‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow,’ I said, ignoring his banter. I rose purposefully from the chair, slipping my trilby gently on to my tender scalp and made for the door.
‘You do. I intend to leave Bernstein to stew a bit on his own today. I’ll give him the third degree in the morning. The main thing is that we’ve got our man and mopped up the mess. All we need now are some answers.’ He paused and gave me a shy smile. ‘Oh, and by the way, thanks for your help.’
I nodded, patted my old friend on the shoulder and left.
It was dark and misty with it as I emerged from Scotland Yard. London had been taken over by a race of phantoms who hustled and bustled past me silently as I made my way towards Trafalgar Square and up the Haymarket. The air certainly was not fresh but it was pleasingly cool and somehow invigorating. I walked slowly partly because as yet my energy levels were low and partly because I was savouring the experience of being alone and free in the city that I knew and loved. In the last few hours so many burdens and problems had been lifted from my shoulders. I began to feel a sense of ease. Also I harboured the thought of food. While waiting in David’s office I suddenly realized how hungry I was. I’d forgotten how long ago it was that I had eaten what I could refer to as a decent meal. That’s what I needed to get me back on track: a good fry up. And where better to indulge in this gourmet delight but at Benny’s café.
The muted light emanating from the steamy windows of Benny’s domain were like a golden beacon in a harsh murky world and I hurried towards it. The clock, I knew was heading for six and the old fellow would be getting ready to close, but I knew he’d bend his opening hours for me.
His greeting was typically sarcastic. ‘Look what the cat’s dragged in. Johnny the wanderer. Not seeking a bed for the night again are you?’ However his old features could not disguise the pleasure in seeing me. To him I was like a part-time son and I was happy in that role. And if I was honest, Benny was the nearest I’d got to a father figure. However, we never discussed our close relationship—that would have exposed it to examination and made us both uneasy—and we covered up sentiment with mild insults and back chat.
When I removed my hat to reveal my by now rather grubby bandage, Benny’s face dropped and his joshing insouciance evaporated.
‘My God, Johnny, what happened to you?’
‘I had a difference of opinion with the butt of a gun.’
‘Sit down. You look terrible. Oi vay! Should you be walking around? Shouldn’t you be in bed tended by a pretty nurse?’
‘If you can conjure one up, that would be dandy—but really I’m fine. It’s not as bad as it seems.’
‘Thank goodness for that because it looks terrible. You look terrible!’
‘Now, now, don’t fuss. I’m fine. I’ve had hospital treatment…’
‘Hospital! Great heavens.’
‘They gave me a prescription for my speedy recovery.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Tea and the best fry up you can muster,’ I announced grandly.
It took a while for Benny to get the joke and then he grinned. Making a big show of examining his watch, he said, ‘Oh, a big breakfast is it? Is it morning already?’
‘Look, old boy, I’ve had a trying day and I’m short of victuals. I could have gone to the Ritz but I favoured real home-cooked grub so I came here.’
‘You made the right decision. Grab a seat, you son of a gun, and I’ll sort you out.’
He hesitated for a moment, gazing with disdain at my bandage and then scooted off to the kitchen. I sat back in the chair and relaxed. I was tempted to close my eyes, but I resisted. I felt sure that I’d quickly fall asleep if I did.
I gazed around the room. The café was empty apart from one solitary soul hunched over a table by the window, engrossed in a library book. He had not taken any notice of my arrival.
Benny returned a few minutes later with a mug of tea and a couple of biscuits.
‘Just to keep you going,’ he said, before disappearing again.
The meal when it arrived lived up to my expectations. Certainly it was greasy and the egg was small as was the portion of bacon, swamped by fried tomatoes, but just then it was ambrosia to me and I wolfed it down with alacrity. Benny sat beside me like a mother hen beaming as I consumed his offering.
‘I suppose you are not going to tell me about it,’ he said a length, indicating the bandage around my head.
‘That’s right. I’m not.’ I couldn’t have felt less like picking over the bones of the Bernstein case. I needed to distance myself from the whole sorry business and place things in perspective before I could get a clear picture myself of what had happened. Benny knew better than to press me on the matter, but he did raise another topic.
‘Johnny, when are you going to get a respectable job? One where you don’t get bashed about the head and that allows you to go home at night at a respectable time. You carry on with this dangerous detective work and someday soon I’ll have to put on my old black suit to go to your funeral.’
It was an old refrain and I hated it when Benny began to warble it. As I’ve told him before, being a detective is what I know and, on the whole, is what I like, despite the wear and tear. I was about to say all this but as it happened I was saved by the bell. The telephone on the counter rang out shrilly. Benny pulled a face and went to answer it.
He had his back to me so I couldn’t catch what he was saying but he suddenly seemed excited, his little body swaying from side to side, his shoulders shooting up and down. He placed the receiver on the counter and hurried to my side.
‘It’s for you,’ he said beaming. ‘It’s the lovely Maxine.’
‘Max!’ I said both surprised and delighted.
I leapt up and rushed to the phone.
‘Max,’ I said breathlessly, ‘how wonderful.’
‘Hello, darling. How are you?’
I hesitated for only a second before trotting out the lie. ‘I’m absolutely fine, but I’m missing you. What I wouldn’t give to have a hug and a kiss from you right now.’
‘Well, they are on offer.’
‘If only...’
‘I mean it, Mr Hawke. All you have to do is come home.’
I frowned. She was losing me. ‘Come home...?’ I echoed lamely.
‘I’m at Hawke Towers right now waiting for you. The panto people gave me some time off. I came up to town for a couple of days to surprise you. I’ve been waiting here all afternoon for you. That’s why I gave Benny a ring to see if he knew where you were. He told me you were stuffing your face.’
‘If only you’d let me know.’
‘Where’s the surprise in that?’
‘Look, I’ll be with you in less than fifteen minutes.’
‘That’s great—’ She broke off suddenly and made a quiet inarticulate sound.
‘Max?’
‘Johnny…Johnny.’ The tone of her voice at changed completely.
It was tense and frightened. ‘I’ve just heard a noise. Oh, my God, Johnny…there’s someone in the flat.’
And then the phone went dead.
Thirty-Six
For Peter, Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman had been a great success. Nearly all the way through the horror film, Caroline had clung to him in the cinema, murmuring, ‘It’s horrible, it’s horrible’, while nestling her head on his chest. For him this was a very pleasant experience. But better was to come, for during the cartoon and the supporting picture they had spent most of the time kissing. It was a wonderful evening out and it was now going to be enhanced even more when he introduced Caroline to Johnny.
Secretly Caroline was amused at Peter’s hero worship of Johnny. Peter had told her all about his past and the part this enigmatic man had played in it. She knew that Peter was trying to impress her with tales of detective work and his exciting friend. But really he had no need to do that. She liked him for himself. He was a very nice boy, good-looking, kind and bright and that’s all that mattered to her. But she was happy
to indulge him. After all he was her boyfriend.
‘Come on then,’ he said, as they left the cinema, clutching each other’s hands. ‘Off we go to Hawke Towers.’
*
Vic Bernstein’s mind was now diseased and unstable. The violent incidents of the last few days had affected his sanity, tilted it rather than destroyed it, for he still had the ability to stand outside himself and make judgements which he perceived as rational and essential. But now the dark alter ego that had been lying, curled up somewhere inside him for many years, had grown in stature and taken over. This, he thought, was the Vic Bernstein as he was meant to be but had never had the courage to realize before. Killing his stupid brother had proved that. He felt no remorse, no sentiment at all over Anthony’s death. In simple terms, to the new Vic, it was what the cretin deserved. He grinned broadly at the thought. In shooting his brother, he was now complete…and fearless. He could face his inevitable destiny with equanimity.
As he hurried through the darkened streets, he viewed London with its damaged buildings, acres of rubble, shored-up edifices and dispiriting black-out gloom as reflecting his own life and situation. Things had gone too far for him ever to return to his comfortable normality. His plan to rule the Bernstein roost seemed almost laughable now. It had been bombed and shattered like so many of the capital’s landmarks. All that he was left with was rubble.
He was realistic and clear-sighted enough to be aware that his hours of freedom were limited so he had to put them to good use. There was only one thing that would bring any kind of satisfaction to him now: the destruction of the man he believed had been responsible for his downfall. With his blood on my hands, he mused quite calmly, I can go to the gallows with a smile. The thought of the noose around his neck caused him no consternation, no anguish. Not the new Vic Bernstein.
So far his life on the run had gone reasonably smoothly. On escaping from Scotland Yard he had returned to his flat. Here he had found a policeman on guard outside. A young flat-footed fellow with a yokel face and, it turned out, a yokel intelligence as well. Dressed as he was in PC Chapman’s uniform, Vic approached the policeman delivering the news that he was his replacement and the young fellow was to get back to the Yard in quick sticks. The constable, delighted to be relieved of his boring chore, saw only the baggy uniform, not the face of its owner. He asked no questions or expressed any surprise at his new instructions. He was too pleased with his release to be concerned. With a big grin and a few mumbled words of gratitude, he hurried away.
With a practised dexterity, Vic broke into his own flat. He did not dawdle. He knew there was no time to take things easy. He grabbed a dark suit, a white shirt and a tie from his wardrobe and changed into civvies. He extracted fifty pounds from the secret drawer in his desk and, pulling back the carpet by his bed, his lifted up the loose floorboard there to retrieve a box containing a pistol and a pack of cartridges.
As he slipped on his overcoat, he gazed at himself in the hall mirror. A rather pale and gaunt version of the old Vic stared back at him. The once smooth and well-nourished features had faded. He had circles under his eyes and a few days’ stubble on his chin. The stubble offended him and he was tempted to shave it off but he knew there just wasn’t enough time.
He riffled through the telephone directory until he found the name, number and, more particularly, the address he needed. He made a mental note of it and then with a last glance round his flat—and he knew it would be the very last—he set out for Priory Court.
*
As he approached the office of John Hawke Private Investigations, Vic Bernstein pulled the loaded pistol from his pocket. He tried the door and to his pleasure and surprise discovered that it wasn’t locked. He stepped inside and found himself in an office area—desk, telephone files—the usual stuff. The only source of illumination was a desk lamp, but to his left there was an open door which led to a fully lighted room beyond. As he approached it, he could hear a voice. It was a woman’s voice talking with some animation. He crept closer and peered around the corner of the door. He saw a shabby sort of sitting room, with hand-me-down furniture and drab decorations. With his back to him near the fireplace was a woman chatting on the telephone. Although he couldn’t as yet see her face, he could tell that she was young, petite with dark elfin hair.
‘Where’s the surprise in that?’ she was saying lightly, a giggle in her voice.
The caller at the other end replied and she added ‘That’s great…’
Vic opened the door further and the hinges creaked noisily.
The girl’s stance stiffened as she sensed Vic’s presence. ‘Johnny…Johnny, I’ve just heard a noise.’ The tone of her voice at changed completely. It was tense and frightened. She turned sharply and saw Vic. ‘Oh my God, Johnny…there’s someone in the flat,’ she cried, her eyes wide with terror.
In an instant Vic stepped forward and, grabbing the receiver from her limp grasp, ended the call.
Thirty-Seven
Just when I thought I’d crawled out of the dark and dangerous forest and I was seeing daylight, it seemed some insidious threat had dragged me back into the impenetrable undergrowth once more. Max’s last words ‘There’s someone in the flat’ rang repeatedly in my ears as I raced from Benny’s café without a word of explanation to the owner and went in search of a taxi. All the while my stomach tightened and the egg, bacon and tomato sloshed around inside me until I felt sick. Who the hell was there? How much danger was Max in? What on earth would I find when I got back home? These questions ricocheted around my brain and the only answers I could come up with were ones that chilled my blood.
It was not until I reached Cambridge Circus that I spied a taxi. Like a madman, I ran in the road waving my arms in front of him.
‘Blimey, mate, I’ve seen yer,’ he cried indignantly, leaning out of his window.
‘Sorry, but this is an emergency,’ I explained, clambering inside.
‘You’re not having a baby, are yer?’
Play the game, Johnny, I thought.
‘You’ve hit the nail on the head. The missus is about to at any moment.’
‘Righto. Where to then?’
I gave him the address and he sped off as though he was competing at Silverstone—God bless him.
Within ten minutes I was racing up the stairs to my rooms. Once on the landing, I stopped, caught my breath and tried to unscramble my thoughts, praying that everything was all right or would be all right. I realized that it was no use bursting in like the bull in that proverbial crockery establishment. That could do more harm than good. I moved slowly and quietly to my door and listened. There was no noise from inside. I peered through the keyhole but that afforded me no further intelligence.
Gently, I opened the door. My office was empty. The table lamp was lit on my desk but apart from that there was nothing to indicate that the premises were inhabited. However, I could see a strip of light emanating from below the door leading to what I referred to as my living room. I was tempted to call out Max’s name but I resisted. She had said there was someone in the flat. No doubt that someone was still here. Again I shuddered to think what that meant.
Clasping my revolver tightly, gently I pushed the door ajar. I opened it wide enough to gain a full view of the room. Immediately I saw Max. She was lying on the sofa, her body twisted in an awkward and unnatural posture, an expression of terror seared on to her features. Standing behind her with a gun pointed at her head was Vic Bernstein. His pale haunted face twisted into an expression of demented pleasure. He grinned ghoulishly as he saw me in the doorway.
‘Ah, at last. Do come in, Johnny, and join us,’ he said smoothly. ‘Come on, don’t be shy.’ He moved the gun nearer to Max’s head.
My heart constricted and my mouth went dry.
‘Don’t hurt her. Please,’ said a voice. With some surprise I realized it was mine.
Maxine gave a little sob but remained absolutely still, terrified out of her mind.
Like a man
walking on eggshells I moved slowly into the room. I didn’t want to make any awkward movement which could prompt Bernstein into a reckless and fatal action. My eyes flickered desperately between Max’s terrified features and the sadistic countenance of her captor while desperately trying to think what to do. In truth, I knew there was nothing I could do. It was clear to me that if I made one false move, this maniac would shoot Max. My heart felt leaden in my breast.
‘That’s far enough,’ Bernstein said, the smile switched off. ‘Now throw your gun down on the floor.’
I did as he commanded. I knew to resist would be a mistake.
‘I’m so glad you could join the party, Johnny.’ The mocking tone returned. ‘It was good of you to come. After all it is a farewell party.’
‘Let the girl go,’ I said quietly. ‘Don’t hurt her. Your quarrel is with me. She’s got nothing to do with all this.’
‘Oh, that’s where you are wrong, my friend. She is very much involved. She tells me that she is your girlfriend. Someone close to you. Someone who means a lot to you. Therefore it seems to me that by hurting her, I will be hurting you. And, by God, Johnny, I want to hurt you.’
There was nothing I could say. I had no argument. No response. My brain was numb. What the hell could I do? If I made any sudden move, he would pull the trigger. I knew it. I could see the mad determination in his eyes. All sense of reason and rationality had gone from that gaze. I felt utterly helpless.
‘It’s because of you,’ he continued, ‘it’s because of you that I’ve lost everything. Because of your interference…You’ve messed up my life, Johnny. And so now I’m going to mess up yours.’
And he did.
In one single moment he did.
It is a moment that lives with me and haunts me and propels me into tears in the silent unguarded moments of the day and night. A moment that I hope is a horrible dream from which I will wake. But the nightmare was real. The nightmare is real.
One single moment.
Vic Bernstein held the pistol close to Max’s head, pressing the barrel against her skin. I could see the pressure on her smooth white temple. He gave a little sigh and then pulled the trigger.
The Darkness of Death Page 21
