Copper, Gold and Treasure

by David Williams

  ‘It’s a fairly straight run through St James’s Park.’

  ‘I don’t think Miff was Olympic standard . . .’

  ‘I mean by car.’

  ‘The Miffs don’t have one, and even if he’d found a taxi he didn’t have any money.’

  ‘So his wife says. She’s also the one who says he can’t work a typewriter.’

  Treasure shook his head. ‘I admit I wouldn’t have credited that one till I tried my secretary’s. Have you ever . . .’

  Freddy interrupted, unimpressed with Treasure’s clerical experiments. ‘If he did do the note himself, she could be claiming he couldn’t so his death is blamed on someone else. Someone who’d then be blamed for the stabbing.’

  ‘Bit devious.’ Treasure frowned, aware that someone had to be devious, that his feelings about Mrs Miff were merely intuitive. ‘There must be others who know he was actually afraid of typewriters. Even if there aren’t, the man was a lawyer. If he’d typed a suicide note surely he’d have signed it? Known the importance. I mean, why type it anyway?’

  ‘If his fingerprints are on the paper . . .’

  ‘Good point, Freddy. But they could have been put there after he died, of course. Or the paper could have been a bit he’d handled already—something off his desk.’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Freddy triumphantly. ‘His wife typed it after you’d left the office.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If she knew his death was an accident but that he had stabbed Cruba, an obviously faked note would be the best way of shifting suspicion on someone else.’

  ‘That’s not just devious. It’s positively Machiavellian.’

  ‘It explains why the note wasn’t left in the typewriter with the cover off in the first place—where you could have seen it.’

  ‘I have a different theory about that. I think whoever typed that note wanted it found by the police, not me. And I don’t believe it was Miff or his wife. Whoever it was didn’t trust me to turn it over to the police. He assumed I wouldn’t take that cover off and that the police would. He was wrong—about the police, at least. They weren’t as thorough as they might have been.’

  ‘Why should he have doubted your . . . your probity?’ Freddy asked after a moment’s thought. ‘Why should you conceal evidence?’

  ‘Just a precaution. I’d have given it to the cops if I’d seen it.’ He paused. ‘At least, I think I would. Eventually, at least.’

  ‘You would have concealed evidence?’ said Freddy, but without reproof.

  ‘Let’s say I might have put the cover on the typewriter and played for time. The time we’re using now. Ah, that’s better.’ They had been crawling for several miles due to some road repairs. Now they were on a resurfaced dual carriageway. Treasure glanced at his passenger. ‘Don’t you want to know if that’s what I did?’

  ‘I was just about to ask.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. It happened the way I told you. But I think I’m right about the phantom typer. He—or she—credited me with a feel for the public relations involved in all this. Faced with a client stabbed apparently by the Director of a Trust the bank’s supposed to oversee? I’d need to play for time anyway. Destroying that note would have saved face for Grenwood, Phipps. It wouldn’t have suited the murderer, of course,’ Treasure added grimly. ‘Perhaps he knows me well enough to believe I’d have been faced with a dilemma, at least.’

  ‘You said he or she just now. But you don’t think it could have been Miff’s wife who stabbed Cruba? Same motive as her husband and then his accidental death . . .'

  ‘Same motive but no more idea of Cruba’s movements last night than he had.’

  ‘We guessed Stephen Spotter could have told both of them.’

  ‘And we guessed wrong.’ Treasure answered firmly, hoping his assessment of Mrs Miff’s character was accurate. ‘Spotter didn’t want anyone going after the fifty thousand. Even Crow-Patcher had to get the kidnap story out of Florence Spotter, not Stephen, remember?’

  ‘So what about Spotter?’ Freddy grudgingly abandoned the Miffs as prime suspects.

  ‘As our double murderer?’ The banker switched the air-conditioning to a cooler setting: outside the car summer was a-coming in. ‘The Major’s sure he didn’t do the stabbing. He’s certain now he saw Spotter take the case before the chap coming up passed him.’

  ‘He wasn’t so sure last night. Don’t believe we can trust his judgement. Also, this morning Spotter . . .’

  ‘Was checked in at Gatwick before Miff even left his flat.’ He cleared his throat before adding firmly. ‘The Major confirmed that when he was there.’

  ‘And Crow-Patcher? Last night we said it might have been a two-man team.’

  ‘The bleary Crow-Patcher was roused by Gold around eight-forty-Five in Bloomsbury this morning. It’s just possible he could have been to Strutton Ground and back before then, but only just. He’d also have to be a hell of a good actor. And foresighted. There was no reason he’d be expecting a visit from Gold or anyone else then. As for last night, Miss Spotter summed him up as a bit player. Gold feels the same. They don’t think he’d have the guts to assault anyone. He wasn’t the plastic mac man. Small fry.’

  ‘And we’re looking for bigger fish.’ Freddy paused. ‘Like Opac?’

  ‘Like Opac. My money’s been on him. Yours too last night.’ He slowed the car as they approached a road sign.

  ‘Sorry. Left here,’ Freddy put in hastily. ‘It’s marked Southend Airport and Rochford.’

  Treasure checked the time on the dashboard clock as they changed direction. They had made the journey faster than he had anticipated. ‘Accepting Opac knew about the original kidnap plans . . .’he resumed.

  ‘He was on the spot to stab Cruba, with a marvellous excuse,’ Freddy broke in. ‘He could easily have ordered the taxi, left the Reform, put the mac on over what he was wearing, waited for Cruba, attacked him, dumped the coat in his car and turned up again looking as if he’d just arrived.’

  Treasure smiled. ‘Some shock, of course, when I rolled up with Pierre at The Boltons to say our tame kidnappers couldn’t be blamed for any mayhem.’ He glanced at his companion. ‘But he had the advantage of knowing I was seeing Miff at eight-thirty and that Miff, for some reason, was working against the Trust. There was a fall-guy waiting to be felled, as it were.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Freddy agreed. ‘He only had to make one phone call last night, then lie in wait for that poor devil this morning. You say anyone could have forced the door?’

  ‘With a credit card or something like it. Yes. Very worn lock. He could have typed the note, done for Miff, and gone on his way rejoicing to the hospital. He was in luck with the street door. It’s not normally open that early, but he wasn’t to know.’

  Freddy leant forward shaking his head. ‘Mark, I think we should turn back. It all fits. If Opac’s our man I can’t go off sailing, I see that now.’ He leant back again in his seat. ‘What you’ve just said sounds pretty conclusive.’

  ‘Except none of it holds up.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Most, I’m afraid. The taxi was ordered at nine-thirty-four. Mr Gold did some checking. Opac was still at dinner then.’

  ‘Somebody else could’ve ordered it for him. Yvonne Cruba, for instance. His lover.’ Freddy emitted the last phrase in a definitely outraged tone.

  ‘Man’s voice, the taxi people say. I don’t think he’d have involved anyone else. As for the call to Miff, Mrs Miff is sure it was after twelve-thirty. I left The Boltons before midnight. I don’t think he’d delay. Much too decisive.’

  ‘That’s supposition, of course.’

  ‘Opac’s movements this morning aren’t. I didn’t tell you. I rang François Cruba himself just before leaving the office. Opac was allowed in to see him at eight, and said he’d been waiting. Even if he’d just arrived, he wouldn’t have had time to do in Miff on the way.’

  ‘How did François sound?’

  ‘As good as reported. Bet
ter. Among other things, he said if Opac fell over something he’d curse it in French, not basic English. Incidentally, Cruba doesn’t believe the chap has a cat in hell’s chance of taking over from him as Ngongan President in Waiting. Opac takes the same view.’

  ‘You asked him?’

  ‘No, Opac volunteered it. Cruba doesn’t know who attacked him, but he’s certain it wasn’t Opac on the political make. Opac went to the hospital this morning to tell him just that. He thinks he may be suspected.

  ‘I should think he does.’ Freddy was outraged again.

  ‘He has no political ambitions any more. They don’t fit in with his love-life. A month ago he accepted a job with an American university. He’d been waiting to break the news to Cruba . . .’

  ‘Who doesn’t know about Opac and his wife, of course.'

  ‘On the contrary. It’s the reason he waited but he told Cruba today. Yvonne’s going with him. Asking her husband to divorce her, or get the marriage annulled.’ Freddy gave an irritated sigh. ‘So you think our front runner’s a . . . a non-starter. I can tell you I don’t . . .'

  ‘Except I changed horses this morning.’

  ‘In favour of?’

  ‘Someone with the same opportunities as Opac for getting up-to-date information. Someone who’s been running his own show while everybody’s been thinking he’s an Establishment man. He’s our murderer all right.’ Treasure scrutinized another road sign. ‘We turn right here, I think?’

  ‘The Stambridge road, yes. So who is it, Mark?’

  ‘Who is it? Oh, come, Freddy. It’s you, of course.’

  ‘There never was any deal with the French and British Governments about Cruba living here. He applied for temporary domicile and got it. You handled it, though, plus embellishments, on a strictly private enterprise basis. Arranging to have his money controlled by Grenwood, Phipps was very daring, but really quite simple. And all to protect your friends running Ngonga.

  ‘Yes. Simple but clever. No formal documentation. Nothing proving there’d been a deal. No meetings between us that anyone knows about. Just that letter from Cruba to me giving us power of attorney. He believed his stay here depended on that. I believed it. Very hush-hush, of course. So much so the only person in the FO who knew about it was Freddy Hinterton.’ Treasure snorted.

  Freddy continued to stare at the road ahead. He had not spoken since Treasure had begun accusing him.

  ‘So since last year Cruba finances have been virtually controlled by the Ngongan Government,’ the banker continued. ‘They know exactly how his funds are disposed. Copies of the confidential reports I’ve been sending you no doubt go straight to the Ngongan Embassy. No chance of funding insurgent activities let alone an army. And if they ever wanted to sequester his assets—always possible, especially if he died—how very convenient to know where they are. Helps enormously with that kind of brigandry.

  ‘It was lucky François never took up your offer of protection. No doubt you discouraged him. The arguments against are very sound. Used them myself on Saturday. Anyway, that saved his status being specially scrutinized by the powers that be. Just a rich foreigner on an extended stay. No special privileges requested. None provided. Nothing to account for.

  ‘So it was a nice indefinite hold situation. Except just recently the boys in Ngonga have been getting jumpy. Opinion has it the people wouldn’t mind having their old chief back. What to do about it? Liquidation of old chief the ideal solution. Dynamite, though, if his murder were traced to the new Government.

  ‘So it’s Freddy to the rescue—or rather, Copper and Gold with a kidnap set-up just crying out to be used. You used it, Freddy.

  ‘You had no special agents laid on last night. You never involved Ml6, the Diplomatic Protection Corps, or anybody else. You nearly had a fit later when you thought I was asking to see your security chief. You’d already had a nasty turn when you found out the kidnap was a nonevent.

  ‘The stabbing tied in with the kidnap was perfect. With no kidnap the attempt on Cruba’s life would look just what it was—a cold, political assassination that went wrong. And only a matter of time till someone figured who was responsible.

  ‘No doubt you intended tipping off the newspapers about the kidnap last night, but not after you knew the story was useless. So you were lumbered with a dead or alive Cruba, a pending political scandal, and no thanks due to Hinterton.

  ‘What a Godsend poor, dispensable Miff must have looked. What a fool I was for practically pushing him at you. The ready-made scapegoat. Except he couldn’t type. Botching that up as well’s going to cost you, my friend. Life instead of the six or seven years you’d have got for Cruba. That’s assuming they’d nailed you.

  ‘Were you more afraid of your Afro-Communist friends than you were of getting nabbed? Do they liquidate failures? They can use all the credibility they can muster at the moment—at home and abroad. Is it likely they’d have sacrificed you, exposed you as a psychopathic crank and nothing to do with them? Or maybe it was the power behind them that bothered you.’

  Freddy shifted in his seat. He frowned but still said nothing.

  ‘How’s the leg, Freddy? Miss Brown said whoever fell over the box would be a sticking-plaster case for a while. You looked pretty stiff-legged when I picked you up. Incidentally, she saw your leg. The light was bad but not that bad. If it had been a black leg she’d have told me. You and Opac really were the only ones who knew about my meeting with Miff.

  ‘Are you thinking some of the evidence is er . . . circumstantial still? Not really. It’s all there for the devilling. I’d hoped we could prove the opposite. We haven’t. The police are good at devilling. Given the same facts, they’re going to reach the same conclusion. I just wish I knew why the hell you got into this.’ There was still no response.

  ‘Look, I think we’ve had enough joy-riding, Freddy. I’m going to turn round and drive you back. If you want to call a lawyer on the way I’ll . . .’

  ‘Just keep driving, Mark. It’s left at the next fork. A farm track. You’ll manage.’ The voice was taut; the words expressionless.

  Treasure turned to Freddy and found himself staring across the barrel of a small automatic pistol.

  CHAPTER 21

  TREASURE SWALLOWED, THEN LOOKING AHEAD again, raised his eyebrows. ‘Fat lot of good that’ll do you. Shoot me and they won’t need the devilling. My secretary knows I’m with you. Unless she hears from me by three she’ll transcribe a tape I gave her. It’s got the whole story. So come on, Freddy, don’t . . .’

  ‘That won’t matter,’ the other broke in. ‘We’re still going to my boat. It’s less than half a mile. I don’t want to harm you. I . . . I wouldn’t need to kill you, just . . .’

  ‘Just a nasty injury? All right. Please yourself. You won’t . . .’

  ‘We’re going to sea. Both of us. You’ll be bringing the boat back later. It’ll be easier if you co-operate. Yes, my leg’s hurting. I couldn’t drive with it. Managing the boat I might have done on my own—still could.’

  The lane was little more than a wide path flanked by scrub and muddied by the recent rain. They were deep into Essex salt-marsh country. The last and isolated habitation had been a mile back. The landscape was nearly level and almost treeless save for some sentinel osier willows. There were no hedges to block the view; the only features the sparsely vegetated flat mounds of red clay—the residue of salt-making a thousand years ago and more.

  A solitary barn stood some way off to the left. In the middle distance there were clusters of sailing-boat masts on either side with a pair directly ahead.

  Freddy watched Treasure’s undisguised examination of the surroundings. ‘Past the point of hailing the locals,’ came the blunt comment. ‘Two of us share a mooring down here. The other man’s in America.’

  ‘You’ve arranged to be picked up?’

  ‘In certain circumstances, yes. You see, I was giving you the benefit of the doubt . . .’

  ‘That was mutual.’ Treasure in
terrupted tersely.

  ‘It’s an East German trawler. Twelve miles out. She’ll wait. Flying would have been easier.’

  ‘But you picked the wrong day.’

  ‘This way you’ll be occupied till I’m safe home.'

  ‘Home being?’

  ‘Wherever my friend and I choose. We’ve been separated a long time.’

  ‘Someone waiting for you on the other side? Reward for services rendered. Blonde is she, Freddy?’

  The other man paused. ‘He’s with the Soviet Foreign Service. The British made him leave London some years ago.’

  ‘When we chucked out all those KGB people in the Embassy? I remember. My word, you have been faithful. But what’ll you do?’

  ‘Whatever’s useful.’

  ‘Mmm. After today I imagine your range of uses’ll be a bit limited. Still, you’re a very committed traitor. I expect . . .’

  ‘My commitment to socialism has endured since university.’ Freddy spoke flatly, ignoring the insult.

  ‘Where it was predictably covert. Well, well, I always thought of you as High Tory. And currently you’re devoting yourself to Afro-Communism? Inducing the chaos that precedes Third World membership of the Soviet Empire.’ The banker affected concern. ‘The Cruba bungle will set things back a bit for Ngonga, won’t it? I’m surprised they’re letting you break cover. Your real masters, I mean. Wouldn’t it be better if you took the rap yourself? After all, you don’t have to implicate . . .’

  ‘I offered. It’s up to me.’

  ‘Is it? You surprise me.’

  ‘Better to explain what’s been happening where my words won’t be censored. The world should know . . .'

  ‘And outside clink too.’ Treasure interrupted. ‘I think you’re very wise,’ he continued with the maximum contempt in his voice. ‘Where you’re going they won’t lock you up for knifing Cruba or murdering the innocent Miff.’

  ‘I’m sorry . . .’

  ‘About Miff? Sacrificed to a greater cause? Your sincerity is touching.’