Murdering Americans

by Ruth Edwards

  ‘That’s right,’ said Brooks slowly. ‘That’s right. That’s right. You could be onto something there, Horace. This is about left and right, isn’t it? These kids are fighting the left. Maybe the “R” stands for ‘Right.’

  The baroness considered this. ‘In which case, maybe the “C” is for conspiracy?’

  ‘Of course.’ Brooks clapped his hand to his head. ‘Right-wing conspiracy. Very right-wing conspiracy? No, that doesn’t work. Let me think.’ He drummed his fingers on the table and then clapped his hands. ‘Got it. Of course. VRC is the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy. Don’t you remember? When the Monica Lewinsky story first broke, Hillary Clinton said it had been invented by the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy.’

  ‘By George, Edgar, I think you’ve got it. That is, you and Horrie between you have got it. If you have, we’ve learned something interesting about whoever’s behind this.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘They’re literate. They understand that “right-wing” is one word.’

  ‘VLRC, then. The Vast Literate Right-wing Conspiracy.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We need to get going, Jack, or we’ll be late for our river boat.’

  ***

  ‘So why exactly did you spurn Betsy’s advances?’ asked Mary Lou.

  ‘She’s a child. I’m not a paedophile.’

  ‘Didn’t you say she was nineteen? I wasn’t much older when you had your wicked way with me.’

  ‘She’s nineteen going on eight. You were more like twenty-four going on eighty.’

  ‘I suppose that’s a compliment. Were you tempted?’

  ‘Of course I was tempted. Very. It was a big sacrifice, lying about being exclusively hetero, but I had to save her face. I suppose it means all women on campus are now off-limits.’

  ‘You’re not a bad old thing, Jack. I’m proud of you. And clearly you got your just reward on this earth in Jackson.’

  ‘I certainly did,’ said the baroness. ‘I’d lost his card—well, had it pinched—so it was like the answer to a maiden’s prayer that he rang me straight after Betsy left.’

  ‘Have you heard from him since?’

  The baroness tried and failed to keep the self-congratulatory tone out of her voice. ‘He’s sent me a present. Got someone to deliver it by car from a shop in Indianapolis before I even got back here.’

  ‘So we’re talking a serious present then, not candy or lingerie.’

  ‘Much more romantic than candy or lingerie. Practical as well.’

  ‘Go on. Go on. What was it?’

  ‘A Colt 45.’

  ***

  From: Mary Lou Dinsmore

  To: Robert Amiss

  Sent: Tue 22/05/2006 10.15

  Subject: News from Hicksville

  You certainly can’t accuse Jack of hanging about. In the past few days she’s caused uproar on the campus, has been protested against for being an Islamophobe, has refused for the most honourable of reasons to have an affair with the delicious Betsy, has acquired a brace of private eyes, and has enjoyed a passionate weekend in Jackson, Mississippi, with a sixty-something Southern gentleman. They got on so well he’s given her a gun—and not just a gun, but a Colt 45, which has sent her into sentimental droolings about Humphrey Bogart as Philip Marlowe. No, I don’t think there’s any phallic significance in the present. He seems a mite concerned that someone will try to rub her out.

  I’m ferociously busy learning how to be a presenter and interviewer. No major cock-ups yet, but it’s still nerve-wracking. I haven’t got time now to fill you in any more about what Jack’s got herself into on campus, except that she seems to be the icon and potentially the leader of a group of reactionary revolutionaries whom she hasn’t even met yet. She was extremely anxious that I report to you that New Paddington was no longer dull and things were getting really really interesting. Hope continues to spring eternal with her. I gave her none, and she muttered something about you turning into a girlie-man.

  Ellis has nabbed his Albanians.

  Where are you now? Where are you going next?

  Love to both from us both,

  ML

  ***

  The baroness finished unpacking and made a phone call. ‘I’m back, Marjorie. Any news?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At the hotel. Just going to have something to eat and have an early night. I’m shattered.’

  ‘I’ll just call by if that’s OK. Not to eat but for a drink.’

  ‘Anything important?’

  ‘Just something I want to talk over. I won’t keep you up.’

  She had just finished her cheese when Marjorie arrived and gave her a hug.

  The baroness pushed her away and looked at her squarely. ‘Something’s up, isn’t it?’

  ‘I afraid it is. Your private eyes. I’m sorry, Jack, but they’ve had an accident.’

  ‘How bad?’

  Marjorie took her hand. ‘They’re dead, Jack. In a car crash.’

  The baroness sat down suddenly. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was on the local news. It said they ran into a truck.’

  ‘Seems an odd coincidence,’ said the baroness, in as level a tone as she could muster.

  ‘In their business, wouldn’t it always be an odd coincidence if they died during a case?’

  ‘Not if they were just looking for mislaid spectacles. Get me a brandy, Marjorie.’ And she burst into loud sobs.

  ***

  ‘I’ve sent Marjorie home, Edgar, and I’m well into a bottle of brandy and wondering if the accident had anything to do with me. Law of unexpected fucking consequences and all that.’

  ‘Do you want me to find out what happened?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘OK. Now be careful. I don’t like the sound of this. Not one bit. Make sure your door is locked, and tomorrow, whatever you do, don’t turn your back on Gonzales. ’

  ***

  The baroness woke on the sofa just after 7.30 the following morning with a pungent smell of brandy enveloping her. At some juncture, she realised, she had kicked over the bottle. ‘Just as well,’ she muttered. ‘At least it meant I didn’t drink the lot.’

  Within an hour, the breeze through the opened windows had dissipated the smell, she had bathed, dressed in a defiantly bright green trouser suit, and had consumed a light breakfast and several cups of coffee. When Betsy arrived the baroness was brisk. ‘I had a phone call from your leader when I was on my way home yesterday, Betsy. He sounded very mysterious. Refused to give me his name. Do you know it?’

  ‘Oh, no, Lady Troutbeck. I’m too junior for that.’

  Betsy gazed at her with what was now her customary doe-eyed look. ‘Did you have a nice weekend?’

  ‘Delightful, thank you.’

  ‘You look really cool. You’ve got a tan.’

  ‘I caught the sun on the river. Now let’s get back to the VRC. This person also refused to tell me where we’re meeting. All he said was that you would pick me up. So where are we going?’

  ‘I don’t know where the meeting is, Lady Troutbeck. I was told to take you to the Wal-Mart that’s about five miles out of town and park in the car park and wait. Then the person I know in the VRC will collect you. I’m not allowed to go with you.’ She gazed at the baroness sadly.

  ‘This is reminiscent of Watergate. Any minute Deep Throat will come out of the shadows.’

  ‘Watergate?’

  ‘Betsy, I’ve decided to take you in hand.’ She saw the joy on Betsy’s face. ‘No, no, I mean intellectually. I want you to start reading books. Don’t frown. I know you haven’t much time, but I’ll fix it for you. I’ll have you paid for running errands for me while you’re actually reading. Here you are. I’ve bought you a Jane Austen.’

  Betsy took Pride and Prejudice nervously. ‘Is it very intellectual?’

  ‘No. It’s very intelligent, but you won’t find it difficult. In fact—and this is the secret I want to communicate—it’ll be enjoyable. Reading is enjoya
ble.’

  ‘Oh, Lady Troutbeck, thank you. I’ll treasure it.’

  ‘I don’t want you to treasure it. I want you to read it.’

  ‘I’ll start it tonight. I promise. Now we should go.’

  ***

  ‘Did you ever see “The Dead Poets Society,” Lady Troutbeck?’

  ‘No. What is it?’

  ‘A film about an English teacher who inspires his pupils not just to love literature, but to find joy in living and to stand up for themselves and their beliefs.’

  ‘Isn’t that what all teachers are supposed to do?’

  ‘Of course it is. But they don’t. Well, at Freeman, they mostly don’t. The faculty don’t seem to want to teach—just do research to put on their resumés.’

  ‘So is this the role you envisage for me?’

  The flaxen-haired youth called Ryan looked across the table at her and smiled. ‘You’re there already. When we saw you last week we decided we’d found our Boadicea.’

  ‘It’s pronounced Buddica, but never mind that. I’m flattered by the comparison. I’ve always wanted to cut down my enemies with the blades on my chariot wheels.’

  ‘Excuse me, Lady Troutbeck,’ said the black youth called Mark. ‘I’ve read that blades on chariot wheels are a later invention.’

  ‘Touché, Mark. I must brush up my ancient history.’

  ‘Do you want to know about us?’ asked Ryan.

  ‘Indeed I do. Other than that you draw inspiration from a not uninteresting science-fiction series, that you are attracted by the philosophy of Ayn Rand, that your sword is the Sword of Truth, that your initials stand for “Vast Right-wing Conspiracy” and that you draw many of your intellectual arguments from a book* of that name, I know nothing.’

  The four students looked at her with open mouths. She looked back at them impassively.

  ‘No shit, Sherlock,’ said Mark.

  ‘How did you work all that out?’ asked the slight youth called Joshua.

  ‘That would be telling.’

  ‘We’ve got Miss Marple here,’ said Sue-Ellen.

  ‘I prefer Mark’s comparison with Holmes, Sue-Ellen. I would rather play the violin than knit. And anyway, my friends, we should strive at all times for gender-blindness. Now tell me more.’

  ***

  ‘I’m fine, Edgar. Any news?’

  ‘Brake failure, Jack. The cops think it was an accident. What did the girl call him, the “silly son-of-a-bitch”?’

  ‘Silly fantasising son-of-a-bitch….’

  ‘The silly fantasising son-of-a-bitch drove too fast and on his way from their home to the office, when he should have slowed down at an intersection, instead he drove straight into the side of a truck.’

  ‘Did they die instantly?’

  ‘Seems so. It was a big, big truck and the car was an old one. They weren’t even wearing seat belts.’

  ‘Oh, hell,’ said the baroness. ‘Oh, bloody hell. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

  ‘Gonzales? I am. But I’m told these are the kind of cops that don’t seem to go looking for trouble so I wouldn’t even know yet how to go about getting them interested. Do you want me to get someone on to it?’

  ‘I do, Edgar. And I’ll pay for it, whatever it takes. Mike might have been a silly fantasising son-of-a-bitch, but he was my silly fantasising son-of-a-bitch. If the Goon did this, and I think he probably did, he’s going to pay.’

  ‘Steady on, Jack. We have to keep our heads. Sure, Gonzales is a possibility, but wouldn’t it have been a dumb move? Wouldn’t he realise you’d hire replacements?’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t mean to kill them, Edgar. Just frighten them. And me. Besides, we know he’s dumb.’

  ‘True. OK. I’ll get on to it. But meanwhile, be careful. And tell those kids you’re associating with to be careful too. If Gonzales had Mike and Vera killed, he obviously knows more about what’s going on than we might think. You—and they—need to start watching your backs.’

  ***

  ‘You look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet, Jack.’

  ‘I certainly feel that way, Marjorie. I really mind an awful lot about those two children being killed. But there it is. We have to get on with things.

  ‘Now, the VRC agreed to let me tell you about them. They havered a bit, but the fact that you’d been the means of my coming to Freeman won them over. And then they checked you out with Warren Godber and that clinched it.’

  ‘So is he running the VRC?’

  ‘No. He’s just facilitating it. When Joshua confided in him that some students wanted to become guerrillas for truth, he said he wasn’t prepared to take an active role of any kind, owing to having lost any heart for battle, but that if they promised not to do anything violent he was prepared to let them use his house for meetings and give them advice if specifically requested so to do.’

  ‘So what do they intend to do?’

  ‘They’re confused, disorganised, and completely lacking in any strategy. I told them that conducting occasional intellectual smash-and-grab raids was going to get them nowhere. This had to be planned like the great day of the Deltas in “Animal House.”’

  ‘Gee, Jack, I didn’t think you’d know about “Animal House.”’

  ‘I like amusing and constructive anarchy, Marjorie. Along with “A Night at the Opera” and “The Producers,” “Animal House” is my favourite film.’

  ‘So what’s your strategy?’

  ‘The VRC are the troops. I’m the Chairman. And I need a Chief Executive.’

  ‘Don’t look at me, Jack. I’ve got a full-time job, a husband, three children, and several cats. Plus, I’m a marked woman since it came out that I’d cleared you as safe.’

  ‘I understand all that, Marjorie. I’ll be needing your help, but behind the scenes. I have a Chief Executive in mind, but…as you would put it…I have to go get him.’

  ***

  ‘I’m hallucinating,’ said Robert Amiss, gazing down the vast expanse of shabby grandeur that was the vista of the Grandhotel Praha restaurant.

  Rachel continued to read the menu. ‘I think I might try “Bryndzove halusky,” since this is our last chance to eat what seems to be the Slovakian national dish.’

  ‘Rachel, listen to me. Turn round and see if you can see what I see.’

  She twisted round. ‘Dear God, I can.’

  ‘Well, since it’s improbable she’s looking for anyone else, I suppose I should greet her.’ He strode down the room to where the baroness was still looking about her. ‘Lady Troutbeck, I presume.’

  ‘That’s the wrong way round. I should be saying “Mr. Amiss, I presume.” I’m the one who’s found you, after all. Not vice versa.’

  He kissed her on both cheeks.

  ‘Why are you doing that European two kisses business? It’s effeminate.’

  ‘You’ve got off lightly. These days in Europe it’s normally three.’

  ‘Typical grade-inflation,’ she grumbled.

  ‘Besides, compared to you, we’re all effeminate. Now shut up and come and join us. We’re down the other end.’

  Rachel greeted the baroness with a hug. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure. Were you just passing through?’

  Plumping herself down in Amiss’s chair, the baroness chortled. ‘Yes, indeed. I was en route from Vienna to Krakow and decided to drop by the High Tatras for a drink and something to eat.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Amiss, reaching for a nearby chair and pulling it up at the table, ‘we should address some serious matters without delay. We’re trying to decide if we should start with garlic soup and then risk the Slovak equivalent of beef and Yorkshire pudding, which is allegedly potato dumplings with sheep cheese topped with crumbled bacon. What do you think, Jack?’ He handed her a menu.

  ‘I think this deserves serious study,’ she said solemnly. ‘Now where’s the sommelier?’

  ***

  ‘Stop complaining. Whatever reason you had for coming here, it wasn’t for the
cuisine.’

  ‘If you think this is complaining….’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Yes, we gathered from Mary Lou that you’ve been really really complaining in Indiana.’

  The baroness recollected why she had come to Slovakia. ‘However, all that’s a thing of the past,’ she said hastily. ‘I’ve solved the food problem in New Paddington. Italian-Americans are doing me proud.’ She looked at them hopefully. ‘As they would do you.’

  Amiss took a sip of plum brandy. ‘Mmmmmn. Have some of this, Jack. You might decide to relocate here.’

  The baroness took a sip, sucked on her cigar, leant back in her chair and stretched her legs out contentedly.

  ‘Jack,’ said Rachel. ‘I realise this is a prurient enquiry, but now that your skirt’s ridden up I notice that you’re still sporting those directoire knickers. They don’t seem quite to go with your new fashionable image.’

  The baroness looked down at the eau-de-nil satin that was peeping from below her elegant charcoal-grey skirt. ‘I bought a job-lot of them several years ago, Rachel, and I’m a frugal woman. Besides, they preserve my sexual integrity.’

  ‘Your what?’ said Amiss. ‘You don’t have any sexual integrity. You’re a slut.’

  ‘I may be a slut,’ said the baroness stiffly. ‘But I’m a selective slut.’

  ***

  It was an hour later, the baroness was on her second cigar and—by her standards—had told her story in considerable detail. ‘Well, that’s a right mess you’ve gotten yourself into,’ remarked Amiss. ‘What are you going to do for an encore? Visit Iran wearing a bikini?’

  ‘It’s too early for encores. I haven’t had the final curtain. Yet.’

  ‘Are you afraid the curtain might be more final than you’d wish?’ asked Rachel. ‘And if so, why are you going back?’

  ‘The answer to the first question is yes, though in the sense of being run out of town, not knocked off. The answer to the second is noblesse oblige. I do not take kindly to my employees being murdered, if that’s what happened. Besides, I like adventure.’

  ‘And you want us because…?’

  ‘Because I can’t manage this alone. If I could, do you think I’d have travelled for the best part of twenty-four hours to try to cajole you into helping me? It’s not my usual style.’