Crosetti frowns at me. He’s not sure what’s going on. He’s suspicious. But then he’s got a lot to be suspicious about. ‘Who are you?’
‘A ninny, obviously.’ I carry on smiling sweetly. ‘I must’ve picked up your phone instead of mine when I was leaving. Sorry.’
I pass him his phone and he takes it. I gently tug mine out of his grasp. He looks at the pair of phones and his frown deepens. Maybe he thinks they’re not similar enough for me to have got them mixed up.
The barman says hopefully, ‘Everything is sorted out, yes?’
‘I am sorry.’ I grimace and flap my hands a bit, doing my best to look girlishly empty-headed. ‘All my fault. Embarrassing or what? But no harm done, right?’
‘I suppose not,’ Crosetti admits, though he’s still frowning.
‘Good. Well, I’ll, er …’ I give him a last, cheeky little grin. ‘Goodnight, then.’
A minute or so later, I’m out on the street. Crosetti hasn’t followed me. I’m in the clear. He and Jane Glasson, alias Astrid Townsend, have a crunch meeting tomorrow with Ingrid Denner. I know where and when. But they don’t know I know. I have to make that advantage count.
All the way to the Marta, I keep asking myself: how?
From the Marta, I text Don. But there’s no response. Maybe he’s gone back to Wortalleth West. And he’s told me not to phone him on the landline there. He must have a good reason. He’ll contact me when he can. I know that.
I phone the University Hospital and ask about Gareth. I’m put through here, put through there. The nurse I end up speaking to is cagey. She wants to know my name and relationship with the patient. I say Jane Glasson, a friend. Well, Jane’s not using her own name, so why shouldn’t I use it instead?
The nurse eventually describes Gareth’s condition as stable. But his injuries are very serious. He can’t have visitors. Bottom line: he’s in a bad way and he won’t be talking to anyone any time soon. He’s alive. But only just.
Poor Gareth. He came here with high hopes. And he was close – so close – to the truth.
I’m going to finish what he started. I still don’t know how. But I’m going to.
Whether Harkness realized Don had been using his phone was unclear. He said nothing about it as he led the way into Ray Hocking’s house. A mousey woman Don took to be Linda eyed him timidly from the kitchen as they walked through to a small rear sitting room, crowded with more books and maps and newspapers than even the two walls of shelving could accommodate.
Ray Hocking was a stocky, salt-and-pepper-haired man with a pockmarked face and a lugubrious gaze. He looked as tight-lipped as Harkness had said he was. His clothes were old-fashioned – trousers with braces, fleecy shirt, baggy cardigan – and the aroma in the room suggested he was a pipe-smoker. He shook Don’s hand, but uttered no word of greeting.
‘Don’s in this with me all the way, Ray,’ said Harkness as they gathered round a table on which a large-scale Ordnance Survey map of the Lizard peninsula had been spread out flat.
‘Right.’ It sounded as if monosyllables were Ray’s standard mode of communication.
‘It seems French and Zlenko have been more conspicuous than they may have supposed, Don.’
‘They stick out a mile,’ Ray growled.
‘Indeed.’ Harkness smiled. ‘As a result, Ray knows where they’re staying.’
‘You said keep an eye out.’ Ray apparently objected to the hint of nosiness.
‘I did. And there’s no more watchful eye than yours, Ray.’
‘Where are they staying?’ asked Don.
Ray’s answer was a fat-fingered stab at the map. It landed quite a few miles east of Mullion. Don saw a quadrangle of forest, a long, straight road, a few field boundaries and lots of heath symbols. But not many dwellings. There was one, though, close to Ray’s finger.
‘Chybargos,’ said Harkness.
Ray nodded.
‘What’s the history?’
‘Couple of labourer’s cottages knocked into one plus a barn conversion, for holiday lets. Never properly finished. Owner ran out of money. He wouldn’t ask many questions if the price was right.’
‘And it would be,’ said Harkness.
‘You think …’ Don hesitated. He did not know whether he should mention Fran or not.
‘I think they may not be alone there,’ said Harkness.
‘Less I know the better,’ said Ray.
Harkness smiled at him. ‘But you always know so much, Ray.’
‘Saw Wynsum Fry yesterday.’
‘How nice for you.’
‘Could be trouble for you if she finds out you’re back.’
‘Could be trouble for me if anyone finds out.’
‘They won’t from me.’
‘I know that. There’ll likely be mention of me in the news, by the way.’
Ray nodded. ‘Often is.’
‘I hope you don’t believe everything those papers you sell say about me.’
‘Never ’ave. Good or bad.’
Harkness chuckled. ‘Very wise.’
‘Want the map?’
‘It’d be useful.’
Ray folded the map up and passed it to Harkness.
‘Thanks.’
‘You be careful, Jack.’
‘Always am. Let’s go, Don.’
Harkness sent Don out to check the coast was clear, then followed him to the car. He told him to drive back towards Wortalleth West and they set off.
‘If we know where they’re holding Fran,’ said Don as soon as they were clear of Hocking’s house, ‘maybe we should go to the police and let them handle it.’
‘Or mishandle it,’ Harkness countered. ‘They’re not called Plod for nothing.’
‘You still haven’t unveiled your own masterplan.’
‘No. But stop at the next turning and I will. We’ll be safe from snoopers and curtain-twitchers there. And you’ll get a signal for your phone.’
‘I’m calling someone, am I?’
‘You are, Don. Amos French. And before you ask, yes, I do know what I’m doing.’
Don pulled in, as instructed, where the road to Mullion began its descent towards Poldhu Cove.
The night was soft and starless. With the MG’s engine off and its lights out, they were cocooned in darkness.
‘So tell me, Jack,’ Don asked, ‘what am I going to say to French, if he answers?’
‘Oh, he’ll answer when he sees it’s you calling. And as for what you’re going to say to him, well, you’re going to say you have what he wants: full details of where the money is he’s been paid to find.’
‘But I don’t.’
‘No. But what you will have, when you meet him, is half of what’s in that bag of mine on the back seat. Which I’m betting will persuade him to call off the search – and release Fran.’
Don glanced over his shoulder, to no purpose, since the bag was merely one dark shadow among several. ‘What does it contain?’
‘Five million Swiss francs.’
‘How much?’
‘Five million. Thanks to the Swiss fondness for high-denomination bank notes, that doesn’t actually take up much space.’
‘You mean …’
‘A straight pay-off, Don. Easy money for French. A happy outcome for Fran. And you, of course.’
‘You’re serious?’
‘Absolutely. Don’t worry.’ Don sensed rather than saw Harkness smiling. ‘I can afford it.’
‘I don’t understand you, Jack. Why steal all that money from your partners, from your own company, if—’
‘The greater good, Don.’
‘What?’
‘Tell French you’ll meet him at Lizard Point car park at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. When he gets there, offer him the two and a half million against another two and a half when they release Fran. I’ll be standing by close to Chybargos, ready to deliver the second instalment in exchange for Fran as soon as French says yes and gives Zlenko, who he’s sure to h
ave left on guard, the OK to let her go. That’s on the clear understanding, mind, that they’ll stop looking for the money I’ve supposedly stolen.’
‘But … where will that leave them with their employers?’
‘I think you’ll find French is willing to trade his share of five million Swiss francs for a testimonial from Quintagler Industries. And Zlenko’s share will keep him in vodka for the rest of his life. They’ll take the deal.’
‘Why don’t you just repay Quintagler, if you’re so flush with cash?’
‘Because they’re after me for billions, Don, not a piddling few million. And I don’t have it.’
‘You don’t have it?’
‘I spent it.’
‘What the hell on?’
‘Are you going to make the call, Don? We’re not here to discuss my financial dispositions. We’re here to get Fran out of the fix you landed her in by walking out on the job she sent you down here to do. So, why don’t we just get on with it?’
‘Have you got something for me, Don?’
‘Yes. I have.’
‘Is it what I asked for?’
‘And then some.’
‘How did you pull that off?’
‘I’d rather not discuss it over the phone.’
‘OK.’
‘Lizard Point car park. Eight o’clock tomorrow morning. You can see what I’ve got then.’
‘All right, Don. It’s a deal.’
Don drove the short distance to Wortalleth West trying hard not to think too much about the stream of events he was being carried along in. Harkness’s scheme had a lot going for it. He knew French – as well as Zlenko – a lot better than Don did. There was every reason to believe he could buy Fran’s freedom. All Don had to do was play the part Harkness had written for him.
But he could not forget what had happened to Mike Coleman. The sensation of his hand resting on the dead man’s head as he pushed him back into the freezer kept coursing through him.
There was little in the house, but Don did not feel hungry and nor, evidently, did Harkness. He did feel in the mood for a fabulously expensive bottle of Château Latour, however, which he fetched from the wine cellar and shared with Don in the lounge.
‘Smooth, isn’t it?’ he asked after Don had taken his first sip. ‘Like velvet.’
‘How much did you pay for it?’
‘No idea.’
‘Well, it certainly tastes expensive.’
‘No, Don. It tastes … noble.’
‘Do you feel noble, Jack? Doing … whatever the hell it is you’re doing.’
‘You don’t have any children, do you, Don? Neither do I. So, when we look to the future, we don’t have a personal stake in it. Tell me what you see out there, from your disinterested perspective.’
‘I don’t think about the future much.’
‘No? Perhaps that’s discouraged among estate agents. Well, I do. And I have a crucial advantage over you. I can afford to pay experts in the field to give me their insights and predictions. And I can …’ Harkness smiled and shook his head. ‘Never mind. Suffice to say I worked for that advantage. I aimed for it, almost as far back as I can remember. It’s never been about personal enrichment, hard though you may find that to believe as you roll my claret round your tonsils. No, no. It’s never been about that at all.’
‘What, then?’
‘It’s been about putting myself in a position to do what needs to be done.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘A hard thing. A thing I can’t trust anyone else to do. Although, in a sense, thanks to the arrangements I’ve made, other people will do it for me, eventually.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you enjoy being an enigma?’
‘Not particularly. Tell you what, Don. Ask me a yes or no question – a single question – and I’ll answer it truthfully. No bullshit. No evasions. No enigma at all. A straight yes or no.’
Something in Harkness’s eyes, as lamplight reflected in the wine washed across his face, told Don he was in earnest. He would not lie. Find the right question and Don could unlock his soul.
‘Well?’
‘I need time to think about it.’
‘Sorry. It’s now or never.’
‘One question?’
‘That’s it.’
‘And I know you’ll answer truthfully because …’
Harkness set down his wine glass gently on the glass-topped table between them. ‘You have my word, Don.’
Yes or no meant Don could not ask what was in the panic room, or what Harkness had done with all the money he was accused of stealing. Yes or no narrowed the field, as Harkness clearly intended.
‘My solemn word.’ Harkness picked up the bottle of Château Latour. ‘But if I refill my glass before you ask me a question …’
‘Did you kill Jory Fry?’
Harkness put the bottle back down and smiled across the table at Don. ‘Yes. I did.’
The shock of the admission silenced Don for a moment. Then he said, ‘You murdered him?’
‘I might have pleaded provocation if it had come to court. Murder? Manslaughter? Justifiable homicide? You can take your pick.’
‘Why? Why did you kill him?’
‘Jory Fry was a cruel, evil-hearted boy. He enjoyed torturing animals, something I particularly detested. It’s hard enough to have to share this planet with humans without having the likes of Jory Fry tearing your wings off or gouging out your eyes. When I came upon him among the rock pools down at Poldhu Cove that Saturday morning all those years ago, he was pulling the claws off a crab he’d just plucked out of the water. Only a crab, you might say. My father made a living catching them, for God’s sake. Where’s the difference? Well, there is one. There’s a line. And Jory Fry crossed it. When I saw what he was doing, something in me snapped. I grabbed him and forced his head under the water in one of the rock pools and I held him down until he’d stopped struggling and then a bit longer just to be sure he was dead. I did it consciously and deliberately. And I’ve never regretted it, though I probably would have if anyone had seen me doing it. Wynsum Fry is the only one who knows. And she knows in a way the law doesn’t cater for.’ Harkness poured more wine into his glass and raised it to drink. ‘Oh, and now there’s you, of course.’
Don stared numbly at Harkness. He did not know what to say.
‘Lost for words, Don?’
He was. But, eventually, he found some. ‘You killed Jory Fry because he was torturing a crab?’
‘You could say that.’
‘What other way do you want to put it?’
‘I killed him because the sort of person who wants to do such things has no right to live.’
‘You can’t mean that.’
‘But I do.’
‘What about all the other random acts of cruelty in the world? Why stop at Jory Fry?’
‘You don’t get clean away with something like that unless you’re very lucky, Don. I realized I’d used up more than my fair share of luck that day. I didn’t actually want to go to prison. Though, as you know, the threat does rather seem to be hanging over me at present.’
‘Whose fault is that?’
‘Start allocating fault and you’ll find yourself on a long road to nowhere, Don. There are only actions and consequences, problems and solutions. There are only choices of different futures.’
‘You’ve lost me.’
Harkness took a deep swallow of wine, set the glass down and stood up. ‘I’m off to bed. I’ll leave you to finish the bottle. Try to get a good night’s sleep, Don. Use whichever bedroom suits. We’ll be making an early start. It promises to be a busy day. Besides which, sooner or later the Met are going to give up chasing my shadow round Europe and ask the local police to check this place over, so I really ought to make myself scarce. I’ll leave at the same time as you and drive over to Chybargos in Coleman’s Merc. Our friends helpfully left th
e key in the ignition. It’s blocking my Ferrari in, but that might be too noticeable anyway. And cheer up. Everything will go smoothly. I’ve always found money is the most effective lubricant of them all. French and Zlenko are in this for what they can get out of it. And five million Swiss francs will more than satisfy them.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘I usually am. As my company’s shareholders can testify.’ Harkness chuckled. ‘Well, until recently they would have, anyway. Goodnight.’
Don did finish the bottle, but Harkness’s revelation had sobered him irretrievably. He knew he should go to bed, but he felt fretful and alert. The house was utterly silent. Harkness was presumably sleeping the sleep of the unregretful up in the master bedroom, unworried by what the panic room contained because, of course, he knew.
Don let half an hour slowly and soundlessly pass. Then he went into the study, sat at the desk and picked up the telephone.
I’d only been in that shallow kind of sleep where you’re almost conscious of being asleep when the phone rang. I knew it had to be Don even before I rolled over and grabbed it. Who else could it be?
‘Are you at the house?’ I ask at once.
‘Yeah. With Harkness.’ He’s speaking in an undertone, as if frightened of being overheard. I notice he doesn’t use my name. I decide I’d better not use his either.
‘How’s that happened?’
‘He has a plan to free Fran. It seems to make sense. I’m going along with it.’
‘What’s the timescale?’
‘Tomorrow should see it done. What’s going on at your end?’
‘There’s no danger he’s listening in, is there?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘But are you sure?’
‘I just wanted to check you were all right. If—’
‘I’m fine.’ I decide in that split second I’m not going to tell him about Jane until I can be totally certain the information stays and stops with him. ‘I’m following something up. Something that … may give us some answers.’
‘And what’s your timescale?’
‘Like yours. Tomorrow should see it done.’
‘You are being careful, aren’t you?’
Panic Room Page 29
