. Steven Clune, it appeared, was not hiding in any closet. Keith turned to send Deborah outside but she had already followed the sounds through another open door and into a living room made exotic by satins and by an expensive oriental wallpaper which, when looked into, revealed a distinctly erotic theme.