The man who sold death c-1

by James Munro

  She smiled her gratitude, but his eyes were cold still, and wary. Already she knew that he was considering how best to leave her, to get away.

  "I want to help you. I want you to stay here," she said.

  Even last night, she was thinking, when he was drunk, in that cautious, controlled sort of way, even then, when I thought he was an accountant or something, I couldn't leave him alone, I had to go after him, even with poor Mike Diamond sitting there, and Mike's spent an awful lot on me, and I quite like him really. But I just ignored him. This man filled my world.

  "They'll trace me," Craig said. "They'll try to kill me."

  Not for a moment did she doubt what he said.

  "Who will?"

  "Some people who didn't like the business I was in."

  "You mean a gang, don't you?" she asked.

  "No," he said. "Not a gang. Just killers. The best killers alive. They should be. They've had the most practice."

  "But they can't possibly know you're here," she said.

  "The police may find out," he said. "All they have to do is follow the police."

  "Nobody saw you come in," she said. "People come and go here all the time. You'll be safe here, darling. I've got money-"

  "So have I," he said. "I'm a rich man, Tessa. I've got ten thousand quid with me now."

  "You could go away then," she said. "Anywhere in the world."

  He shrugged.

  "I'm supposed to be dead already," he said. "But I don't know if they believe it or not. If I run now, and the police get on to me, they'll find me too." The inquest, he thought. If they identify Charlie, if poor Alice recovers and tells the police that he was driving the car and I was in the orchard, they'll come for me again. But they may know already that they failed this time. They may be looking for me now. I daren't run away.

  She saw how overwhelmingly tired Craig was, as he went on:

  "You'd better not get mixed up in it. They'd kill you too, you know, to get at me. I mean it. The last time they tried for me, somebody else died."

  He put his hand out to her, his ringers strong on her smooth, warm skin. There was desire in his hands, but there was friendship too, and kindness, and farewell, not just to this one girl, but to all the warmth and tenderness of a life he couldn't have.

  "I wish I could stay," he said.

  She kissed him then, clinging to him, willing him to love her, until at last he responded to her with an urgency that matched her own. When the doorbell rang, they still held tight to each other, trying to deny its sound, but it went on and on until she felt the hand at her shoulders move, tilting back her chin, so that she was looking into his eyes, wary again, and brutal.

  "No," she whispered. "No. Believe me. I wouldn't-"

  At last: "I believe you," he said. "Find out who it is." As she called out, he moved quickly, silently, stacking plates in the sink, hiding his suitcases among hers. When she came back, he was holding the Luger automatic.

  "It's the police," she said. "I'll have to let them in."

  He nodded. "All right. Try and keep them in the sitting room. And for God's sake look indignant. You've paid your taxes."

  He went back to the kitchen, as the bell rang again, and she opened the door. Grierson's lazy charm buckled under the weight of her anger.

  "What the hell do you want?" she asked. "I've just got out of bed."

  "Mrs. Harling?" Linton asked.

  "Yes," said Tessa. "Who are you?"

  Linton introduced himself and Grierson.

  "May we come in?" he asked.

  "Must you?"

  "It's important. Very important-for you," said Linton. "All right," she said. "In here."

  They went into the sitting room, and Tessa willed herself not to look at the kitchen door.

  Linton said at once, "You saw a fight last night." "Did I?"

  "Oh, come off it," Grierson said, and offered her a cigarette. She shook her head.

  "Everyone in the Lucky Seven saw you," Grierson continued. "You went out with a man called Lishman and two of his boys who thought they were tough. Another man went with you too. A Mr.-" he snapped his fingers. "Do you remember bis name?"

  "Yes," she said. "And so do you. It was Reynolds."

  "You saw what he did to the other three?"

  "All right. All right. I saw what he did."

  "Where did you go after that?"

  "I came back here."

  "With Mr. Reynolds?"

  "You're joking," she said. "After what he did to Eddy Lishman? Suppose he did it to me?"

  "Why should he?" Grierson asked. "You don't look like Eddy."

  "No. And I don't fight like him either."

  "People say he went with you," Linton said. She was sure she heard a tiny sound at the door of her flat, but the two men, alert as they were, didn't move.

  "People say anything," said Tessa. "We went up to Tottenham Court Road together, then he left me."

  "He didn't like you?"

  "He can't have, can he?"

  "Then why did he fight Lishman?"

  "Men like that don't have to have a reason."

  "Men like what?"

  "Madmen," said Tessa.

  "You think he was mad?"

  "He must have been. You know why he did-that?" Grierson shook his head.

  "Because Lishman wanted him to go to a party, and he wanted to go home. Half-killed the three of them. He must be mad."

  "Home?" Linton asked.

  Tessa willed herself to be more careful.

  "That's what he said."

  "You mean he lives in London?"

  "He didn't say so," Tessa said.

  "But he must, mustn't he? Or at any rate it looks as if he's staying here." Tessa said nothing. "Did he say what he was?" "An accountant," she said.

  "An accountant?" Grierson yelled. "He just about crippled Lishman and those two bodyguards of his."

  "Maybe he takes boxing lessons."

  Grierson said, "You can't have been watching very closely. He kicked Lishman, and threw the others. When he hit them, it was like this."

  He moved his hand in the air, demonstrating a karate chop. "That's right, isn't it?"

  Tessa said, "You're a big man, aren't you?" She turned to Linton. "So are you. But you better watch out for that one. He'd clobber the pair of you."

  "You seem very sure," Grierson said. "I saw him," said Tessa. "But you haven't seen him since?" "That's right."

  "This chap, Diamond. He's a friend of yours, isn't he?" Grierson asked.

  Tessa nodded. "He seemed to think you were fond of this-Reynolds."

  "He thought wrong," Tessa said. "Anyway, he was drunk."

  "So if we looked over your flat now, we wouldn't find him here?"

  "Of course not."

  "I see." Grierson smiled, using all his charm. "Well, in that case, Mrs. Harling, I think we'd better just take a look around, purely for your own protection, of course. I mean, a chap like that could break in at any time, and as you say, he's a madman, and you never know what a madman might do."

  As he spoke, Grierson had moved into the hallway, and opened the kitchen door before Tessa could stop him. The kitchen was empty. Tessa forced herself to go on protesting as he examined her bathroom and bedroom. Then he turned to her at last, beaming comfort.

  "There you are, Mrs. Harling," he said. "You've got nothing at all to worry about. You're perfectly safe."

  "Well, of course I am," Tessa said. "I told you there was nobody here."

  "Oh come now, miss," said Linton. "It was you who asked us to look around, now wasn't it? It's not the sort of thing we'd do without a warrant, not unless we were asked." Tessa took a deep breath, and Grierson admired the rich heave of her breasts.

  "Get out," she said.

  Grierson sighed. "If you insist. We policemen are used to ingratitude. Look, Mrs. Harling, if you should ever see Reynolds again-"

  "I won't," she said.

  "Life's very uncertain sometimes. If you should just happen t
o run into him by accident, ask him to give me a ring, will you?" He scribbled a number on a page of a small notebook, and banded it to her. "Tell him he can reach me here at any time. You can tell him we know about a chap called Rutter too. And say we can help him. We want to help him."

  "Why bother?" Tessa asked.

  "It's no bother," said Grierson. "Good-looking chap, was he?"

  "He was drunk," Tessa said. "Then he was fighting. What he looked like didn't matter." "To him, do you mean?"

  "To anybody," she said. "He was a man on his own."

  They left, and Tessa locked the door and ran to where he'd hidden the suitcases. One of them had been opened, and was empty. She wept for a little, and then began to wash the dishes. In the street outside, Grierson stared in disgust at the soggy imitations of Georgian brick.

  "I think we just missed him," he said. "You saw the bed, didn't you? And the breakfast dishes? I think it was him."

  "Quick work," said Linton.

  "You're forgetting the circumstances. You shouldn't do that. Always allow for circumstances. Look. She's on her own. She's lonely-bored with heir own company and bored with her friends. She drifts-meets a few of the wrong people-like Lishman. She's not a whore but he treats her like one, and she knows his reputation. She knows what he'll do if she objects. So she doesn't object. She plays along and hopes for a miracle. And she gets a miracle. A knight in shining armor. A rescuer of distressed damsels. Who else would she bed with? He's Robin Hood, Sir Galahad, and Young Lochinvar all rolled up into one gorgeous six-foot package. 'A man on his own,' she said. 'What he looked like didn't matter,' she said. The poor kid's hooked."

  "And Craig? If Reynolds is Craig?"

  "He'll know how she feels," Grierson said. "And he wants to five. By now he'll be miles away. But just in case he isn't, we'd better go back."

  They went through the building floor by floor, then returned to Tessa's flat. She opened the door at once, her face falling when she saw who it was. "You seem disappointed," said Grierson.

  "Can you blame me?" said Tessa, but she made no move to stop them as they went once more through the flat.

  "You still say he wasn't with you last night?" Grierson asked.

  "You have a very nasty mind," said Tessa.

  "No," Grierson said. "Not on duty. There were two of you in bed. That's a fact, Mrs. Harling. Just a fact. Who was the other one?"

  "I don't remember," said Tessa. "I have a very bad memory-for faces."

  "You can't act either," said Grierson. "You're not like that at all."

  Tessa flushed.

  "Tell Reynolds I want to see him. I want to keep him alive," said Grierson.

  Tessa remade her bed, swallowed a couple of tablets, and slept. Half an hour later Craig came back into the flat, stared at the sleeping girl, and settled down to wait. After three hours she stirred; after four, her eyes opened, to see him looking down at her.

  "You shouldn't-" she said. "Those policemen. They've been back here once already-"

  "One of them's still outside," Craig said. "They'll be watching you now. I told you what it would be like."

  "But I told them just what you said-"

  "The dark one, Grierson," Craig said. "I heard the way he was questioning you before I got out. He's good. He knows I've been here?"

  "I'm sorry," said Tessa. "I just couldn't hide it."

  Craig shrugged.

  "It doesn't matter. When they came, I was going to leave you. 1 took my money and went out while you were talking. They searched the whole building before they came back here. Did you know that? Grierson's clever, all right. But he didn't have enough men to do a proper job. All the same, he should have checked the service elevator." He grinned. "Just as well for me he didn't. All the time we were playing hide and seek, I was thinking about what I was going to do, and it all came back to the same thing, every time. I don't want to be alone any more. If we play this right, we might just get away with it. There's a chance, anyway. A good chance. All the same, you'll be taking a hell of a risk, Tessa."

  "I don't mind," she said. "Honestly I don't. My life wasn't all that marvelous before."

  "And if things got too rough, I might have to leave you again."

  "I'll take what I can get," she said at last, and drew him down to her.

  This time she made love with a completeness, an urgency, that came close to despair, and when they had done, Craig slept, deeply, without fear. Outside, Linton watched, and was angry, and longed for his relief. Craig would be miles away by now, and even if he wasn't, why should he give himself up to Grierson? And even if he did, why should he help Loomis? He shifted from one foot to the other, and looked at a fat, dark cloud, heavy wtih rain. Grierson was all right in his way, but when it came to the boring jobs he always disappeared.

  CHAPTER 8

  Brady went to the hospital in the splendor of full evening dress. He wore medal ribbons too, the M.C., the North Africa Star, the Italian and Normandy Campaigns. Pinned beside them was a huge badge he'd bought on a visit to the docks. "Look out, girls," it warned, in lustful purple letters, "I've been six months at sea." Brady was going to the hospital ball, yielding to the threats and pleadings of the latest of his wives, but already he was making his protest. He called at the hospital on the way to the ballroom, to make sure that his patients wouldn't spoil his evening. He had a few things he wanted to tell the mayor… His chances were good; even Mrs. Craig was still unconscious.

  "Eleven days, and she hasn't said a word," he said to the night nurse. "Two weeks ago you could have got a hundred to one against that. Never emptied another bedpan as long as you lived."

  The night nurse sniffed, and Brady, determined to be pleasant, whatever the cost, patted her rump.

  At the dance he met Thomas, the police surgeon, for whom he bought whiskey, and remarked to him how unfair life was that Mrs. Craig should only be quiet when her husband was far too dead to enjoy it. Thomas, a bachelor, and one unused to whisky, said that Craig could enjoy the silences of his wife whenever he chose, but that he was far too callous and unfeeling to bother to inquire, even if his wife was dying.

  When Brady learned that Craig was still alive, he ordered more whisky, and by midnight the press knew it too. The press was a chubby, anxious young man sent by the local paper to get the names right, timid enough to refuse free beer, yet with the occupational courage to approach Brady to ask him what his badge was, and to refrain from asking, instead eavesdropping shamelessly, when Craig's name was mentioned. Next day the chubby, anxious young man found that he was the northeastern correspondent of a national daily, and his story was on its front page. It was the beginning of a great career. Somewhere the chubby anxious man had heard that Craig had been in Tangier, and he made the most of it. From a maze of hints, a story of genteel and romantic crime emerged, with Craig perhaps yet again avoiding death, and somewhere or other turning at bay to face who knew what ruthless enemies? Once more, reporters set off north. L'Osservatore Romano sent a man over, and Der Spiegel sent another, and a cameraman. Two Frenchmen also turned up. They said they were free-lances.

  Marshall had to face his chief once again. He had been to see Dr. Thomas, an interview of agonizing embarrassment. The Special Branch people had been so anxious that there should be no leak, and the chief had given them his word. He knocked at the chief's door, and went in to the chief's rumbling invitation.

  There was another man with the chief, a vast man with red hair sprinkled with white, his enormous buttocks sagging over the seat of a hard, wooden chair. The fat man looked with evident distaste at Marshall, then scowled at tin(c) cliicf

  "This the fellow?" he asked.

  "This is Detective Inspector Marshall, yes," said the chief.

  "Bright sort of a fellow! The sort that gets ideas. Good ideas," said the fat man, more unhappily than ever.

  "You've done very well, son, but you'll have to come off the case."

  The chief said, "This gentleman is from Counter-intelligence. I'm af
raid you'll have to do as he says."

  "But I know I'm right. I can prove it. I've got Dr. Thomas's report."

  "Well of course you're right," the fat man said. "The trouble is, it's a bit too well known now, do you see."

  "But it was bound to come out at the inquest," said Marshall.

  "That's a moot point," said the fat man. "Very moot. I'd have asked you to box clever at the inquest, believe me I would. As it is, I'm going to ask you to get it adjourned. I'm also going to ask you to deny that Craig is still alive."

  "But why on earth should I?" Marshall asked.

  "Because if you don't, he won't be," said the fat man, "and I've got a little job for Craig. A very nasty, very important littie job. And he can't do it if he's dead, now can he?"

  "But what about Craig's brother-in-law?" "He is dead, son. He's past caring." "What about Mrs. Craig? Suppose she recovers?" Marshall asked.

  "She won't be making any public statements till Craig's done his stuff."

  "And I'm going off the case?" Marshall asked.

  "I think you'll have to, unless you're good at telling lies. You're bright, I admit that, a credit to your force and all that, and things would have been a bit tricky for me if you hadn't got on to the idea that Craig was still alive. But now that's public knowledge, unless you deny it. And if you deny it you've got to make it convincing. Officially you may look like a fool, but unofficially you'll have done yourself a bit of good. There's more to it than that. Your chief tells me you figured out what Craig's been up to. Now it just so happens that a situation's arisen where Craig could be very useful to this country. He's got specialized knowledge, you see. It's your can, son. I'm afraid you'll have to take it back." "What about Dr. Thomas?"

  "I'll speak to him too," the fat man said. "But you're the one the press will be after."

  "All right," Marshall said. 'Til deny it."

  "That's a very sensible decision, son," said the fat man.

  He was genial now and relaxed, as only a fat man can be, but he had the coldest, most ruthless eyes Marshall had ever seen.

  Marshall and Dr. Thomas spent the next two days either avoiding or misleading reporters who theorized where there were no facts, and made much of Mrs. Craig's coma and a photograph of Charlie Green. No amount of bribery or threat could procure one of Craig. The two French reporters visited the office of the Rose Line, and asked a lot of questions that reduced Miss Cross to tears and Sir Geoffrey to impotent fuming. When he threatened to call the police, they left. Because he was at peace again, and Miss Cross still wept, Sir Geoffrey didn't call the police after all. It was as well. The two Frenchmen were convinced of his innocence, and could see no reason why he should die.