by John Creasey
She didn’t say anything to help him.
The food was very good indeed.
She took coffee but not a liqueur. Mark had brandy in a big glass, and a cigar. As the time approached for talking he looked more and more ill-at-ease; and yet when he burst out with the subject, he took her completely by surprise.
“Gina,” he said, “I’m scared. Badly worried. You haven’t noticed anything, have you?”
She didn’t answer, just looked bewildered.
“Shouldn’t have blurted it at you like that,” Mark said, “but—well, it had to come out. And obviously you haven’t noticed a thing.”
She fumbled for a cigarette.
“I don’t understand, Mark.”
“Hell of a thing to have to say,” Mark muttered, and licked his lips. “At first I thought I was crazy, but now I’m pretty sure that I’m right. In fact, I’m quite sure, and the police have discovered it, too.”
Regina said: “Give me a light, Mark, and stop being mysterious.”
“Eh? Oh, alight, sorry!” A match scraped. His hand was steady as he held it out to her. “Hell of a situation. You know all about Betty Gelibrand, of course, the South London winner—poor kid.”
Regina felt as if a door had opened and a cold wind had blown in; that was partly due to Mark’s manner, partly due to vague thoughts that had been at the back of her own mind.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then there was Hilda Shaw. Hilda was one of the first winners. I must have mentioned her to you.”
Regina said stiffly: “Yes, I—I saw her photograph. You and Derek—”
She broke off.
“I know,” said Mark. “We were showing you what you’d have to compete with if you reached the final. Hell, you know almost as much as we do about the competition! First, there was Betty Gelibrand. Murdered. There was a big fuss in the papers, and a chap threw himself off the roof to stop himself being caught for her murder. Remember?”
“Of course.”
“I was reading in the Globe that the police believe he also murdered Hilda Shaw,” Mark went on, cupping his brandy glass and looking searchingly into Regina’s eyes. “Now I’ve come up against a third.”
Regina just felt as if the wind were getting colder, and that she would soon begin to shiver.
“Rose Alderson’s dead, too,” Mark said abruptly. “Her body was found in some bushes in the garden of a house in St. John’s Wood. That’s three of them. It was in the papers the day before yesterday, but the police were cagey, and her name didn’t appear. It’s in the evening papers tonight, though, with a photograph of Rose. Couldn’t be anyone else. That’s three winners dead.”
The shiver came to Regina.
“You—you see what I mean?” Mark muttered.
Regina had to say something, but didn’t know what to say that would make any sense. The thing which most worried her was the genuine fear in Mark’s eyes; as if he were frightened by some suspicions, some knowledge, something more than the simple facts.
“I think I see what you mean,” Regina made herself say. “Three of them—”
“It’s hell!” Mark burst out. “It’s as if we select a winner and point a finger at her, and then someone comes along and kills her. And now you’ve won—”
“Mark, don’t be silly, and keep your voice low!”
He gulped again. “Well, isn’t it all true?”
“I think you’re being slightly neurotic,” Regina said, very clearly and distinctly. “These girls often do lose their heads, success spoils them, and—”
“It’s no use trying to rationalise it,” Mark said. “I’ve done that for some time—now Rose Alderson’s gone, I’ve stopped. Someone’s setting out to kill our winners. God, it’s dreadful. And—the police are on to it.”
Regina made herself say, “Well, if it’s true, it’s time they were.”
He lifted the glass suddenly, drank some brandy, let the glass go down heavily on the table.
“Oh, I suppose you’re right, but I’ve got the jitters. I’ve been followed for the last twenty-four hours. So’s Derek. So have you. Two men from Scotland Yard were at Hammersmith last night. But the police haven’t said much to the firm, as far as I know, and they haven’t questioned anyone directly. They’re just snooping, and I don’t like it.”
“But if it’s the best way for them to find out what’s happening—”
“Listen,” said Mark, and gripped her wrists; she was surprised that his fingers were so hard and so cold. “That chap who threw himself off the church roof could have killed all of them. Rose’s body was lying in the bushes for over three weeks. But if the police thought he’d killed them, why would they be snooping around us? Whom do they suspect? Why follow you and me? I tell you I’m scared stiff, I just can’t take it. It wouldn’t be so bad if they’d come out in the open with questions, but this constant watching is getting me down. —”
Mark Osborn stopped abruptly.
Someone had just come in, and was approaching the table. He looked up, and saw Derek Talbot. Regina looked round swiftly, saw Derek, and felt a flame of alarm at the glitter in his eyes.
Chapter Ten
Drunk Derek
Derek was drunk. It showed in his unsteady poise, loose mouth, glittering eyes – bloodshot, angry eyes. He made straight for the table, pushing aside the olive-skinned head waiter. Two other waiters moved forward swiftly, but something in Derek’s manner kept them back.
“Please, m’sieur,” began the head waiter despairingly.
“Wish to say,” said Derek, abruptly.
He didn’t finish, but reached the table and stood staring down. He looked at Regina, not at Mark. Everyone else in the room stared at him, at least two men moved protectingly in front of their women.
“Derek, don’t make a scene here,” Regina pleaded quickly, quietly. “I can explain and—”
“Silence!” Derek raised a hand, like a traffic policeman stopping oncoming traffic. “Wish to say” – he belched ever so slightly, and moved his hand to pat his lips – “all women are deceivers ever. Old saw wrong way round. Don’t like being made fool of, don’t like being lied to, don’t like—”
He spun round and aimed a sweeping blow at Mark.
Regina followed the movement of his hand, saw Mark’s involuntary movement and his failure to dodge the blow, which caught him sharply on the right cheek. Someone cried out, and one of the waiters made an indeterminate movement forward. Regina felt that there wasn’t a thing she could do, knew that everyone was staring at her – and then saw Mark jump up. He moved in a single swift movement, jolting the table, knocking the ash-tray off. One of his fists buried itself in Derek’s stomach, the other flashed upward to his chin.
She actually saw Derek’s eyes roll before they closed, and he crumpled up.
“Sorry about this,” Mark said, and somehow managed to stop Derek from falling. “My friend’s not well,” he added to a waiter. “Come on, Gina.” He moved very quickly, sliding an arm round Derek’s waist, then placing Derek’s arm round his shoulder. “I’ll be in tomorrow,” he said to the waiter.
“Of course, sir, whenever you like.”
Regina picked up her wrap and mesh handbag, saw Mark’s cigarette case on the table and picked it up, then hurried after him. He was carrying Derek quite smoothly and easily, as if he were used to handling drunks. The head waiter reached the door and opened it.
The light fell on to the dingy street and on to a man who stood opposite.
He was big and brashly imposing. Regina had seen him at the Hammersmith competition the night before, and had felt an almost hypnotic influence of his brown eyes, hadn’t found it easy to look away.
He smiled at her, boldly.
Mark didn’t appear to notice him, but dragged Dere
k to the M.G. No other car was near.
“Have to squeeze him in the back,” he said. “Idiot’s as tight as a drum. Mind his legs.” Doing things like this, Mark was astonishingly practical and competent, and he needed no help. “Have to drop you first, then I’ll take him home,” he went on. “What was he burbling about, do you know?”
Regina didn’t answer.
Mark was already at the wheel.
“So you do,” he said. “Have a hell of a time between the two of us, don’t you?” She saw that he wasn’t smiling. They passed beneath a street lamp, and then turned a corner. A moment later, Mark went on, “We’re being followed, I thought someone was watching the restaurant. This is the thing that scares me—”
“You didn’t act scared when Derek came in!”
“First thing a man should do is know himself,” Mark said. He shot a glance at her, and in light from a shop window he saw that she was smiling. “Give me action and I’m as right as a trivet, I never could sit back and wait for anything. Next time I see that copper I shall probably punch him on the nose.”
“That wouldn’t help.”
“It would ease my feelings,” Mark said, with his gaze on the driving mirror again.
Regina wouldn’t let him get out of the car and open the door for her, but watched the dark shape moving off; and she saw a car pass the end of a street a moment later; so Mark and Derek were being followed.
She put her own car away in a nearby garage, came back, and inserted her key in the front door.
She pushed it open, slowly; and it creaked a little.
She held her breath …
Silent darkness greeted her; only the remembered sound of the creaking door was in her ears. Yet she could not force herself to go in. Terror clutched her. She stood with a hand on the door, holding so tightly that her fingers hurt, and she looked into the blackness.
Then she heard another creak.
She opened her mouth and a sound grated in her throat; she went icy cold from head to foot, and shivered.
A light went on.
“Is that you, dear?” called her mother.
Regina slept.
It had been a little after midnight when she had got into bed, almost recovered from the absurd terror which had no positive cause, only an accumulation of causes with Mark’s manner superimposed upon it. The one thing above all others which had bitten into her mind and heart was Mark’s almost neurotic thought: “It’s as if we select a winner and point a finger at her, and then someone comes along and kills her.”
She had felt the same kind of thing, almost as if someone had whispered it to her, before he had talked of it. The murder of Hilda Shaw had made her regretful, but she hadn’t known the girl well; or particularly liked her. Betty Gelibrand’s death had upset her badly. At that stage she had felt simply as if fate were against them; as if some evil influence, some voodoo, lay upon the girls who won the competitions. One could argue, reject such thoughts as crazy, set oneself firmly against them – and they would persist. Not until now, though, had she known about Rose Alderson. She’d met the girl twice. Rose had been a perkily pretty little thing; a girl to like.
Mark and Derek, between them, had affected Regina so much that she had been shivering with icy fear when her mother had called out. Unreasoning, illogical fears began to possess her, as they possessed Mark. Mark was obviously living on his nerves; and so was Derek. Derek chose to seize upon his love for her as the excuse, but it wasn’t the reason; it couldn’t be the only reason, anyhow.
Was he scared, too?
It was a long time before Regina slept. Her small bedroom was next to her mother’s, and at the back of the house. A window opened on to a little alley, which led from the back garden. On one side of the alley was the kitchen and the scullery. It was just large enough, pleasantly furnished, and – home.
So, she slept at last, without dreaming.
By four o’clock, dawn was rousing the birds for their brief song, the east promised a bright glow of another fine day. It was already warm. Regina lay with her back to the window, breathing evenly, one arm bare to the shoulder and over the bedspread. The light was good enough, now, for her dark hair to show on the pillow.
There was a sound outside, but it did not disturb her.
A man crept towards the window.
He reached it, and stood with his face pressed against it, as if trying to make sure whether she was in bed. From where he stood, he could see her. He moved his hands, and drew a scarf over his face, so that only his eyes were clear. His hat, a trilby, was pulled low over his forehead.
He lowered his hands to the window.
He could not get his ringers beneath it, so he withdrew his hands, and took a small screwdriver from his pocket. He levered the window up far enough to get his fingers beneath it, and then pushed.
The window made a little grating sound.
Regina stirred.
The man pushed the window further up, when she had stopped, and this time it did not appear to disturb her. There was no wind. Thick net curtain had moved up with the lower part of the window, and all he had to do was step over the sill and into the room.
He put one leg inside.
A moment later he stood by the side of Regina, looking down at her; and in the shadowy room he could just make out the shape outlined on the bed, and her arm, and her dark hair. He thrust his hands forward slowly, the gloved fingers crooked, and they moved towards her throat.
He bent down.
His hands were only a foot away from her; one swoop, and he could clutch her and choke the sound of fear away, squeeze until life went.
He crouched closer.
She breathed evenly, peacefully, her back still towards the window, the one arm bare and shapely against the green bedspread.
His fingers clutched at her throat.
She felt the sudden tightness, and woke on fire with a fear which seemed to scorch her heart, scorch her whole body. She was shaken by wild thumping, which smashed awfully against her breast. Then she realised that hands were choking her, that she couldn’t breathe. She struck at the arms, touched but could not dislodge them. She could see the glitter of a pair of eyes.
She could see death.
Then a sound came from the alley, short and sharp, footsteps followed it. The man who was choking her turned away swiftly, and his pressure relaxed. She saw him, crouching and facing the window – and she heard the footsteps and a man call out, “Who’s there?”
The man who had nearly choked her didn’t speak, but jerked himself upright and streaked towards the door. Regina screamed, but the sound was shrill and weak. The man from outside reached the window. She saw that as she twisted round in bed. Then he thrust a leg through and climbed in. He was big and massive; that was all she noticed, because she was so afraid.
The room door opened, her assailant slammed it behind him. He raced along the passage, and she could hear his footsteps clearly. The big man was in the room now.
“All safe,” he said, “don’t worry, stay there!”
He reached the door in two long strides, opened it, and rushed out. Then Regina heard a new sound, heard him swear, and heard the roar of a shot.
She couldn’t move.
“Ruddy swine,” roared her rescuer.
She heard him moving, didn’t know whether he was hurt. For the first time since she had woken, she felt that she could move. She pushed the bedclothes back and slid out of bed,, waiting breathlessly, expecting the sound of another shot. It didn’t come, but suddenly a door banged, and then a whistle shrilled out very loudly, up and down the street.
She reached the door.
A big man stood in the doorway with his back to her, and she thought that he was holding the whistle to his lips. It sounded again, ear-splitting, hateful. Then he turn
ed round, and looked at her.
He was the big man who had been at the Hammersmith Competition; and who had been outside the restaurant, smiling at her in that bold, possessive way.
Chapter Eleven
Turnbull Reports
Now there were sounds from upstairs and from the street; thumping on the floor above, voices in the house and Outside; and the engine of a car, roaring.
The big man looked Regina up and down. He made her realise that she was wearing a filmy nightdress, caught up at the waist, sleeveless, more pretty than serviceable. She fought against the curious power which he seemed to exert over her, and said in a thin voice: “Keep them quiet, they mustn’t frighten my mother. Please!” She turned to her mother’s door, and listened intently. She heard nothing.
A door leading from the flat above opened, the man began to talk in a quiet, commanding voice. Another man spoke from the front door, the night was full of voices.
Regina peered into the bedroom.
She could just make out the limp figure on the bed, lying on her good side; and in the ear in the paralysed side of her face Mrs. Howard was stone deaf.
Regina closed the door quickly but softly, then turned back to her own room. Her heart was beating fast, but she felt much better; no longer terrified. She picked up a dressing gown, and started to put it on; then found that one sleeve was inside out.
She’d heard no footsteps, but the big man said, “Want some help?”
He was just behind her, and held the dressing gown out. She slipped her arms into it, and the man’s hands held her shoulders for a split second, then let go. She tied the sash quickly, and turned to face him. She was flushed, and knew it, and she didn’t know what to say.
He smiled at her with that bold, openly admiring smile.
“You’re okay,” he said, “and you’ll do.” Quite casually he looked at a box of chocolates on the dressing table, then said, “Mind?”
