by John Creasey
There was a tap at the door, and Henry brought the girl in.
Gideon’s first reaction was: “What a nice little thing.”
She was on the short side, and could only, with the height rule, just have scraped into the Force. She was trim, neatly-dressed in a cream linen suit, edged with brown. She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat of the same brown hue, carried brown gloves and wore matching brown shoes. There was something very frank and open about her face, with its broad yet delicate features. She wore lipstick and the curiously smooth dark honey-colour of her skin might owe a little to make-up.
She moistened her lips, and he saw that she had nice teeth, one of them gold-capped. That gold could betray her, unless she painted or covered it as part of her disguise.
“Detective-Constable Juanita Conception, Commander,” Henry introduced.
Gideon nodded and put down his cup, smiled without showing quite how well-impressed he was, and asked: “You really think there’s serious trouble brewing for Thursday’s big match, do you?”
“I’m quite sure there is, sir,” she answered. Her voice was pleasant; perhaps a little trembly, although she controlled any nervousness well.
“Then it’s a very good thing we know.”
“Yes, sir. I think so.”
“What kind of trouble, do you know yet?”
Gideon noticed Henry watching very tensely, as if afraid the girl might make a bad impression.
“I only know a little, sir. In the organisation there’s a small central committee which makes that kind of decision and they’re not going to announce their plans until the last moment. I’m not on that committee.” She hesitated, and gave a hesitant little smile: “They think there might be a leakage of information, sir.”
Gideon chuckled: “I don’t blame them!”
That was the moment when Detective-Constable Juanita Conception relaxed — and the moment when the Superintendent, also, seemed to lose his fears. The girl’s smile, this time, was bright and flashing, and Henry chuckled, too; evidence of how pent-up he had been.
“Constable Conception thinks she has some idea of what the Committee might be planning,” he put in.
“Good. What is it?”
“The one thing I know, sir, is that they have managed to get hold of a thousand tickets for Thursday, the first day of the match,” the girl told him. “Out in the open tickets, I mean. The bleachers, sir.”
“A thousand?”
“Yes, sir. The Central Committee had a lot of the members buying-some of them went back three or four times for more tickets.”
“Is this common knowledge?”
“There’s a lot of talk about seeing the game, sir,” said Juanita Conception, “and they all seem to tell me more than anyone else — any Jamaican is supposed to be just crazy about cricket”
“And aren’t you?”
“I’d prefer one hour at the Centre Court at Wimbledon, sir, to a whole Test Match — even if it was against the West Indies!”
“I see,” said Gideon, drily. “Don’t ever tell my son that!” He moved to a big armchair and sat down. “Have you any idea how many people are likely to be involved?”
“A thousand, I suppose.”
Gideon, momentarily taken aback, suddenly chuckled again. This girl put him in a good humour and he was extremely glad he had not created problems of tension.
“Where will they come from?” he asked.
“I’m not sure, sir, but I do know at least fifty are coming in from Europe and they say there will be some on the S.S. France when she reaches Southampton from New York. That will be the day before the match begins.”
“I see.” Gideon looked at her very levelly, so that her smile faded, and she waited. But there was no tension; obviously she was at ease now. “Constable — do you think your identity has been suspected?”
“No, sir.”
“What do you think would happen if your colleagues on the Action Committee found out?”
She didn’t answer at once, and Gideon prompted: “Haven’t you thought of that?”
“Often, sir,” she replied.
“Well?”
“I’m sure there’s no danger,” Henry put in quickly.
The girl looked at him gravely for a long time, then turned back to Gideon, and he had no doubt at all that she would answer truthfully and that her opinion would be well-considered. She frowned, slightly; it seemed to narrow her features and to give her an added attractiveness.
. “I think they would disfigure me, sir,” she answered at last. “One or two might want to kill me.”
“Juanita!” exclaimed Henry.
“I do, sir,” insisted Juanita, without even glancing at him. “They feel very strongly about the apartheid situation, and they would believe I had betrayed them.” When Gideon made no answer, she added in a hushed voice: “And i one way, they would be right, wouldn’t they? That’s the awful tiling about —” She broke off, and after a pause went on in a different, almost defensive manner: “You did ask me, sir, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I wanted to know and I am very glad to know, answered Gideon. “You started to say something about -
“What I’d like to know is whether there was anything new last night,” interrupted Henry.
It was obvious that he had been searching for some justifiable way of interrupting, that this change of mood was far from his liking. And his exclamation: “Juanita!” told its own story: this was more than an official association — which could result in another cause for worry. She reported to him ‘at night’ he had said. Where? From the moment the conversation had taken this turn he had tried to break it up, but the girl did not even glance at him; her only concern at that moment was with Gideon. And Gideon, also, ignored Henry, who did not try again.”
“It’s the most awful thing about the world today,” she went on, flatly. “You have to spy on one another, if you believe in a thing strongly enough. And most of the Action Committee believe passionately, sir — they really do. Some or them — I really do think some of them would go to the stake for what they believe in. They hate apartheid. They certainly don’t mind a few months in prison.” She continued to eye Gideon levelly, but paused for a long time; it was his time to speak.
“Do you hate apartheid?” he asked, very quietly.
“In a way I do, sir,” she answered, without hesitation: obviously she had long since worked out her attitude about this. “But primarily I believe that you’ve got to obey the law, sir. You’ve just got to be law-abiding. I think a demonstration, especially an ugly demonstration about this — this game,” she said with almost scornful emphasis, “could do a terrible lot of harm. You just have to believe in something, sir, and I believe in law and order.”
Gideon spent a long moment looking intently into her alert, eager face, sensing that she was almost begging him to understand, then cleared his throat and asked: “And you’d go to the stake for it, in your own way, would you?”
“Well, of course,” said Juanita Conception, quite simply.
Gideon drew his gaze away at last and spoke to Henry: it was almost as if he had only now remembered that the other man was still present. At the back of his mind, there was a very great admiration for this young woman, and it was easy to understand that Henry might have become very attached to her. Henry was married, of course, so that could create all manner of complications. But the girl was remarkably level-headed and would probably keep any situation under control.
That wasn’t the immediate worry, anyhow.
“We’ll have to make sure that she doesn’t go to the stake, Superintendent,” he said, briskly. “I’d like you to go very closely into the situation and come to the Yard in the morning so that we can discuss it more fully. Is there an Action Committee tonight?” he asked the girl.
“We’ll meet in one of the coffee bars or perhaps in one of the members’ flat or house,” Juanita told him. “But there isn’t an official meeting.”
Gideon nodded.
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“Be very careful,” he ordered. “Be very careful indeed, Constable. And remember that if it became necessary we could withdraw you from this assignment and keep on top. of the situation some other way. You’ve done a thoroughly good job, and if we manage to stop trouble at Lords, it will” be largely due to you.”
“Thank you — very much,” Juanita managed, huskily.
Soon, she went off. Soon after, Gideon finished his talk with Charles Henry, without making any reference to the way the investigation had been conducted so far. He was driven away, a little after three o’clock, and passed Lords in bright sunlight.
“I’ll bet the match will be rained off,” he grumbled, then grinned: he reminded himself of Lemaitre.
“I tell you,” said Kenneth Noble, one of the inner council of the Action Committee: “I don’t trust Juanita. I’ve seen her talking to the same copper, twice.”
“If you feel like that, we’d better have her watched,” replied Roy Roche, the chairman and chief ideas man of the Committee. “If she is a two-faced bitch, the quicker we find out the better.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Charm School’
“Now this is the last day of the course,” said Aunty Martha, happily. “And I don’t think I’ve ever had a better class. I really don’t!” ‘She beamed her approval at four boys and three girls, who smiled back in whole-hearted agreement, obviously aware that they were good. “I just want you to answer me a few questions, and then we’ll go and have some dinner-I always like to celebrate, when I’m sending new bunch of young people out into the world! When I’ve asked you the questions, you can ask me anything you like. No cheek, mind you!”
They all laughed, delightedly.
The room was small but very cool, in spite of the heat outside, for there were wide open windows and a cross wind. It was two days after Gideon had called for a survey of petty crimes such as shop-lifting and bag-snatching, and the weather was still very warm but not so humid. People were beginning to talk of the long, fine summers of their youth; the older folk of the fabulous one of 1921, when First World War cannons had been fired into the sky to try to make clouds.
“Now, let’s begin,” Martha almost cooed. “First, I want that look of injured innocence — the ‘surely you don’t think I would do such a thing, officer’!”
Immediately, the smiles faded, and each face seemed to change. Any stranger, seeing it, would have found the abrupt transition so astonishing that after a first startled silence, he could only have burst into laughter.
It was as if a mask dropped in a flash over each face. Eyes widened and rounded, one pair of lips parted as if in horror, one girl frowned, one boy looked both frightened and indignant at the same time. Martha got up from her desk and moved among them, touched eyes and cheeks and parted lips, chins and hair and even noses.
“That’s very good, Kitty.” She fingered an almost piteous mouth. “Just a little less like an idiot, dear-don’t open your mouth quite so wide! There, that’s better.., George my boy, don’t look as if the nasty policeman is going to drag you off by the ears and put you in prison. He won’t-not if you’ve learned everything Aunty has told you . . . Dulcie, that’s just right-butter wouldn’t melt in your pretty little mouth, would it? . . . Leonard, the only thing you have to remember is not to be cheeky when you open your mouth. You look like an angel . . .”
She frowned at a girl. “Bertha, love, your face is all right but you really should do something about your bra! If you stick out like that, there isn’t a man who’ll be able to take his eyes off you — you’d never be able to pinch a thing. Be flat when you’re working, dear, at least! What’s that . . . When you’re not working, love, you can stick out like a pair of Mount Everests for all I care! . . . Cyril, don’t look so happy . . . Yes you do, pet, your eyes do. We’ll have another try in a minute . . . Well, now for questions. All ready?”
There was a loud chorus of ‘yes’.
“Then the first question is, how many of you work together?”
“Three!” came a chorus.
“Why three, lovies?”
“Because two of us can be on the job and the other can take whatever we’ve got.”
“That’s right, dear. What else can Number Three do, pets?”
There was another chorus.
“Keep an eye out for the cops.”
“That’s it, exactly!” enthused Aunty Martha. “Now, what happens if you spot a cop?”
“Get to hell out of it.”
“That’s right, George-get to hell out of it! You never take a chance with the forces of law and order, see? It doesn’t matter how rich the pickings, you run. You can’t get many pickings in—”
“Jail!” one cried.
“Prison,” called a girl.
“The lock-up,” said a third.
“The hoosegow,” squeaked a boy.
They were all laughing happily; they continued to laugh, and even Martha Triggett kept bursting out with hearty laughter, but at long last she sobered.
“Now there’s another thing. We’ll have a car in two different car parks, and you’ll each have a key to the boots-both boots. When you want to get rid of some of your ill-gotten gains, go and dump them in one car or the other. You needn’t worry after that, I’ll see the cars are driven away when the time comes.
She paused giving them time to absorb all this.
“That’s for next week, not tomorrow,” she went on at last. “Tomorrow’s Monday — you can get a lot of practice in. Just mix among the shoppers in the High Street, and in the market-but keep out of the stores and supermarkets: they’ve got electronic eyes. You know you must get rid of the stuff quick, don’t you? . . . Could be a car boot, or a shop, or a van, wherever you’re told. The important thing is to be quick, every time. And if you think you’re being watched, scram! I’ll clear the stuff-you don’t have to worry about that. First share out, next Sunday. You’ll get equal shares, everyone shares and shares alike in Aunty Martha’s co-operative!”
Roaring with laughter, she looked very attractive with her bright gold hair and bright make-up, her well-moulded breasts and trim waist.
Then she stopped laughing and for a moment she looked cold; in a strange way, deadly.
“No working for yourself, mind. Everything, even the cash, goes right into the kitty. Anyone who tries to cheat Aunty Martha won’t try it again. Remember, I’ve got eyes — wherever you are, you’re being watched. You won’t come to any harm if you play fair with me and your partners but you’ll come to a sticky end if you don’t!”
She paused, and looked menacingly from one now straight and startled face to another. She let these last words- of warning hover in the air, then with a curiously sinister inflection, finished: “Or your fingers will, Don’t make any mistake!”
There was another pause, before her face and voice brightened again.
“But you don’t have a thing to worry about as long as you play fair! Now let’s go and tuck in, loves.”
In fact, all of them were a little subdued, and two of the girls were looking at their hands, as if imagining what would happen if Aunty Martha caught them cheating.
That was June 4th; the day when Lemaitre went on board the Queen Elizabeth II in New York and after a word with the Purser and the Master-at-Arms, went along to the Chief Steward, who had the four smoking-room stewards ready for questioning; two of them resentful, for they were anxious to go ashore.
And it was the day when the tall gangling man who worked for Archibald Smith wormed his way through the shrubbery and built a little ‘blind’ through which he could see the whole of the court. He had brought cold tea, sandwiches, fruit and chocolate and, being an intelligent man although he looked such a fool, he also had a spray of insect repellent. Not least, he had also taken along with him a miniature camera.
It was the day when, at The Towers, Lou Willison spoke to Barnaby. They were in the old kitchen of the house, where showers had been installed and all the gear was
stored. The room was high-ceilinged and gloomy, but dry. There was a view of the gardens and the thick shrubbery, and of the path which led to the hidden tennis court.
“Can you restrain yourself, Barnaby?” Willison asked.
“I surely can, Mr. Willison.”
“When you’re out there on the courts it will be a great temptation to blast off with the service, the first chance you get.”
“I know it, but you don’t have to worry.” Barnaby looked at his sponsor with an understanding smile. “I won’t do that, Mr. Willison. I can get through the early rounds without it, sir. I’m sure I can. I’ll use it only if I’m in trouble, but
I don’t expect to be in trouble until we get to the last sixteen.
“Barnaby.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You can be over-confident.”
“I know it, sir, but you don’t have any cause to worry. Mr. Willison. If I get myself in trouble that early, I don’t deserve to reach the final this year, sir. I won’t be ready for it.”
Willison’s bright eyes blazed.
“Good God, man! This is your year, it has to be your year! Don’t you realise how much —”
He stopped abruptly, because the puzzled expression in Barnaby’s eyes reminded him of something it was easy to forget. He had never told Barnaby how vital victory had become to him. It was not that he didn’t trust Barnaby, and he had earmarked ten per cent of any winnings for the young negro; but he was far from sure that Barnaby could carry the weight of such a responsibility. It was enough, might even be too much, that he had to carry the weight of his own ambition and the pride of his own race. Until now, Willison had understood these things perfectly and had rationalised himself into acceptance of them. But since so much had come to depend on it, Barnaby’s winning had become an obsession. Thank God he could be objective enough to realise that to place such an additional burden onto Barnaby’s shoulders would have been unforgivable. He wanted to help the lad to restrain himself; that was of vital importance to them both.
