Gideon's River

by John Creasey

  This was a new one, installed for pleasure cruises only, and moored alongside were two large river steamers, one the River Belle, the other christened the Belle Casino. Only a few men were about on the Belle Casino, but a small army was working on the River Belle. A young man with long hair and very tight trousers came hurrying to the gangway and helped Esmeralda on board.

  ‘I’d no idea you were coming tonight, darling.’

  ‘Superintendent Hobbs persuaded me to bring him,’ Esmeralda said. ‘Superintendent, Timothy Gentian is in charge of all the arrangements for the actual show.’

  Hobbs had heard of but never met Gentian, who looked in his early twenties but must, thought Hobbs, be in his middle thirties at least. He had a high reputation as a dress designer, an equally high one as a choreographer. His eyes were clear, his skin fresh, there was something youthful and frank and zestful about him.

  ‘How do you do, Superintendent.’ Gentian turned back to Esmeralda. ‘We had a Chief Inspector from the Thames Division here this afternoon to see what we were up to – he went off with Hugh, to the Port of London Authority. I had no idea that one had to make plans in advance for a little trip up the river.’ He was only half-jesting. ‘Do come and see …’

  Hobbs had seen the River Belle on a Saturday night, packed to the rails with roistering merrymakers, decks, salons, restaurants so crowded it was difficult to get through. He was astonished at the change. Gentian had draped the interior with velvet in pale greys and blues. Along the main deck were raised platforms, some of them already completed. Electricians and engineers were erecting floodlighting, a row of three lights were suddenly switched on, bright in spite of the sunlight. Hammering and banging was ceaseless – and so was Gentian’s commentary.

  ‘We’re using the main salon for the girls and the two smaller bars for the male models, all the changing will be down there. The spotlight on the funnel—d’you see?—will be focused on the main staircase, and the models will parade right round the ship … The seating is being made ashore, it shouldn’t take long to erect … The buffet will be on one of the attendant boats which will be secured on the right hand side—do hope you’re not a sailor, Superintendent!—and there will be a flotilla of smaller ships with the press, models of furs and gowns which can’t all be stored on board. Newspapermen and furs will be ferried to and fro as it were. It has been a very complex arrangement to make.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Hobbs said dryly. ‘What else is planned for your guests?’

  ‘Don’t you think enough is being done?’ asked Gentian. ‘They will see the finest collection of furs and gowns ever displayed, a magnificent display of jewellery, many of the world’s most beautiful women. There will be a buffet with food of quite exquisite delicacy, and the best of wines. Can they ask for more?’

  Hobbs smiled. ‘Some will.’

  ‘Alec, what is on your mind?’ demanded Esmeralda Pilkington.

  ‘Gambling,’ Hobbs said.

  ‘Oh, the casino.’ Gentian spread his hands delicately. ‘That is available on the other boat for those with money to lose.’

  ‘Isn’t it an official part of the show?’ asked Hobbs.

  ‘Show?’ Gentian echoed deprecatingly. ‘No, Superintendent, it is not part of the presentation. An arrangement has been made I believe for our guests to become temporary members of the Belle Casino and to get aboard, but that is no part of my business.’

  ‘It’s Hugh’s though,’ Esmeralda pointed out.

  They went ashore, Gentian handing Esmeralda over the side, and inclining his head slightly as Hobbs said goodnight. Hobbs walked with Esmeralda to the Bentley.

  ‘Where can I drop you, Alec?’ she asked.

  ‘Parliament Square will be a great help,’ Hobbs said as they settled in. ‘Esmeralda – ask Hugh to come and see me tomorrow, will you?’

  ‘But surely you will come and dine …’

  ‘No,’ Hobbs said decisively. ‘Thank you, but I really must work.’

  ‘Alec,’ Esmeralda said as she slowed down outside Westminster Abbey, ‘you’re worried about something to do with the show. What is it?’

  ‘The presentation,’ Hobbs reminded her, with a faint smile. ‘I don’t want Jeremy to get himself into trouble, and from now on this has to be official police business. Just a formality,’ he added, and patted the back of her hand. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  He saw that she glanced round as she drove off, but made no sign that he noticed, and walked briskly to the Yard, wondering whether Gideon had gone home. Big Ben struck the quarter; that would be a quarter-past six, thought Hobbs, he might just catch him before he left.

  Gideon was clearing up his desk when Hobbs tapped and entered from the passage door.

  ‘Now what’s on your mind?’ Gideon demanded, on the instant.

  ‘Is it as obvious as that?’ Hobbs asked wryly. ‘I’ve just come from the River Belle.’

  ‘What did you find on board?’ Gideon was taking a bottle of whisky and some glasses out of a cupboard in his desk.

  ‘I found enough to worry me,’ Hobbs said. ‘There will be a quarter of a million pounds’ worth of furs, at least as much jewellery, and a fortune on the casino boat. And all of that adds up to an almost irresistible temptation to thieves with ambition and ingenuity. Don’t you think so?’

  Gideon poured two drinks, and pondered as they drank. Finally, he said: ‘A damned sight too great. We must have that parade or whatever they call it guarded as if they were showing the crown jewels. We’ll have to talk to Worby—’ he hesitated. ‘Tell you what, Alec. We’ll have Worby, Prescott and Singleton here for a conference, and it might be a good idea to have someone from the City Police and the P.L.A. There’s a lot to discuss. Officially we can call it for these high jinks, and then tackle all the other things at the same time. Ten o’clock, say, in the morning.’

  ‘I’ll arrange it,’ promised Hobbs, and finished his whisky.

  ‘Another spot?’ asked Gideon.

  ‘No thanks – but I needed that one,’ Hobbs said.

  Soon afterwards, Gideon was on his way home. Kate would be waiting for him and directly he began to think about her he realised that her first question would be about the Pierce child. He flicked on his radio and asked Information if there was any news from Richmond.

  ‘Not a word,’ Information told him.

  ‘Let me know at home if any comes in,’ Gideon ordered.

  It was very dark in the quarry cave.

  Geraldine lay still, very drowsy but aware that she was still alive. Now and again the man moved, but he offered no threat now; he was asleep. Gradually, full wakefulness came to the girl, and with it memory and fear – and hope.

  She kept thinking about her captor.

  She kept thinking about the way he fondled her, how he loved touching her skin.

  She kept thinking about all that had happened since she had met him and allowed him to bring her here. She had known it was wrong, known it was risky.

  She could almost hear her mother, too, warning her against men; there were times when she thought that her mother actually hated them.

  ‘They only want one thing, and don’t you forget it. Do you hear me, Geraldine? They only want one thing, and when they’ve had it then they’ve finished with you. You’re a big girl now, I’ve seen how attractive you are to men. Listen to me, darling …’

  Now Geraldine was listening, over the months that had passed.

  She was wide awake, and thinking, and remembering that strange look in the man’s eyes, a kind of glazed expression, when he had held her scarf in his hands. She had been almost sure what was passing through his mind. He had gagged her again, not too tightly, and tied her to the bed before rocking to and fro, to and fro, until at last the rocking chair had stopped creaking.

  He stirred.

  So
on she realised that he was awake, too; she could just make out the shine of his eyes. The chair creaked again and she knew that he was getting up. He came across to her and she felt his hand groping about her, about her shoulders, then about her face. He fumbled with the scarf behind her head, loosened it, then drew it away. Without a word, he moved to one side; a match flared, dazzling her. When she opened her eyes wide again she saw a candle, flickering slightly. The light grew stronger, but when he came to her again his body hid the actual flame. Gently he began to massage her cheeks and chin and mouth. Soon, he loosened the rope round her waist, helped her to sit up, and held a cup to her lips.

  It contained milk, cold and greasy and none too fresh, but it eased the dryness in her mouth, her parched throat, and she drank eagerly.

  When she had finished she drew her head back. ‘You’re nice,’ she told him. To her, the words sounded hoarse and over loud. Be natural, be natural, she told herself.

  ‘What did you say, child?’ he asked.

  ‘I said you were nice,’ Geraldine repeated. ‘Very nice.’

  He looked at her eagerly. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Of course I do. I think you’re very nice, and – I love you touching me.’

  ‘You—you do?’ His voice grew shrill.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I really do.’

  She felt his hands upon the satin smoothness of her legs.

  She heard him draw in his breath, as if he had difficulty in breathing. He pressed harder. She wondered what he was thinking, believed that while he was doing this at least he would not kill her.

  He was thinking with a kind of exalted desperation: she likes me … If she likes me she won’t shout … If she likes me. Perhaps it’s a trick. Perhaps she’s lying to me. If she’s lying to me I’ll choke the life out of her, I’ll choke her to death.

  She whispered again: ‘You’re very nice.’

  She was not yet fourteen.

  Chapter Ten

  CONFERENCE

  Gideon opened the door of his office at half-past eight next morning, and found Hobbs sitting at his desk, telephone in hand. He waved to Hobbs to stay where he was and glanced through a file of reports on a corner of the desk.

  Hobbs said into the telephone: ‘Then you’ll have to put it off. Be here at ten – Commander Gideon’s office.’ He rang off and stood up. Whereas Lemaitre would have grumbled about whoever was raising difficulties and named them, Hobbs made no reference to what had just occurred, saying only: ‘That’s everyone.’

  ‘Nice and early,’ Gideon said dryly. He felt in a brisk, assertive mood this morning, without knowing why. The day was dull outside and the atmosphere sticky and unpleasant. ‘Anything new about the Pierce girl?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The baby killing?’

  ‘Hellier is questioning a girl now – he seems pretty sure she’s the right one.’

  ‘Micklewright?’

  ‘Nothing new – except that he seems to be getting on all right with Van Hoorn.’

  ‘We’ll see them at lunch,’ Gideon said.

  ‘I wondered if it would be a good idea to have Micklewright in on the conference,’ Hobbs said.

  Gideon frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s been concentrating on the river, and he may have something useful to contribute,’ answered Hobbs.

  Gideon’s frown deepened.

  ‘I suppose so. And you’re right in principle, anyhow – I should have thought about it. We want to talk to the City and the P.L.A. people about both the parade and the smuggling, and ought to have the Customs here, too.’ He was annoyed with himself because he hadn’t thought of these things before. ‘Kill two birds with one stone,’ he added, feeling once again that he was speaking tritely.

  ‘I asked the P.L.A. to check if Customs could have men available if we should need them,’ Hobbs told him.

  Gideon’s frown faded into a wry, amused grin.

  ‘That’s good – we will have ’em all.’ He looked round the office. ‘Can’t get ’em all in here, though. Better use the small conference room. Have coffee laid on for eleven-fifteen.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Hobbs promised.

  ‘Is there anything new?’ asked Gideon.

  ‘Nothing which need worry us this morning,’ Hobbs assured him. ‘There was a small bank raid at Lewisham yesterday afternoon and a post office was broken into during the night at Chelsea.’

  ‘Any news of that chap with the high-falutin’ name? Argyle-Morris?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Roswell,’ Gideon said. ‘You carry on.’

  Hobbs nodded, picked up some of the papers, and went out. Gideon leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on his desk. He suspected that there was something on Hobbs’s mind which he didn’t yet want to talk about. Oh well, he’d just have to wait until Hobbs decided to mention it. Stretching for the telephone, he put in a call to Roswell.

  It came through almost at once.

  ‘No, nothing’s turned up,’ Roswell said. ‘Not even Argyle-Morris.’

  ‘What does that mean exactly?’ Gideon asked.

  ‘He didn’t come home last night.’

  ‘What about the girl?’

  ‘She’s home and as bold as brass,’ replied Roswell. ‘You’d think they’d learn, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Learn what?’

  ‘She nearly gets drowned because she plays fast and loose with Dave Carter, and now that the new boyfriend’s away for a night she’s up most of it with another one. We kept an eye on her after Argyle-Morris left with Screw Smith.’

  ‘Who’s her third boyfriend?’ asked Gideon, thoughtfully.

  ‘Not one of Carter’s gang, as far as we can find out,’ Roswell said.

  ‘Might be a good idea to check very closely on him,’ said Gideon.

  ‘If you think so, George.’

  Gideon only just bit back a rough: ‘I do think so.’ Roswell was old in the service and a little inclined to take things easily. He was equally inclined to feel that only he really knew how to handle his division; and in one way he was right. Gideon rang off and pushed thought of the divisional man from his mind – and almost at once the telephone rang.

  ‘Mr. Hellier of Richmond for you, sir.’

  Gideon’s heart began to beat faster.

  ‘Put him through …’ there was a short pause. ‘Good morning, Hellier.’

  ‘Good morning, sir.’ Hellier’s voice betrayed no emotion at all. ‘We haven’t found the body in the river, for what that’s worth. The frogmen finished half-an-hour ago.’

  ‘So the child may still be alive.’ Gideon’s voice was gruff.

  ‘Could be, sir.’ There was a fractional pause before Hellier went on: ‘I’ve just talked to the young mother who killed her infant child.’

  ‘She admitted it, did she?’

  ‘Yes, sir. She’s seventeen. Parents haven’t helped at all. I’m charging her this morning and asking for remand in custody. The Welfare people can see what they can do, then.’

  ‘Right.’ Gideon wondered whether this was all Hellier had called him about.

  ‘One other thing, sir,’ Hellier went on. ‘There’s a possibility that Geraldine Pierce is on the other side of the river.’ He meant, ‘not in my division’, and that told Gideon a great deal. Obviously he was not sure that the police on the other side would search in the way he thought necessary. ‘So far we’ve taken it for granted that she’s on this side, sir.’

  Gideon could have said: ‘I haven’t taken anything for granted.’ In fact he said: ‘I’ll have a word with them.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘What was that about Pierce losing his job?’ asked Gideon.

  ‘His employer is an old skinflint,’
answered Hellier, ‘but I don’t think he’ll be fired, he’s too useful. His boss may make life hell for him, but he won’t cut off his nose to spite his face.’

  Gideon grunted and rang off.

  ‘Pierce, you’re nearly an hour late again this morning,’ Edward Lee said to his chief clerk. ‘You know how important this stocktaking is. I have no objection to you leaving early if you’ve finished, but you must be here on time.’

  Pierce thought: you humbug, you know you expect me to work overtime every night. He said: ‘It’s a very worrying time, sir.’

  ‘I appreciate that. Nevertheless …’

  As he listened, Pierce gritted his teeth and clenched his hands; and when at last he was alone at his desk in a tiny office, all he could see was first his wife’s face, then Geraldine’s, dancing before his eyes.

  He turned to the stock cards.

  In a way it was better to have something to do.

  Gideon was five minutes late getting to the small conference room, delayed by a telephone call from Oslo about some forged notes being circulated in the United Kingdom. It was probably just as well, for Worby was only just arriving, and he prided himself on his punctuality.

  The room was almost filled by an oval table of light polished walnut, with ten chairs around it. In front of each man was a note pad and pencil, between each two an ash-tray. The window was small and high, overlooking the main courtyard. It was open, and the noise of cars starting up, of men talking, of men laughing, drifted into the room. Each chair had wooden arms and the largest was one of three which were vacant. Gideon took it.

  Hobbs was on his right; Worby, dark, well-preserved, a little too heavy at the jowl, was on his left. Micklewright sat next to Worby, big knuckly hands clasped on the table in front of him. Next to him was Chief Superintendent Prescott of AB Division; next to him in turn, Roswell of NE. These two men might have been father and son, Roswell looking older than his fifty-nine years, balding, grey, with creases in his forehead and jowl, and unexpectedly merry blue eyes, while Prescott, of similar build, bore the same creased face, the same hint of enjoying life to the full. Next to Prescott was Superintendent Yates of the City of London Police, big, blond, military-looking, with a high complexion, improbably curly hair, and china blue eyes. He seldom said anything at conferences, only after them.