‘I’m across the hall,’ she said. ‘Next floor down is a dining-room and library-room, and on the bottom is the kitchen and what they call a sitting-room. Upstairs over us is for servants, and that’s where Michael stays. This is Teodorescu’s room you’ve got.’
‘That’s what I want to ask about,’ Chris said. ‘Teodorescu. Is he in on this deal too?’
‘You mean the one between you and Mookerjee? Look, stupid, as far as Teodorescu and Joe Prendergast are concerned, I’m here to knock you off. Or to set you up so Michael can do it. And as far as you’re concerned, you don’t know a thing about it. That’s why you have to watch out what you say around that creepy Michael. He’s Teodorescu’s boy all the way, and from what I heard he is one real loony psychopath killer.’
It was hard to tell which was more chilling, Chris found: her information or her matter-of-fact way of delivering it.
‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘That’s great. Now would you mind telling me why we’re arranging to double-cross Teodorescu right here in his own house with his loony psychopath killer for company?’
‘Man, but you are the most,’ Baby said pityingly. ‘You think this is where I picked to stay? It was Teodorescu picked it for me when I landed here last night, just to make sure there wasn’t any double-cross. You don’t fool around with people like Teodorescu, Jack, not when you’re on their turf. That’s why we have to settle things and get those papers signed quick.’
‘How quick?’
‘Soon as we can duck off to this lawyer Mookerjee has lined up here and get it done legally. Tomorrow maybe, or the day after. I can’t stall Teodorescu much longer than that. It’s no use your trying to take off from here and hide out either. Teodorescu’s got a whole statement waiting for me to sign about how you killed Jack Zucker. He said to tell you so. And that if you disappear from here, that statement gets signed by me and goes right to the Scotland Yard cops. He means it. And he said to make sure you knew they extradite here for murder.’
‘Would you really sign anything like that?’ Chris said. ‘Would you really stand up in court and swear you saw me kill Zucker?’
‘Sure I would. With pleasure. I told you we’re playing for keeps. And for half a million bucks –’
More than ever, Chris had the feeling he was groping his way blindfolded through a maze infested by man-eaters.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘try to make sense. For one thing, the estate hasn’t even been awarded to my wife yet –’
‘You just leave that to Mookerjee.’
‘All right, let’s say I do. And let’s say I go through with this deal and agree to give half what he gets for me. Why should that change Teodorescu’s mind about knocking me off? He wouldn’t like me any better for double-crossing him.’
‘You leave that to Mookerjee, too.’
The edges of Baby’s sharp little teeth glinted behind her smile. It was a smile with a world of sinister meaning in it.
‘I see,’ Chris said. ‘That fifty per cent changes things right around. Then it’ll be Teodorescu who gets knocked off, not me. Is that what happened to Marty McClure? Somehow he got in Mookerjee’s way because of me?’
‘Him?’ Baby said with contempt. ‘He never had class enough to get in on a big thing like Teodorescu and Mookerjee and Prendergast were running. He was just a lousy moneylender with a mob of gorillas to collect the interest for him. It was Zucker’s boys put him away after he had Zucker knocked off for trying to take over his turf.’
Score one for Lieutenant Greenberger, Chris thought. He had been right all along about McClure and Zucker having it out in a gang war.
He said, ‘So I suppose Prendergast handled the stuff in the States by himself in the old days.’
‘Not by himself. With a couple of partners. The Wheeler brothers. The ones you met up with that night in Boston.’
‘Then you know about that?’
‘Not as much as you do,’ Baby said sardonically. ‘After all, Joe told us you were most likely right there when it happened. But Mookerjee had nothing to do with that.’
The Wheeler brothers, Chris thought, not Dr Degan and friend. Which made two dead already because of Clive Valentine’s poisonous estate.
‘I know Mookerjee had nothing to do with it,’ he said. ‘Not this time. The ones who gunned them down were some guys who have been following me all along. Now let’s have it. Why are they following me? And who the hell are they? Government agents?’
‘Kind of. Like it’s they’re on special duty where the government can say it don’t know anything about them. They’re nothing new. They’ve been on the job a long time, Mookerjee says. Most of the time they play it cool, but if they think somebody’s trying to put them down they can get real nasty. Anyhow, that’s how Mookerjee told it to me.’
‘Did he tell you why they’re following me?’
‘All he said about it was that from their angle you’re hot merchandise. The real supermarket special for today. And this is a big thing they’re trying to bust. Only it’s already been busted, but they don’t seem to let that bother them. Maybe they just want an excuse for staying on the payroll. They can’t have a better one than making out they’re still trying to bust the thing open.’
‘What thing? Teodorescu’s racket? The one that was making so much money a few years back?’
‘That’s right. And I mean it was really big, Jack. What the hell, there were nine different countries mixed up in it. Nine of them. Some Commie and some ours. And the stuff was going to people way up high in the government. If it ever got out how many bigshots were dealing in the stuff –’
‘What stuff?’
‘No.’ Baby shook her head firmly. ‘Mookerjee told me never to go shoot my mouth off about that. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter what stuff. The thing is they were doing business with the organization. That’s the killer as far as they were concerned. It could be any kind of stuff.’
Chris saw he had hit a dead end here.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘did Mookerjee also tell you how he expects to get rid of my wife, so we can go halfies on the estate? Or does he figure that if he lets Leon take care of her, it lets the rest of us off the hook?’
‘What hook?’ Baby said sullenly. ‘Your wife is Joe Prendergast’s business. He’s the one who lined her up for this, isn’t he?’
‘I see. When it comes to her you’ll let him do the dirty work, but we collect all the loot. You know, it’s a real education doing business with you people.’
‘You’ll earn while you learn, Monte, that’s all you have to keep your mind on.’ She put a finger to her lips at the sound of creaking stair treads. ‘Cool it. That’s Michael.’
It was Michael. He oozed into the room, hands in pockets, lips puckered in a silent whistle, and leaned back against the wall, surveying Baby with cool appraisal.
‘Satisfied?’ she said with contempt.
‘I’ve seen worse.’
‘You probably stick pins in them for laughs, don’t you? What’d you come up here for anyhow?’
‘Just called the hotel his bird’s supposed to be staying at. She’s there all right. Alice Sanders.’ He leered at Chris. ‘Mrs Alice Sanders. You want to watch out for that sort, chum. Husband always turns out to be some big ugly bloke looking to give the boy friend a mouthful of knuckle.’
‘That doesn’t worry me any,’ said Chris. ‘I’ll just let you take care of him.’
‘Think I can’t?’ Michael lazily drew away from the wall. His clenched fist came out of his pocket, and as Chris set himself on the balls of his feet there was a click and he found himself looking down at six inches of gleaming knife-blade levelled at his belly.
‘See?’ said Michael. ‘Seems like I can take care of you too, comes to that. Knuckles are a mug’s game, chum. You want to try yours against this shiv?’
A raging sense of helplessness gripped Chris. ‘Not right now, pretty boy. Maybe some other time.’
‘Any time, chum.’
�
�Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ Baby said freezingly to Michael. ‘Why don’t you stop showing off how tough you are? Nobody’s making any trouble here, are they? Put that thing away.’
‘Plenty of time for it. Turn out your pockets, chum,’ he said to Chris.
Chris stood rigid, looking down at the knife-blade, gauging his chances against it.
‘He means it,’ Baby told him warningly. ‘It’s all right. He just don’t want you to go around outside with your money and your passport on you. Don’t be a jerk about it.’
Chris was sure he had heard this wrong.
‘You mean it’s all right to go out of the house?’ he said.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Baby wearily. ‘How far can you get without your money or your passport? And you’re supposed to go in and out of the house like anybody else here. Except at night. Otherwise, whoever got it staked out might start wondering what happened to you and come in to find out.’
‘They’re smart,’ Michael said almost with pride. ‘Government issue out of M.I.5 and M.I.6 mostly, the sods. And we don’t want to gee ’em up too much, do we? So you just lay everything out on that bed, and we’ll see what’s what.’
Chris emptied his pockets on to the bed with a grim admiration for Teodorescu’s methods. If you knew your house guest was under police surveillance, you didn’t want to worry them by chaining him in the cellar. All you did was strip him of his money and credentials and let him wander where he wanted on that short tether until he had to return to you for bed and board. The lucky thing was that Teodorescu didn’t know who Alice Sanders was or that a lifesaver named Simon Warburton was near enough to be reached without money or passport. Otherwise, it would have been chains in the cellar for sure.
The pack of index cards on the bed intrigued Michael. He prodded the point of the knife into it.
‘What’s this, cocko?’
‘System I worked out for beating the baseball pools back home,’ Chris said. ‘Those are the teams and their ratings.’
He didn’t really expect to get away with this, but Michael took it at face value.
‘No system’s good for the pools,’ he said contemptuously. ‘Not ours, not your kind either. So you’ll be all the better for it if I take charge of that along with everything else. You can have the hanky. Then you won’t dirty your sleeve if your nose leaks.’
‘How about some pocket money at least? Suppose I want a pack of cigarettes or a bite to eat while I’m out?’
‘None of that!’ Michael’s hand, quick as a striking snake, covered a few coins on the bed as Chris reached for them. ‘Cigs are for the asking here, chum, and whatever you want to stuff away is in the kitchen.’ He jerked a thumb at Baby. ‘And where would you get a cook shaped like that outside of Hollywood?’
They breakfasted in the kitchen on Baby’s scorched toast and messily scrambled eggs, and when they were finished Chris nerved himself to put the question to the test. He rose and stretched.
‘Think I’ll go out and take a look at the scenery,’ he said, and had to keep himself from heading through the door at top speed when Michael responded equably, ‘You do that, chum. Pretty scenery roundabout. Not so pretty when you go any distance.’
‘You run a tight little boarding-house, don’t you? We have curfew around here, too?’
‘Same time as Cinderella, chum.’ Michael aimed a hard look at his guest. ‘And don’t be greedy about your bloody constitutionals, see, because when you’re out, the duchess stays in. So you want to give her a chance to go pick posies too. Meaning turn and turn about, so someone’s always here to keep me company.’
‘Or else?’ said Chris.
Michael nodded in admiration.
‘You couldn’t have put it neater, chum,’ he said. ‘Or else.’
3
Outside the house, Chris took his time getting his bearings. It was hard on the nerves, idling there, hands in pockets, pretending to savour the damp, overcast London morning and the smell of the Thames wafting through it, but, he warned himself, any sign of impatience could be fatal. If Michael were keeping an eye on him through the window, it could suggest, not only that he had a purposeful plan, but that he had a schedule for it as well.
After allowing what he estimated to be more than enough time to allay even Michael’s suspicions, he hobbled towards the river and learned first-hand that London motorists, unlike the Miami breed, are sometimes willing to take a chance on a hitchhiker. One of the first drivers he hailed, a stout, cheerful citizen, risked life, limb, and car to pull over in the traffic of Grosvenor Road and give him a lift as far as Westminster Bridge, along with a detailed explanation of what and where the Middle Temple was, and he was picked up soon after at the bridge entrance by a staid clergyman who drove with a blood-curdling innocence of traffic regulations and dropped him off on the Victoria Embankment directly before the entrance to Middle Temple Lane.
The clock seemed to have stopped two hundred years ago in the Temple area. The Georgian buildings, the silent, untrafficked streets, the sober-faced passers-by in wig and gown, and. invariably with their hands clasped behind their backs, who in the ripest Oxbridge accents apologetically told him that yes, they did know of Mr Warburton but not of the whereabouts of his chambers – everything was out of the gracious past. The lawns gave him a real pang. The flawless, misty-green British lawns which brought back the recollection of the first time he had walked out on that kind of carpet at Wimbledon. Unbelievable, the texture of it, the way it took the ball. The only trouble with Wimbledon was that it spoiled you for even the kind of turf you found at Forest Hills or Germantown.
The temptation was too much to resist. He stiffly bent down and pressed a hand against the grass. Feathery when you rested your hand on it, strangely resistant when you pressed down the least bit harder.
‘A little low, the bounce,’ Frenchy had said the first time. ‘But true. Always true.’
Always true. Not like that one rotten lousy treacherous little tendon –
‘Mr Monte?’
The bitter past suddenly became the menacing present. Chris stood up poised, but the man looked harmless. A small, plump man in stock and gown, but without wig. Wispy white hair fluttering in the breeze. Still, you never knew.
‘Yes?’ Chris said.
‘You are the Christopher Monte who played tennis, aren’t you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then this is such a privilege. My name is Cockrell, sir, and I must tell you that my wife and I were devoted followers of yours. Mrs Cockrell played tournament class herself in her youth. She once carried Suzanne Lenglen to three sets at Roland Garros. Harkness was her name then. I don’t suppose you’d have heard of it?’
‘No, I’m sorry.’
‘Well, well, it was ages ago, of course, and she never was top-seeded really. But if she could possibly meet you, if you happen to be free this evening –’
‘I’m afraid not. I’m here on business and don’t have much time to myself. But maybe you could help me out right now. I’m looking for a lawyer named Simon Warburton, but nobody I’ve asked so far seems to know where his office is. His chambers.’
Cockrell chuckled delightedly.
‘Then this is a happy meeting for both of us, because I do know.’ He pointed. ‘The building there is the one you want. A very reputable man, Warburton. Yes, indeed. But if you won’t have time for a dinner, would a small lunch in town with Mrs Cockrell and myself –?’
‘No, really,’ Chris said, edging away. This pudgy enthusiast coming up on him out of nowhere seemed a little too good to be true. M.I.5. and M.I.6., Michael had said. If the CIA went in for junior executive types, why shouldn’t its British counterparts go in for Cockrell’s persuasive type? ‘If you’ll just give your wife my regards –’
‘Better than that.’ Cockrell, digging beneath his gown, followed him as he retreated. He produced a pen and beat-up envelope. ‘I do hope it isn’t too much of an imposition, but would you mind autographing this
for her? She held you in absolute awe, and your accident – well, we were both truly stricken.’
Feeling stricken himself, Chris signed the envelope and watched the man go off, waving back a cheery farewell with it. The paranoia department, he thought. After a while, you began to think everyone was out to get you, and in the end you wound up in a padded cell. But if you made one little slip in judgement, took the wrong stranger at face value, you wound up dead. A sweet choice, all right.
Warburton’s office turned out to be not quite as much a relic of the past as its surroundings, but still suggested that it had accepted the Twentieth Century grudgingly. The anteroom, white-walled and with naked, hardwood floors, looked as if it had been furnished generations ago, the rumpled, elderly clerk at his desk and the middle-aged secretary at her typewriter suited the furnishings, and only the typewriter, streamlined and electric, seemed out of key with them.
Beth was seated on the edge of a straight-backed chair, giving the impression, Chris saw at first glance, of a runner with his feet braced in the starting blocks waiting for the gun to go off. At second glance, he noted that she had changed her outfit to something which must have been about as sedate as she had with her, but, while she wasn’t quite as psychedelic as at their parting, she still looked far from sedate. In fact, he saw with approval, she was one hell of a looking girl in her own way, and, fresh from Baby’s overwhelming presence, he had as good a standard of comparison for that as any man could ask.
She bounced out of the chair when she saw him in the doorway, and then, as if suddenly aware of the surroundings, approached him with dignity and gave him a gracious, housewifely peck on the cheek.
‘This is my husband,’ she told the clerk who had been taking in the scene with smiling interest. ‘And this,’ she said to Chris, ‘is Mr Blackburn. He says Mr Warburton should be here soon.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Blackburn. If there were any doubt that his flawless, gleamingly white teeth were false, it was settled at once by the way they clicked when he spoke. ‘Quite soon. If I may get you a chair, sir –’
The Valentine Estate Page 19
