Live, Love, and Cry

by George B Mair

  Once again Grant shook his head. ‘I saw some today. About a teaspoonful. But what happened to it is anyone’s guess. Though I understand that it came from Edinburgh.’

  ‘From the laboratory where he works?’

  ‘Probably.’ Grant’s manner was impatient. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  Zero carefully raised his long-barrelled gun and shot Deirdre through the fleshy part of her thigh. The girl’s scream was muffled by the handkerchief, but Grant saw her go suddenly pale and she fainted. A stream of blood was trickling to the floor as Zero stared once more coldly at Grant. ‘A surface scratch to show that you mustn’t be difficult. Once again, where did it come from?’

  Grant’s mouth was parched, and he guessed that Zero had really meant what he said when he hinted that he was looking for an excuse to justify bumping him off. ‘So far as I know,’ he said thickly, ‘his records are divided between this house and the university laboratories. So any PENTER 15 will either be here, at the labs or else with my own people. And more than that I can’t say.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’

  ‘Can’t.’

  ‘And finally, Doctor, does any other scientist know how this stuff is made?’

  Grant shook his head. ‘Carpenter was going to publish his results but when one of our people discovered this he told my department, because obviously we didn’t want it made available to——’

  ‘—to people like me,’ interrupted Zero. ‘I understand that very well. But I’m going to get it just the same, and I’m going to manufacture in quantity.’

  Deirdre Carpenter’s nightie was soaking with blood and a stream trickling along her thigh. But she showed more self-control than most men would have done and was watching with steady eyes which made Grant wonder. ‘Aren’t you even going to bandage her?’ he asked coldly.

  Zero shook his head. ‘No point in getting side-tracked, and the girl is not bleeding to death. However, she can be released and allowed to dab it clean herself, since I guess she’s more or less out of circulation.’ He nodded towards Tony and paused as the younger man snapped open the handcuffs and loosened the belt which anchored her to the chair. ‘And now,’ he continued, ‘I have done my bit. If you want to help her tell me where to find Carpenter’s records and some of this new drug.’ He slowly lifted his gun. ‘Or would you rather have one through the navel?’

  Grant subconsciously braced himself for death and then relaxed as Zero unexpectedly smiled. ‘I must be getting old. The man must be in this house. So we might as well remove him to safety and work at leisure.’

  The silence was oppressive: a grandfather clock ticking heavily in one corner and the swift fine tick of a French timepiece buzzing impatiently above the fire. Tony had left the room but returned seconds later with two middle-aged men masked in black silk. Like Raffles, thought Grant sourly.

  ‘Try the ground-floor bedrooms first,’ said Zero easily. ‘The Professor was unconscious, so it’s unlikely that anyone carried him upstairs. And keep my car round at the back of the house when you carry him outside. Preferably in the shade of that golden weeping willow near the conservatory.’ He eased himself gently in his chair. ‘A lovely tree, if I may say so, Miss Carpenter. And probably as old as the house.’

  But Grant saw that he was watching them like a hawk and that the gun in his hand was still cocked for action. The man was most dangerous when he was seemingly most relaxed. The silence had become more oppressive than ever and not even the rest of the gang made a noise as they padded through the room carrying Carpenter on a makeshift stretcher formed from a leaf of an expanding table.

  Zero sighed contentedly. ‘A very good haul, Doctor. But still leaving the problem of yourself. What, I wonder, would be the best way of destroying you?’

  Tony sidled nearer to the girl and Grant saw his knuckles clench over the butt of his Biretta while Zero stroked his chin. ‘Better elsewhere,’ he said at last. ‘A double suicide, I think. And preferably on the railway line. Dramatic—and effective. Or the gas oven? More homely and less spectacular. Possibly also more familiar to the police in this part of the world. Any suggestions, Tony?’

  ‘Make it simple, sir.’

  The words sounded deadly and Grant again stiffened as Zero lifted his pistol. In the same second the parlour door was flung wide open and a rich Scottish accent rocked everyone in the room. ‘What’s goin’ on here? What d’ye think you’re up to?’

  Grant marked the blue uniform and dived sideways as Zero pulled the trigger, swung smoothly round and in the same split second shot the policeman through the forehead. The two men moved with the speed of striking cobras as Tony dropped a second constable just inside the door before leaping towards Zero in the same instant that Grant did a flying tackle across the room and grasped him round the legs. The man’s gun fell when Grant grabbed blindly at his crutch and screwed viciously at the soft flesh beneath.

  He heard a scream of pain and felt him sag forward before Tony’s winkle-picker Chelsea boot kicked him on the side of the temple and the room blinded with flashing lights. One part of him saw Tony grab Zero by the arm and almost literally heave him out of the place as Deirdre Carpenter lifted a bronze paper-weight and flung it like a discus in a viciously arching curve towards Zero’s back.

  ‘Get out,’ snarled Tony, half lifting Zero through the door as Grant staggered to his feet and limped towards the hall. The Biretta barked blindly towards him as Tony threw two more shots over his shoulder and then reached the front door. Grant had a glimpse of the police patrol car outside and then the door slammed behind the two men as they quickened their steps and lurched into the semi-darkness.

  The whole thing must have taken less than fifteen seconds. But two policemen lay dead behind him, and Deirdre Carpenter was sobbing quietly with reaction as he turned back to the parlour and lifted a phone.

  Chapter Seven – ‘These people are likely to be extremely sensitive.’

  The line to Perthshire was dead. And Grant remembered that the Admiral had said something about returning with Professor Juin to Paris.

  But a dial system had been installed over most of Scotland a few months earlier and he thanked God that he could get straight through to unusual numbers with minimal risk of lines being crossed or curious telephonists listening in. The Prime Minister’s Westmorland address had an unusual sequence of figures and somehow or other he had remembered it.

  ‘Yes?’

  The voice at the other end sounded sleepy. ‘Give me the Prime Minister.’ Grant was taut with impatience.

  ‘Who is speaking?’

  ‘Listen,’ said Grant quietly, ‘I’m sorry if I seem rude but this is urgent. And personal. Be so good as to give me the Premier.’

  ‘Well, I am on his staff and the P.M. is asleep. Who are you?’

  ‘That,’ said Grant viciously, ‘is absolutely none of your business but if you want to keep out of trouble you will waken him and say that there is an extremely urgent call from someone he worked with this afternoon. And more than that I can’t say. So get cracking.’

  The voice sounded peevish. ‘I don’t like your manner, sir, and the P.M. takes a dim view of things which don’t go through the proper channels.’

  ‘Then tell him that this thing has never been on the proper channels since morning and he’ll know what I mean. But put him on the line. Pronto.’

  He heard the phone hit wood and turned to Deirdre Carpenter. ‘Take it easy. We’ll fix you up in minutes. Tear a strip off your nightie and bandage it up until we can do it properly. And then make coffee,’ he added. ‘We both need it. Hello.’ He turned to the phone. ‘Sorry to get you up, sir, but the Admiral isn’t contactable. And we need top intervention to stop or delay a major scandal. Professor Carpenter has just been kidnapped from his Edinburgh home by the man you said couldn’t exist. And two policemen who arrived at a really critical moment have been shot dead. Miss Carpenter has also been shot through the thigh but isn’t badly hurt. And finally it is just about certain that Ca
rpenter will be made to talk unless we can get hold of him in the very immediate future.’

  The voice on the phone was unexpectedly quiet. ‘And what do you want me to do? What scandal can be averted?’

  ‘Get the Secretary of State up here and the Home Secretary down south to fix breakfast with the top news tycoons and persuade them to play the story down. Even so, it’ll still hit the headlines. But if they give it back-page treatment and play it cool public memory can often be short. We don’t want anyone giving Carpenter’s work any sort of publicity. And it would be better if there was no mention of the fact that he’s disappeared. Indeed, just about the only break we’ve got is that the House isn’t in session. If it was, question time would be a nightmare,’ he added as an afterthought.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes, sir. If you don’t mind phoning the Chief Constable and tipping him off to send men who can handle this thing tactfully.’

  ‘But how did the police get involved at all?’

  Grant shrugged his shoulders. More than anything else the same problem had been bothering him. ‘Couldn’t say, sir. But they arrived in the nick of time from my angle.’

  ‘And you can’t say why?’

  ‘No. Thing’s a mystery.’

  ‘Listen.’ Deirdre Carpenter was standing by his side and her eyes were alight with excitement. ‘I can tell you what brought the police.’

  ‘Then take the phone and tell the Prime Minister,’ said Grant.

  The girl was still nervous and her fingers trembled as she lifted the instrument. ‘Are you really the Prime Minister?’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ snapped Grant. ‘Of course he is. Cut out the padding and keep to facts. How did the police get here. And tell it fast.’

  The girl flushed but did as she was told. Her father had visited the Scottish Industries Exhibition and been taken by a new style ‘Land Burglar Alarm’. The thing worked with some sort of beam which made a hedge round any house and if anyone broke the ray an alarm went off elsewhere. In their case at the local police station. The family had thought that the Professor was being melodramatic and even teased him about who would want to steal his stuffy old medical things. But he had been dead serious and it was impossible for anyone to enter the place without alarms being given if the machine had been put into operation. She hadn’t bothered to think about it, even although she was sleeping alone. Not until Grant came and then she had switched it on while he was drinking coffee. Which meant that the beam barriers had been thrown into action shortly before Zero arrived and after that it was simply a matter of time till the police checked up. Which was also why she hadn’t been too worried at first. She wondered how people didn’t know about the Land Alarm. It had been given a spot by Mary Marquess on the 6.10 television programme. Everyone must have seen it. But she had never expected it would work so well.

  ‘O.K.,’ said Grant, interrupting. ‘That’s it, sir. The girl played the ace, after all. But it cost two policemen their lives. And the local station should be here any minute if you don’t fix things with the Chief Constable and get real smart action.’

  His face darkened. ‘No, sir. I couldn’t do anything to stop it. And I don’t like living with bodies even although that makes three in twenty-four hours.’ He listened impatiently. ‘Yes, sir. I am doing my best. And naturally I’ll move everything to get Carpenter back. And if the police or anyone else can help then that will be just fine.’

  The phone crackled rapidly for another two minutes and then Grant hung up. The Premier had gone up in smoke at the end. There had been gross incompetence somewhere. Why had anyone been allowed to get on to Carpenter’s tail? Why had Grant not protected his rear? And who was this man Zero, anyhow? What was his nationality? It was intolerable that mass murder could take place in Britain in this day and age. What did Grant think he was? An amateur or a professional? And could this girl Carpenter be relied upon to keep her mouth shut?

  ‘Well,’ said Grant quietly. ‘Can you?’

  The girl frowned. ‘Can I what?’

  ‘Can you keep your head and say the right things? You understand that more police are bound to arrive in a very short time. If the P.M. manages to contact the Chief Constable before local H.Q. gets restless all will be well enough. But otherwise you’ll be taken to the station and there’ll be a lot of questions asked. How good a liar could you be if it got down to brass tacks?’

  He had been probing her wound and bathing it with cold water. The girl was magnificent. A gorgeous very late teenager with a figure like a Greek goddess. Her limbs were still tanned from a trip to the sun and her ashen hair was dropping loosely over a freckled face rich in character. Her chin was firm and jaw strong. Her eyes were steady and she had begun to regain control over herself. Her nightie had been ripped along the bottom to expose a stretch of powerful thigh and the wound had stopped bleeding. As she leaned forward to cut the knot of a bandage he got a glimpse of tanned neck and chest running down to the pale skin of perfectly moulded heavy breasts set high and firm below her loose housecoat. Her fingers were long and sensitive, the nails almond-shaped and enamelled crimson. A wisp of downy hair dappled the angle of her cheeks and there was a small black spot beside the crop of freckles around her nose.

  She forced a smile. ‘You really did do that as though you were a doctor, and I suppose you must be respectable if you know the Prime Minister. But,’ she shivered slightly and pointed to the two policemen, ‘I feel sick. Can’t we sit somewhere else?’

  Grant eased her to her feet. Perhaps it would be better if they sat in the kitchen. And nothing could be disturbed until the detectives arrived. He decided to play everything very pianissimo. Zero would be miles away by now and success would depend on getting as many leads as possible. Instinct told him he couldn’t lose if he brought Deirdre fully into the picture and told her the story.

  The kettle was still warm and a jar of Nescafé lay on a shelf. It was no time for fussing or settling for a percolator. ‘Hot, sweet and strong it is,’ he smiled. ‘And if you listen I’ll tell you why you’re going to have to keep as much of this as possible secret.’

  The girl was quick on the uptake, interrupting only once and wasting no time recapping. ‘But you’re wrong about a few things,’ she said slowly. ‘My parents don’t get on at all, and Mother couldn’t care less what Dad does. She’s off on holiday to London for a few days. Their marriage died years ago, but they don’t seem to want a divorce so we still share the same house.’

  ‘Why did it go phut?’ asked Grant. ‘And if it did why didn’t they face facts?’

  The girl was serious. ‘Other women,’ she said briefly. ‘My father has a lot of personality and they fall for him. But he’s at a dangerous age and likes it, which means trouble, and I think he’s got a steady girl friend somewhere.’

  ‘Prestwick?’ asked Grant softly.

  The girl looked surprised. ‘What do you know about that?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Carol Anne.’

  ‘The girl who was his secretary here?’

  Her jaw tightened. ‘You’re pumping me. And I should be pumping you. These are family matters.’

  Family matters! Grant smiled sarcastically. Before long they would be streaming headlines and public property. But first things first. Though he wouldn’t forget Carol Anne. The police would arrive at any minute and their story would have to be ‘pat’. No mention of the Professor or his kidnapping. The whole thing had been simple burglary complicated by the Land Alarm being switched on. But that was natural for a girl living alone and Grant was an old friend of the family who had arrived late from the south after a breakdown en route. There would be tyre marks of his car on a roadside layby to prove it and they had been having late supper when the burglars arrived. Only the Chief Constable and the Secretary of State would get the whole story: and then only in private.

  ‘But who are you?’ The girl’s colour was improving and she seemed almost normal. ‘Is that story about being a sc
ientist in Paris true or were you lying to me as well?’

  Grant eyed her carefully. He hadn’t liked that crack about ‘as well’. ‘I haven’t lied much to anyone, but my job needs a lot of camouflage. I work for a professional intelligence agency with headquarters in Paris. It is tied up with British Security and so I have contacts with some top politicians. But my work is on an international level and it happens that your father has discovered something deadly. His birth-control thing could be frightful if used by the wrong people.’

  She changed the subject. Her leg had begun to throb again and if the police didn’t arrive soon she was going to phone for a doctor.

  ‘But I am a doctor,’ said Grant quietly, ‘and your wound is a through and through. The bullet went into floorboards and the cops will dig it out. All you need is a shot of tetanus serum and some penicillin. That and a few days’ rest should see you back to normal.’

  ‘With a scar which will remind me of this every time I pull up my stockings.’

  ‘The hell with that line of talk,’ snapped Grant. ‘Forget it.’ But there was an unexpected glint in her eyes which hinted at trouble. He guessed that she was having some sort of reaction, and hysterical women were the last thing he wanted around when the police arrived.

  She began to giggle. ‘Forget two dead policemen and what may have happened to my father! Forget that awful man who shot at me or that smarmy-looking Rocker type who kicked you on the head.’ Her shoulders were heaving helplessly.

  ‘Cut out that nonsense.’ Her panic was becoming infectious. It would have been just like Zero to play a double bluff and go into hiding in the garden to see what happened. Or to take a shot at them through the window. He shivered in spite of himself. The cops were taking one helluva long time coming and he couldn’t move till they did. He forced himself to be gentle. ‘Have a cigarette and tell me about Carol Anne? Everything you know about her. It’ll help to pass the time, and believe me, Deirdre, it’s going to be important.’