by R. N. Morris
‘I am not a fool. People here are not interested in my film. They are not interested in the deaths of three thousand miners seven years ago in a far-off land. The film will not make them interested. War is coming. They will need nitrate for their bombs. They do not care about the men who toil under the baking sun to dig it out of the ground. They do not care that the men were paid in tokens, not money. That they can only use those tokens to buy expensive commodities from the company shops. That the companies refuse to pay for half the nitrate they dig up because they say it is substandard, but they still use it because all they have to do is refine it a little. People do not care about any of this. They will not watch my film. They will not take notice.’
‘We must find a way to make them take notice,’ urged Eloise.
‘Oh, we have found a way, my dear. Inti has found a way. It is good that you have been able to see my film. We did not get a chance to show it to Dolores. She did not understand why we must do this. Why we must make the men responsible know what he has lost.’
Something snapped in the darkness, then snapped again. Eloise realized these were the sounds of gunshot.
She felt a hand clamped over her mouth, felt herself dragged from her seat and pulled towards something hard and hot. Felt the prick of something sharp and unrelenting touch the skin of her neck.
FIFTY-FIVE
‘Let her go!’ Quinn held out his revolver at arm’s length. He peered along the sight. It was hard in this gloom to get a clear view of the one holding her, the boy. The danger was, of course, that he might fire and hit Eloise.
But he could see the viciously crooked knife at her throat. He had to do something.
‘It’s over. There’s nowhere for you to go. Killing her won’t save you. It will only make things worse.’
‘She must die.’ The boy’s voice cracked with emotion. There was an almost pleading tone to his words, as if he was not sure that what he said was true and needed confirmation. He looked to his uncle, imploring him with his eyes. Quinn thought he could see the trails of tears, silvered by the fall of light from the projector’s beam.
‘No.’ Quinn’s authoritative negation drew Inti’s gaze. The boy was just a child. He would do whatever he was told. ‘Why do you say that, Inti? Why must she die?’
Inti again looked to his uncle.
It was Diaz who answered for him. ‘She must die because of the massacre of the Escuela Santa Maria de Iquique. In 1907, thousands of striking nitrate miners and their families were slaughtered by soldiers of the Chilean state. Why was this done? It was done for men like Hartmann. My nephew’s family was killed for Oskar Hartmann. Now he will know what it is to lose the most precious thing in his life. I am sorry, Eloise. It must be.’
Quinn addressed his words to Inti. ‘You want to kill her to punish Hartmann. Because you think she is as dear to Hartmann as your family was to you. But the truth is Hartmann does not care about her at all. She is only a commodity to him. Hartmann is not the one who loves her … I am. All men are. We. You and I. Her public. We are the ones who love her. Not Hartmann. You will not be punishing Hartmann if you kill her. You will be punishing innocents. Whatever you think Hartmann has done, this will not hurt him.’
Inti looked again towards his uncle. Quinn sensed the imminent commanding nod that would seal Eloise’s fate and the boy’s too. He spun his gun round to take aim at the uncle. He did not issue a warning. He fired. Diaz fell into the blackness that pooled at their feet.
Quinn knew immediately it was a miscalculation. Inti howled like an animal stripped raw. And thrust the knife into Eloise. The glinting blade darkened. Eloise gave a piercing scream.
The boy let her fall. Almost threw her away from him, as if he could not bear to hold on to her any more. And now there was nothing to shield him from Quinn’s aim.
‘No, sir,’ whispered Macadam’s voice gently. ‘That’s enough.’ Quinn glanced round and was surprised to see that his sergeant’s gun was pointing straight at him.
FIFTY-SIX
She was propped up in bed, her throat bandaged. The starched hospital sheets gleamed in the expansive spring light.
She seemed surprised to see him. The daisies he held out to her were evidently completely baffling to her. She took them from him with a frown, did not pause to inhale their passing scent.
‘I have come to apologize. I once said some things about your … about what you do. I did not mean it. I don’t know why I said it.’
She waved an insouciant hand. ‘I don’t remember.’
He let it go. ‘I trust you are well looked after?’
‘Oh, it is just a scratch. The poor boy did not know how to handle that horrible knife.’
‘I am not so sure. We believe he has killed before. Dolores Novak. A hooked knife was used in her murder. He has not confessed as yet. But we are confident that he will.’ Quinn avoided looking at Eloise, knowing that he would have to face her disapproval. ‘I understand that it was necessary for your wound to be sutured?’
‘I do not know why they felt it necessary.’
‘You are very brave.’
He risked a glance in her direction, in time to see her look away. The hint of a blush was on her cheeks. ‘I have just lied to you, Inspector. I do remember what you said. Your words hurt me at the time, and for a long time after.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘I am not hurt now,’ she said bluntly. ‘Now, I do not care what you think.’
It was as if suddenly his internal organs had turned to stone.
She glared fiercely at him. ‘You did not need to kill Diaz. You should not have killed him.’
‘He … he was going to tell the boy to kill you.’
‘You do not know that. You cannot know that. And even if he had, I do not believe Inti would have killed me.’
‘The boy would do whatever his uncle told him.’
‘And so, you think that you saved my life?’
‘You do not?’
‘Perhaps he would have told him to put the knife down. After your little speech …’
‘It wasn’t true, what I said about Hartmann, you know. He cares about you very much.’
‘He looks after his investment.’
‘I think it is more than that.’
Eloise nodded. ‘He has asked me to marry him.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Is that all you have to say?’
It seemed it was. On the subject of matrimony, at least. He remembered her spectacular rage against Waechter. ‘I thought you might be interested to know, we have detained Konrad Waechter. He is not being charged in relation to the incident in Cecil Court. However, we are awaiting the arrival of a police officer from Vienna who will escort him back to his homeland to face justice there. A more serious offence than any we can charge him with is outstanding against him. Your friend – beg pardon, your fiancé – Herr Hartmann assisted us in tracking down the Russian woman, Lyudmila Lyudmova, as well as the actor who pretended to be a doctor. They confirmed that it was Waechter who put them up to it.’
‘You had to spoil it.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Your speech. I heard you say that you are the man who loves me. But then you had to spoil it. You had to say that there is nothing special about this love of yours. That it is just the same as the love of every man who sees me on the screen. That is why I do not care what you think any more.’
‘I see.’
‘No, Inspector. You do not see at all. You are a very stupid man.’
‘I hope you will be very happy with Herr Hartmann. I trust that you will be.’
‘I did not say that I’ve accepted his proposal.’
Quinn frowned. He was not sure what he was meant to make of this information. Was it presumptuous to believe that she hoped it would be of interest to him? Did he have a right to be interested in her marital intentions?
He breathed in the ward’s antiseptic aroma, overlaid with the more unruly, organic o
dour of the flowers. ‘I hope that you will be happy, whatever decision you make.’
‘A very stupid man.’
‘You’re quite right.’
As he turned to leave, he heard a groan of impatience from her bed. Then an agitated rustle and a muted whipping sound, as if something soft had been hurled against a hard surface. Glancing back, he saw the flowers he had just given her scattered on the floor.
He could only assume that she did not like daisies.
