One May Smile

by Penny Freedman

  ‘And you didn’t mind going to Cairo?’

  ‘I didn’t care where I went.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘My mum had just died. I just wanted to get away.’

  ‘So you went with the family to Cairo and you got to know James. How old was he then?’

  ‘Fifteen, I think. In the summer holidays he brought his friend with him – Conrad. That’s how I knew him. We all got on well. They were only a bit younger than me and we had fun.’ She paused for more coffee. ‘Then, at the end of the summer, I realised I was pregnant. Katharine – Mrs Asquith – found out and ha!’ She gave a little bark of laughter. ‘My feet didn’t touch the ground. Before I knew it I was on a plane with a month’s wages and enough money for an abortion in a private clinic. Very considerate of them, wasn’t it? Though it would have been nice if they’d given me a chance to say goodbye to the twins.’

  ‘Which of the boys was the father of your child?’

  This time she laughed genuinely. ‘Neither of them. It wasn’t like that between us. But I did tell them I was pregnant and Conrad thought they’d treated me badly. He kept in touch, phoned me sometimes to see if I was all right.’

  ‘But not James? He didn’t keep in touch?’

  ‘No. It was more complicated for him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of Bruce being the father. That’s hard to deal with when you’re fifteen.’

  ‘You and Bruce Asquith – ’

  ‘– were having sex, yes. I don’t think you could say we were in a relationship – we just had sex sometimes.’ She leaned forward and drained her coffee. ‘This is the difficult bit,’ she said. ‘When I look back on it now I suppose you could say I was abused. I was only seventeen – a child, really – I’d just lost my mother, I was in a foreign country and he was my boss, but at the time I thought I was choosing it. I wasn’t a whore but I wasn’t a virgin either – I’d had a couple of boyfriends. I was never in love with him or anything but it was flattering, I suppose. It started soon after I arrived and just carried on. He just came to my room sometimes. It was quite exciting at first and then it was boring really. In the end it just seemed like part of my job.’

  ‘Until you got pregnant?’

  ‘Yes. I told Bruce, he told Katharine, there was a huge row and whoosh! I was out of there.’

  ‘What did you do when you got home?’

  ‘I looked in a phone directory at Copenhagen airport for the name of a clinic, took a taxi there, had the abortion and then told my brother. My father left us years ago so Jonas was the only person I had. He was just starting up the garage here and I came and joined him.’ She leaned back again. ‘As you see, I’m fine. My life wasn’t ruined. I’m a very good mechanic, I have boyfriends, I have a life.’

  ‘The clinic you went to,’ Scott asked, ‘did you give the name of it to Conrad?’

  ‘He rang me about two weeks ago. He said a friend of his was coming over here and needed an abortion and he asked me for the phone number of the clinic I went to. I didn’t have it but I said I’d find it. A few days ago he called in and got it from me.’

  ‘And was that when he suggested the idea of blackmailing James?’

  ‘No. He’d already talked about that on the phone. And look, I said absolutely not. I wasn’t going along with anything like that.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Mortensen said. ‘Just tell us what it was he wanted you to do.’

  ‘To be honest, I never quite knew what it was he was after. It was something to do with this play they were doing at the castle but I couldn’t see how a play could be such a big deal. He told me a long rigmarole about Bruce starting a new political party and if it got out about our affair and my abortion it would ruin his chances because all his voters are Muslims. He wanted me to threaten James that I’d go to a newspaper with the story. I thought it was a load of nonsense. Conrad could be like that sometimes – a bit mad. He was like it when he was fifteen and he didn’t really change.’

  ‘How did he react when you said no?’ Scott asked.

  ‘He tried asking Jonas – my brother – instead.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  For the first time she looked discomposed. She covered it with a shrug but Scott noticed it. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘But he loaned a car to Conrad?’

  ‘Yes. And there was nothing the matter with the brakes of that car. I checked it over myself and I can tell you for su –’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Mortensen said. ‘Wagner checked the car himself and didn’t find anything wrong. We are told that he knew a lot about cars. Is that true?’

  ‘He always loved them. He used to ring me or text me two or three times a year and it was usually something about a car. There was a weird moment, actually, when he came to pick up the car. He stood on our forecourt looking round and he said, Perhaps I’ll pack it all in and come and work here. Would you have me? We joked and said he was welcome any time and that was the last time we saw him.’

  ‘What did you think,’ Scott asked, ‘when you heard about the accident?’

  ‘Well first I was sad. I was fond of Conrad. He was a bit mad but he was a kind boy. I liked him. Then, of course, we were worried with the police coming round and all the questions. Jonas was afraid we’d be charged with negligence but I kept telling him that I’d done a full check of the car and entered everything in the log book. But even when the police left us alone we were worried about the publicity and the effect on the business.’

  ‘You never thought that someone might have wanted to kill Conrad?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not even when you started getting threats?’

  She looked at him sharply. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Just a guess. You were seen outside the police station but you turned away when you saw James Asquith. You were knocked off your bike by a hit-and-run driver but your brother didn’t want you to go to the police about it.’

  ‘Have you had someone following me?’

  ‘Just an observant witness. Tell us about the threats.’

  ‘The day after Conrad was killed Jonas had a visit from someone. I didn’t see who it was but Jonas was scared. I think –’ she hesitated, ‘– I think when Conrad first talked about the blackmail business Jonas may have got some money out of James – got paid off – and then he got warned that if we ever went near James again we’d be dead. Those were the words – we’d be dead. And then I started getting threatening texts on my phone. I didn’t like it and I hadn’t done anything to deserve it. I arranged to meet James the day he got here and I told him I wasn’t going to say anything to harm his family. So I was for going to the police about it because whoever it was who was threatening us had to be one of those students and it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out which one. But Jonas wouldn’t go to the police because he’d taken the money from James. He paid it back when he got threatened but he was still worried about it.’

  ‘So you decided to go to the police yourself?’

  ‘Yes. I woke up one morning and found another of those text messages on my phone and I decided I’d had enough. Only just as I was going into the police station I saw James coming out and I was scared. I’d been threatened not to go near him, so I walked away.’

  ‘And later that day you were knocked down by a hit-and-run driver.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you really can’t tell us anything about the driver or the vehicle?’

  ‘No. I was cycling home from work and something came at me from my right. It was just before I needed to make a left turn, so I was looking ahead to get onto the crown of the road to make my turn. The next thing I knew I was on the ground under my bike and I just heard the scream of tyres as something reversed back down the road to my right. I was lucky that I was going home early and the road was quiet. As it is, these –’ she touched her face ‘– are just the visible injuries. I’m actually grazed all down my left side.’

 
; Scott’s phone rang. The display showed no number but he decided to answer it. He would be able to terrify himself in the years to come with the thought of what would have happened if he had chosen to ignore it. Outside, he walked down to the blind end of the corridor. ‘David Scott,’ he said. There was a great deal of background noise and he almost switched off, assuming that he was through to a call centre, but then a small voice came through. ‘David,’ it said, ‘are you busy?’

  *

  Back in Mortensen’s office he found, to his relief, that Karin Møller was gone. ‘Raymond Porter,’ he said to Mortensen. ‘What do we know about him?’

  Mortensen scrutinised his face. ‘What was your call?’ he asked.

  ‘Gina Gray.’

  ‘Gina Gray has your cell phone number?’

  ‘Yes. I – I probably should have made it clear that I know her quite well.’

  ‘How well?’

  ‘Look, could we discuss this later? The point is that she’s at the hospital, and so is Raymond Porter, and she believes he’s the man we’re after. Her reasoning is complicated and it has a lot to do with English grammar but I’ve never known her to be wrong about that so I think we have to take her seriously. What do we know about him?’

  Mortensen’s body language made it clear that he had noted Scott’s agitation but that he was not prepared to be rushed. Slowly, he swivelled his chair to face his computer and put on his glasses. He clicked the mouse several times and then said, ‘Ah yes. Interesting but we didn’t see any link with the case. Raymond Porter is not a student. He is twenty-three years old and spent four years in the British Army. He left the army a year ago. The circumstances under which he left are not clear.’

  ‘What’s he been doing since then?’

  ‘Private security, so he told us. We have no verification of that.’

  ‘He didn’t say who he’s been working for?’

  ‘No. But we know Conrad Wagner’s father was concerned about his security. Maybe –’

  ‘No. He’d use Americans. A man like that wouldn’t trust anyone else’s security firms. Porter was recruited to work on this play by James Asquith. I’ve seen emails to that effect. What did he say to you about how he got involved with the play when he’s not a student?’

  ‘He used to drink with Asquith in a pub, he said. Asquith told him they needed someone to manage the technical aspects of the play and he was without a job at that time so he volunteered.’

  ‘Much more likely he was sent here as Asquith’s minder. Especially if Wagner was already threatening exposure about the Møller affair. My guess is that Porter was already working for Sir Bruce and when James Asquith started getting pressure from Wagner, Porter was sent to sort it out. And his method of sorting it out pays tribute to his army training – wipe out anyone who knew about the Møller affair and might cause trouble – Conrad Wagner, Sophie Forrester, Karin Møller, and now he knows that Sophie Forrester is conscious, he’ll be after her again – and anyone else she might have talked to, including Gina Gray.’ Scott was pacing the small office, trying to inject the inert Mortensen with his own sense of urgency.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Mortensen said. ‘I sense that you feel we are at a crisis but tell me something. Wagner was trying to blackmail Asquith but for what? What did he hope to gain? Not money, surely, since his father is far richer than Asquith’s father, I imagine. So, for what? What did he want?’

  ‘He wanted to play Hamlet!’ Scott almost shouted. ‘He was desperate to play the part of Hamlet but Asquith was playing it. He thought he could get him to give up the part.’

  Mortensen took off his spectacles and stared at him. ‘You are telling me,’ he said, ‘that all this – a murder, and maybe two attempted murders, as well as the injuries to the boy who was driving the car – this is all about a play?’

  ‘Yes. No. Yes and no. That’s what the blackmail was for but the crimes – they’re all about the Harmony Party and keeping the Møller business quiet. Not even about that, actually, I would guess. I’d be surprised if Sir Bruce Asquith was issuing orders about disposing of the people who posed a threat. That’s not how these things are done. He’ll have told Porter to deal with it and Porter is as obsessive as Wagner, only more dangerously. Look at him – he’s a failed soldier bumming around with a taste for killing and nowhere to go with it. Suddenly, he’s given carte blanche: Sort it out. Save the Harmony Party.’

  Scott was still pacing but now he stopped and stood over Mortensen. ‘And now I hate to hurry you but it is very likely that Porter is at the hospital and Sophie Forrester and her mother, and Gina Gray, are all at risk. This is a man who is out of control.’

  ‘Well,’ Mortensen said with infuriating slowness, ‘there is no danger, I think, to anyone who is with Sophie Forrester. We have a guard on the door and I have just sent another officer to be ready to take a statement from her when she is able to give one. My latest information from the hospital is that she is awake but not yet able to –’

  ‘Gina Gray is not in Sophie Forrester’s room,’ Scott growled. ’She was not allowed in by your police guard. There are two reasons for going to the hospital now: one is to find her and the other is to arrest Porter before he kills anyone else. I’m going now to find Gina Gray but if you want an arrest made you’ll have to do it yourself.’

  ‘You have to understand that we have no evidence,’ Mortensen protested. ‘This is all supposi –’

  But Scott had slammed out of the room.

  17

  PIECES OF EIGHT

  What do you call the play?

  The Mousetrap 3.2

  When I put the receiver down I feel like I imagine a climber might feel if they’d just had their rope cut. Actually, I have no idea how climbers feel, never having done anything more challenging than fall over on the nursery slopes while trying to learn to ski, but I feel I’ve lost my lifeline and I’m having to work very hard not to panic. Stay where there are plenty of people around, David said. Don’t try to leave the hospital – he’ll be expecting that. But keep near the entrance so we can find you. This is all very well as advice goes but near the entrance is where he’ll be waiting for me, won’t it?

  I walk cautiously in the direction indicated by the UDGANG notices. I must look like a large bird, the way my head swivels nervously as I go and my beady eyes peer out for danger. I find a kind of outpatient reception area that looks promising. Large numbers of people are lined up in chairs and nurses appear from various directions calling out names, summoning patients to different clinics, I assume. You could sit here for quite a while without anyone noticing that you’re not progressing to the next stage, I think, so I find myself a chair between two other people and hope, meanly, that they’re in for a long wait and won’t be leaving an empty chair next to me for a while. I look at my watch. Is it five minutes since I phoned David? What is he doing now? He’s not going to come dashing straight up here, is he? So we can find you, he said. He’s being a policeman, not my boyfriend/lover/partner/significant other. How long will it take him to tell Mortensen my story and how likely is it that he will believe him? And then how long will it take them to get here?

  Two things happen almost simultaneously: the woman next to me hears her name called, stands up and moves away, and a man sitting with his back to me some distance away stands up, turns round and reveals himself to be Ray. He comes towards me, beaming, and just for a moment I wonder whether I am completely wrong about all this, but when he gets closer I can see the sweat on his face. I may be scared, but he is desperate.

  ‘So,’ he says, sitting down in the empty chair, ‘how’s Sophie?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t see her,’ I say, and though this is completely true, my face goes hot with panic. ‘Close family only allowed in so I left Susan there – well, you can understand it,’ I burble, ‘it’s not even visiting time, after all, and she must be very weak, and there’s this big police guard on the door, so – you know…’

  I trail off and avoid looking at his
face. How to tell the truth and sound as though you’re lying through your teeth in one easy lesson. He won’t be smiling now, that’s for sure. I couldn’t have made it plainer that I know he’s a killer and I’m terrified of him.

  ‘So what are you doing sitting here?’ he asks.

  ‘Oh – just waiting, you know, for Susan. And you?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘Right.’

  There is a long, long silence which I have no intention of breaking.

  ‘So how about I run you home?’ he says quietly in my ear.

  ‘Oh no,’ I squeak. ‘I really should wait for Susan.’

  ‘I can come back for Susan. I think I’ll take you now.’

  ‘No really –’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  And with that he has me on my feet. He is amazingly strong – all that bloody body-building. He has an arm across my back and a hand clamped round my upper arm and he is walking me towards the exit. A few people look up and watch us, but without interest. I have an out of body experience where I see myself being walked and see how it must look as though I’m being supported. I feel smothered by his bulk and stifled by the smell of his sweat, and my legs feel so weak that he probably is actually holding me up. Then a memory comes to me. When I was twelve, I was waiting for a bus one evening outside the church hall where I went to a weekly drama group. Everyone else had gone home – picked up by car – but my mother was a GP and she had a late night surgery on Thursdays so I took the bus home. That night the bus was late and it was dark and wet and silent in the quiet residential road. A car drew up and the driver rolled down the window and offered me a lift. I said, No thank you like the well brought up child I was and he leant across and pushed the passenger door open. Come on, he said. It’s a nasty night. And then I screamed. It was a puny little scream I expect, but it did the trick and he drove away. And I stood there worrying that maybe he was a neighbour of ours I hadn’t recognised in the dark and I’d be in trouble for being rude. That’s one of the reasons why children and women are so easy to abuse – they’re too bloody polite. So today I’m not about to die of politeness. I’m sorry to disturb the calm efficiency going on around me but I open my mouth and I scream. This isn’t a puny scream – it’s a rip-roaring blood-chiller and it startles Ray enough to make him loosen his grip. I duck under his arm, he stumbles over a low table with magazines on it and I’m away, running down the nearest corridor. I see a toilet sign and dash inside. Then I stand, bemused. There’s something the matter with these toilets and for a minute I can’t work out what the problem is. And then I see it: I am not in the safety of the ladies’ – I’m in the men’s loos and there’s no time to remedy my mistake because Ray must have been right behind me. There are a couple of cubicles in here besides those odd urinals and I dash into one and drive the bolt home. The door has a gap of at least a foot at the bottom, so I put the lid down on the loo and sit on it, pulling my feet up in the vain hope that he won’t know I’m here if he can’t see my little female feet in their pretty sandals.