Forever and a Death

by Donald E. Westlake

  He had access to almost the entire house—he stayed away from what was clearly the Farrellys’ quarters, and they kept the downstairs office locked when they weren’t in it—and he was permitted to roam the nearby countryside as well. At times, he sat and watched television, without absorbing any of it, or he leafed through books in the library without taking in the words. And every minute was interminable.

  His room wasn’t locked at night, and the servants treated him as though he were an ordinary houseguest. But the vehicles in the garage had had their ignition keys removed, and whenever he went for a walk he was aware of Steve or Raf, some distance away, keeping an eye on him. And, worst of all, there were no telephones.

  It had to be deliberate. There wasn’t a telephone to be seen, not even in the kitchen, though there were phone outlets here and there, and it seemed to Manville he remembered a telephone on a particular end table in the living room when he’d had his first surreal conversation with Curtis.

  So Curtis didn’t want him making contact with the outside world, which wasn’t a surprise. But he needed to. He needed to know when the time was right to get out of here, and more than that, he needed to try to reach Kim.

  He’d had no contact with Kim since he’d gone to see the lawyer, Brevizin. She’d escaped from Curtis’s men then, but was she safe now? Had she managed to contact her friends at Planetwatch?

  Also, she probably knew by now that Curtis had taken back his charges against Manville, which would have to look as though Manville had despite everything gone back to work for Curtis, had become her enemy again. He wanted her to know that wasn’t true.

  But how could he reach her, how could he reach anybody in the outer world, without a telephone? Kennison was a huge sprawling estate in the middle of nowhere. The nearest neighbor, supposedly, was more than fifty miles away.

  The frustration was grinding him down. What if he just gave up this whole plan? He was faking agreement with Curtis, going along with him as though their differences were settled, only to find out what the man was up to; but what if he stopped? What if he managed to escape, though he didn’t yet see how he could do that, and made his way back to Brisbane? Found Kim, went with her to the lawyer, then went to the police? What would Curtis do then?

  Three things, that Manville could think of. He would bury Manville and Kim under a horde of lawyers. He would turn Pallifer and the others loose again, to hunt Manville and Kim down and rid himself of them forever. And he would go on with his plan, whatever it was, with no one left to stop him.

  Sunday afternoon. Manville roamed the house. In the game room, trying to distract himself, he shot a little pool, and found he had to resist the urge to smash something with the cuestick. On a side wall in here stood a glass-doored gun rack; it was unlocked, and it was empty.

  No more pool. He roamed again, and came to the door of the office, which was shut and locked, the Farrellys being away in their own quarters or somewhere else on the grounds. Beyond this door would be telephones, and guns, and keys to the various cars. He touched the knob, waggled it. Tonight, could he manage to break in here?

  “Oh, sir, please be careful.”

  He turned, and it was the woman who’d brought him the change of clothes his first night. He said, “Yes?”

  She came toward him down the hall, smiling in a friendly way, but looking concerned. “You must be careful with that door,” she said. “There’s a very loud alarm, when it’s locked. If you break the circuit, it would be terribly embarrassing.”

  Manville took his hand away from the knob. “Embarrassing,” he said. “Yes, I suppose it would.”

  18

  It was becoming a joke, but not one Curtis appreciated. Every time he tried to get to Singapore, it seemed, he wound up back in this same penthouse suite in the Heritage in Brisbane. This time, he was waiting to be interviewed by some local policeman named Fairchild, and the subject, stupidly enough, was Captain Zhang.

  Killed himself. The man killed himself. Why in God’s name did he have to go and do that? And at this time of all times, when the last thing Richard Curtis wanted was official attention. What he planned to do was going to be very loud and very obvious and very destructive, and half the police officers in the world would be looking for the person who’d put it together. Curtis intended to keep himself well in the clear, before, during and after. He wanted not the slightest suspicion pointed in his direction. He was a businessman, he had a solid reputation, he was already rich; who would look at Richard Curtis?

  Unfortunately, there were now two people who could cause the police to at least glance in the direction of Richard Curtis. They didn’t know enough to stop him ahead of time, but they could certainly finger him afterward, and Curtis had no desire to be a man in hiding the rest of his life. So those two people had to be dealt with, and then no one else could be permitted to learn anything at all about what was to come.

  But at least he had a plan. Pallifer would get rid of the girl in the next couple of days, and Manville would remain on ice at Kennison, to be useful if necessary during the operation, and to be dispatched immediately after. So the situation was tricky, but it could be handled. It would be handled.

  And now, in the middle of it, damn Zhang has to kill himself! The police would want to know why, of course, and Curtis would have no explanation, nothing but baffled sorrow and sympathy. Zhang had been a good employee, Curtis had had no idea anything was wrong; maybe at home? Without answers, the police would keep asking questions, but Curtis knew better than to make something up. Remain baffled, and wait for it to blow over.

  Would Zhang have confided in anybody else on the crew?

  It seemed unlikely, but just to be on the safe side, tomorrow morning every man of them would leave Australia. Curtis would lease another ship, hire a captain, man the new ship with the old crew, and send it any damn place; Singapore, why not?

  “Probably get there before I do,” he muttered, glowering at the Botanical Gardens down below, and the doorbell softly ding-donged.

  Three o’clock exactly. Police Inspector Fairchild was a prompt man, apparently. Let him be impatient, too, Curtis thought, as he crossed to the door, let him not give a single shit about some dead Chinaman.

  On the phone, Inspector Tony Fairchild had sounded like an older man, gruff-voiced, perhaps pedantic. In person, though, he was something else, more impressive and, if you were the kind to be intimidated, intimidating. He was considerably taller than Curtis, big-boned with very little body fat, and with large big-knuckled hands. He had a hawk head, topped by a stiff brush of gray hair, and he had turned what must be a habitual squint into something that looked more like a disapproving frown. “Mr. Curtis,” he said.

  “Come in, Inspector. You’re prompt.”

  “I thought you’d appreciate that, being a businessman,” Fairchild said, as they shook hands. “Time is money, isn’t that it?”

  “That is certainly it,” Curtis agreed. “Come sit over here.”

  As they crossed to the sofas, Fairchild looked around in approval, saying, “The last time I was in here, it was to pick up a pair of stock swindlers. Lived high, they did, for a while. These days, to them, I’m afraid, time is only a sentence.”

  They sat, and from his various pockets Fairchild took a notebook, a pen, and a pair of tiny granny glasses. “Captain Zhang Yung-tsien,” he said.

  Curtis sighed, and shook his head. “Poor Captain Zhang. I am absolutely astounded.”

  “No hint this was coming?”

  “None. Well, in truth, I don’t know the man—I mean, I didn’t know the man that well.”

  “Only as an employee.”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “Three years.”

  “You get to know a man in three years, don’t you, Mr. Curtis?”

  “If you’re around him all the time,” Curtis said. “The Mallory is a luxury, Inspector, that I justify by having business meetings on it. I had one last week. Before that,
it was probably four months since I’d been on the ship. In three years, I suppose I’ve been around Captain Zhang for a total of less than two months.”

  “What does he do— There you are, I’m doing it, too. What did he do with himself the rest of the time?”

  “Yachts are not fast,” Curtis said. “If I want him in San Francisco, let us say, two weeks from today, he should leave Brisbane by Wednesday at the latest. Most of the time, Captain Zhang was moving the Mallory toward where I wanted it next, without me being aboard.”

  “And when you were aboard, it was usually business.”

  “Always,” Curtis said. “I have a station out beyond the Darling Downs, that’s where I go to rest, when I can. That’s where I was when the word came about Captain Zhang.”

  “You’d gone there from the ship.”

  “Yes.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” Fairchild said, peering at Curtis over the top of his little glasses, “this most recent time, what business were you doing on the ship?”

  “We’re planning a new destination resort,” Curtis told him, “on an island out by the reef. I have partners, and we were looking at the first stage of construction.”

  Fairchild had opened his notebook to a page covered with cramped little writing. He gazed through his glasses at it, then over them at Curtis again, and said, “This work was in the charge of an engineer named Manville?”

  “George Manville, yes,” Curtis said, and laughed. “You’ve probably seen our names together in the news, just yesterday.”

  “Yes, I did,” Fairchild agreed. “First, he’d stolen secrets from you, and second he hadn’t.”

  “It’s a long story,” Curtis said. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with Captain Zhang.”

  “Still,” Fairchild said. “I’m the tidy type, I like to roll all the pieces of string onto the same ball.”

  “Someone had stolen privileged information from me,” Curtis said. “It looked as though it must have been Manville. Angry, I made too hasty an accusation. Robert Bendix is a competitor of mine, who either did or did not pay for these documents. At first, he wouldn’t say anything, which is why I thought Manville must be guilty, but it was merely that Bendix didn’t want to have to point to the actual thief. Bendix and I know each other, we’re friendly rivals, so eventually we spoke on the phone and he cleared Manville’s name, and I was happy he had. George and I have always gotten along very well.”

  “And where is Mr. Manville now?”

  “On his way to Singapore,” Curtis said. “Which is where I’m supposed to be right now, myself. My main office is there.”

  “So if I wanted to talk to Mr. Manville,” Fairchild said, “I’d have to go through your Singapore office.”

  “That would be simplest,” Curtis agreed. “But what do you want with George? He knew Captain Zhang even less than I did.”

  “Still, he might have some ideas.” Fairchild frowned at his notes again. “I believe there was a young woman guest on your ship as well,” he said. “One Kimberly Baldur.”

  Curtis didn’t like this. The conversation had been ranging too far from Captain Zhang almost since they’d sat down together. And now Kim Baldur. What is this police inspector up to?

  The girl has gone to the police. That has to be the answer. She told who knows what story, and at the same time Curtis and Manville are in public with accusations and then retractions, and to top it all Captain Zhang has to commit suicide. Naturally this inspector is intrigued; what’s going on here?

  All right, he’s talked with Kim Baldur. What does she know? Nothing that matters, not if this police inspector can be dealt with here and now. Tread carefully, and all will be all right.

  Curtis chuckled. “Kimberly Baldur. Kim. Yes. Not exactly a guest.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  Curtis did, from the explosions on Kanowit Island to her unconscious in a cabin when he and his business partners helicoptered back to Townsville. And through it all, Fairchild took no notes; meaning he already knew all this.

  At the end, Fairchild said, “What happened to Kimberly Baldur next?”

  “I have no idea,” Curtis said. “I haven’t been interested enough to ask. I assume she got off the ship here in Brisbane.”

  “Well, no,” Fairchild said. “She had no passport or other identification, as I understand it, but there’s no record of her arrival at Immigration, and there would be.”

  Curtis did his own angry frown. “Just a second,” he said. “The reason Mallory’s still here is because she lost a lifeboat. I was told it was just an error, carelessness when the boats were brought back aboard at Kanowit. Does Kim Baldur have something to do with that boat?”

  “Ms. Baldur says,” Fairchild answered, admitting his knowledge at last, “that people boarded the ship out by Moreton, intending to do her harm, and she and George Manville escaped.”

  Curtis displayed astonishment. “Pirates? This close to Brisbane? I’ve never— There are things like that hundreds of miles from here, but not in these waters.”

  “It is her belief,” Fairchild said, “that you sent those people.”

  “Me? Good God!”

  “She believes you wanted her dead,” Fairchild went on, “to help you deal with your problems with Planetwatch.”

  “This is a very crazy and very paranoid young lady,” Curtis said. “Inspector, I have lawyers to deal with the groups like Planetwatch, and they do it very well. The situation is, the environmentalists are on one side, and the developers are on the other, and we both lobby government, and compromises are worked out, so that business can go on and the planet is once again saved. That’s the way it works. We’re businessmen, we don’t kill people. Inspector, I do not know of one businessman in the world who ever murdered an environmentalist. The idea is absurd.”

  By now, Fairchild was smiling. “I suppose it is,” he said. “Put it that way, and I do see what you mean. And if it weren’t for Captain Zhang’s suicide, I would be most inclined to think of Ms. Baldur as a young woman with far too much imagination. But here we have it. Captain Zhang. Why did he kill himself? You profess not to know. Would you like to hear Ms. Baldur’s theory?”

  “I’d love to,” Curtis said, “though I have the feeling I should be eating popcorn while listening to it.”

  Fairchild acknowledged that with the thinnest of smiles, and said, “She is convinced you wanted her dead, in order to tie up Planetwatch in the courts. She believes you wanted Captain Zhang to do the job, but that when he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, you arranged to have men intercept the ship, and ordered Captain Zhang to slow down to help the villains get there. She believes Captain Zhang was a basically good man who grew despondent at the things you’d asked him to do, and who grew afraid there would be too many questions directed at him. When Ms. Baldur’s parents tried to talk to him, he pretended not to speak English. None of us can understand why he’d do that, unless he had some guilty knowledge.”

  Curtis sat back in the sofa, “Inspector,” he said, “you may be right. I’d never even suspected the man.”

  Fairchild raised an eyebrow. “Of what?”

  “I assume it’s some sort of smuggling,” Curtis said. “As I say, I’m rarely on the Mallory. Captain Zhang had the ship to himself most of the time. He could have been smuggling who knows what—dope? jewels? even people, for all we know—for years.”

  Fairchild now was taking notes, and his expression was intense, brow furrowed. He said, “So you’re saying, these people who came aboard—”

  “They weren’t from me,” Curtis told him. “I’ll say that flat out, that’s not the sort of thing I do. So if there were these people, and if Captain Zhang slowed for them, then they must have had something to do with him. And here was an unwanted witness, Kim Baldur, so naturally they tried to kill her. But she escaped, and Captain Zhang realized the truth would come out. No wonder he pretended he couldn’t speak English. And then he saw there was no way out. Or just the one way out
.”

  Fairchild flipped back and forth between new notes and old. “Ms. Baldur says she left the ship with George Manville.”

  “Well, I don’t know why she’d say that. Unless— Inspector, when did she say that about George Manville? Was it after I’d accused him, but before I admitted I was wrong?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Fairchild said, “yes.”

  “Then there you are,” Curtis said. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The woman had no proof, no corroboration. In her fantasy, she thought Manville would agree to her story, to get back at me.”

  “After you accused Mr. Manville,” Fairchild said, “did he, do you know, consult a lawyer locally, named Brevizin?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Curtis said. “I’m sure he consulted someone, but I don’t know who.”

  “I’m wondering what he might have said to Mr. Brevizin.”

  “Inspector,” Curtis said, “let me end this. Tomorrow I’ll arrange for George Manville to phone you from Singapore.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Fairchild said.

  “Believe me,” Curtis told him, “if George had been involved in piracy and hugger-mugger on the Mallory, he would have mentioned it. He’s not one to keep a good story to himself.”

  Fairchild laughed, and put away his notebook. “I’m sure you’re right.” Standing, he said, “I appreciate your time, Mr. Curtis.”

  He’s converted, Curtis thought. All he has to do is hear from Manville tomorrow, and the new story is in place: Zhang was a smuggler, it was his associates who attacked Kim Baldur, and however she got off the ship it wasn’t with Manville. A dead smuggler and a disbelieved fantasist, and I can get on with my work.

  Also getting to his feet, Curtis said, “Inspector, I meant to send a note and a check to Captain Zhang’s wife. I’m sorry it turned out he was betraying me, using my ship that way, but I’ll still send the note and the check.”

  “Very good of you, Mr. Curtis,” Fairchild said.