The Girl with the Silver Stiletto

by Vic Robbie

  This room was smaller without windows and furnished with a desk and swivel chair and a filing cabinet in the corner. Solomon appeared to fill the chair although he wasn’t a big man. His eyes closed and his defences down, he looked to be asleep. Saliva dribbled from the corner of a half-open mouth, and one of his chins rested on his chest emphasising the flabbiness of his jowls. Without muscle control, his stomach had escaped his waistcoat and sagged to one side. She shook the old man’s shoulder gently. His eyes stayed closed as his head lolled free. Tight around his neck, a wire cut deep into his flesh. On one armrest lay a lighted cigar, the ash growing by the second and burning a hole in the brown leather. She stubbed it out in a metal ashtray on the desk.

  Footsteps sounded as if they were coming from the library, and she stopped and listened, but there were no more that would betray the intruder’s location. Her heart was pounding through the thin stuff of her blouse as she eased her way back out into the hall. Now the only sounds were those drifting in from the street, and she returned to Solomon’s room.

  And then she heard a click of the front door closing.

  28

  California

  The town was one of many strung out like pearls on a necklace along the Pacific coast. Around eighty miles south of Los Angeles and an hour’s drive north up the 101 from San Diego. Full of rich retirees spending their days counting diminishing dollars and sunsets, it sat on crumbling cliffs overlooking an endless ocean and exuded the faded charm of a previous age. The Main Street consisted of food shops, dress shops, bookstores, bars, establishments selling oddities that only visitors bought, and small cafes where the freshest thing was the lipstick on the waitresses’ faces. Some had tables and chairs outside, and the regulars sat under Jacaranda trees and watched cars parking nose into the sidewalk. Not much happened here apart from the rise and fall of the tides, and it was perfect for them.

  Ben was looking for the best street in town that meandered north for more than a mile. The more modest homes on the right were raised to provide a glimpse of the ocean. The houses on the left overlooked the beach and were deceptive. From the road, they appeared to be single-storey homes with only a front door and a single window showing and the street view dominated by a double garage. But when seen from the beach, the houses were much grander affairs. Built into the cliff face, they ran in most cases to three storeys with private wooden staircases to the sand.

  The house was on the right side of the road, facing the water. A white stuccoed building with a flat roof surrounded by palmettos at the top of a drive that sloped at about 45 degrees up from the road. A generous balcony stretched the width of the property and afforded unimpeded views of the ocean. It had two bedrooms and bathrooms, a kitchen and dining-room, and a sitting-room on the ground floor. Upstairs were two bedrooms, each with a bathroom, and another sitting-room that took advantage of the views through a full-length glass wall. High wooden fences shielded a couple of patios and a pool whose waters, chilled by the shade, were colder than the ocean. The residents kept to themselves, not wanting to know if their neighbours had more money than them. None of that concerned him. They might be safe here while he decided on their next move as any newcomer would attract attention. If the Nazis arrived, they’d be as conspicuous as a bacon sandwich at a convention for vegetarians.

  Alena and Natalie shooed him away as they unpacked and prepared a meal, so he took Freddie, who was eager to see the ocean, to the beach. A hundred yards north of the house, a wooden stairway led to the sand. Now early evening, a stiff breeze pushed them back on their heels, but it did not deter Freddie. He pulled off his shoes and waded into the surf, wriggling his toes in the wet sand. A large, setting sun bathed everything in a surreal glow, turning the blue of the Pacific, a few clouds and the sand to orange. It lasted only minutes before the guillotine of night enveloped them in blackness.

  The house was perfect for their requirements. Owned by an uncle, his mother’s brother, it lay empty for most of the year while he travelled the world as a diplomat.

  They had left New York on Natalie’s return from Solomon as his death ended any hope of a lifeline. Alena’s disappointment was palpable when Natalie explained that Solomon, if that were his real name, was her only point of contact. Ben was more than ever convinced they’d have been in greater danger had they stayed in the city. And, although Natalie appeared to agree, he had never seen her look so troubled as she did now. The call he had made from his hotel room ensured the California house would be free and they had taken the earliest flight possible. It meant two flights to San Diego, but that made it harder for anyone attempting to follow them. Although Natalie’s arrangement with Solomon’s group had collapsed, she tagged along with them, and he wondered what the reason was for her continued interest in the boy’s future.

  When he and Freddie returned from the beach, he found Alena and Natalie had started without them. They sat on light blue velour easy-chairs across from each other with an opened bottle of wine and a pack of Natalie’s Passing Clouds between them on the table. Both were smoking. And their guilty look as he entered hinted that he’d been the topic of their conversation. There was food on the table. They had put together a meal having raided a fridge that was always full on the orders of his uncle who encouraged friends and relations to use the house whenever they could.

  ‘Natalie’s been telling me things,’ Alena said with the smile of someone who had secrets to share.

  ‘Oh?’ he said as if it didn’t matter.

  ‘Martinique…’

  Natalie’s expression gave nothing away.

  Alena was still smiling, so he guessed Natalie hadn’t revealed everything.

  ‘And Alena has told me about you and her.’ Natalie’s look suggested she knew more than she’d admit. ‘You never cease to amaze me.’

  It was in danger of deteriorating into a confessional. ‘Let’s eat,’ he said.

  Over dinner, they kept the conversation to banter for Freddie’s sake, and it felt more like a vacation than fleeing for their lives.

  After allocating bedrooms – Alena and Freddie and Natalie took the rooms upstairs for security – he went outside to secure the grounds. It was so dark it was impossible to see more than a few yards. And it felt sinister. The wind rustling in the palmettos sounded as if someone were creeping up on him as he inspected the fences and gates. They would be no barrier to an intruder, but he secured them as best he could. He walked around to the back and in a break in the low clouds moonlight speared the water of the pool giving it an iridescent glow. Taking off his shoes and socks, he sat on the edge and immersed his feet in the water. The coldness bit through to the bone, making him gasp, but it helped bring clarity to his thoughts.

  The situation was becoming more confusing the more he thought about it, and he gave up and returned to the house. The reception room’s main lights were dimmed, but a lamp burned in a corner. As if in a trance, Alena sat staring at the wall, a glass just inches from her lips, and rolling an unlit cigarette in the fingers of her other hand.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said swinging around on hearing his step, her voice on edge as if expecting someone else.

  Who did she think it might be?

  ‘Come and sit here.’ She made room on the sofa.

  In the kitchen, he found a bottle of a passable whiskey, threw ice in a glass and poured a sizeable slug of the spirit over the rocks.

  She turned to him as he sat beside her and pulled away and then moved closer, so their thighs touched.

  ‘You still like your Scotch,’ she said, appraising him.

  He held up the glass to what light there was. ‘It’s Irish, but I guess it’ll have to do.’ He grinned. ‘I thought you’d have been asleep by now.’

  ‘Can’t sleep,’ she said with a rueful shake of her head.

  ‘No point in worrying, that won’t change a thing.’

  ‘I’m not. Often I can’t sleep, thinking what happened in Berlin all those years ago.’

  He
took a sip of his drink instead of replying.

  Alena stared into her glass. ‘I go over and over it in my mind as if by doing so I could change everything that’s happened. And every time I recall those events, I can see how I could have avoided it. If I hadn’t been so keen to get into the diplomatic service, I wouldn’t have been sent to Berlin before the war to spy using my credentials as cover. And if I hadn’t been an expert at languages, I wouldn’t have become the liaison between the French Embassy and the Nazis.’ She took a sip of her drink and her eyes glazed. ‘And that party with the Nazis. Berlin was fun. Lots of parties giving us the opportunity to enjoy ourselves and drink and flirt. I met many top Nazis, and German army officers, who were very impressive in their uniforms and their manners were always impeccable. Not the monsters we now know them to have been. If I hadn’t drunk so much…’ She peered out into the night. ‘Can’t put it out of my mind, if only I could just erase everything and start again.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ he said. ‘If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have had Freddie.’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder if it might have been better had Freddie not been born. If the Nazis get their hands on him, it will be a fate worse than death.’

  She passed him her glass, demanding a refill, and rubbed her face with both hands, sending her hair swirling.

  ‘Drink another bottle, and you won’t be able to dream,’ he said and handed her a replenished glass.

  Her laughter was slow and musical, and her eyes glinted green in the lamplight. Although it had been years, Ben thought she was even more beautiful than before despite what she’d been through.

  ‘You know, I looked for you,’ he said. ‘I never gave up searching.’

  Alena’s head dropped, hair hiding her face. ‘I wanted to contact you. A phone call, a letter, but SIS said no. It was too dangerous and not to trust anyone, not even you.’ And then he realised by the motion of her shoulders that she was sobbing. ‘Ironical isn’t it? You’re helping, and SIS have deserted us.’

  ‘Here.’ He put an arm around her and pulled her closer. ‘Don’t cry. After the darkest of nights, there’s always a new dawn.’

  ‘It’s not that. Once again you’re putting your life in danger for us.’

  He took her face in both hands and turned it towards him and bent forward, so their mouths touched. He could smell a hint of Chanel and feel the warmth of her body and hear the beat of her heart. And her lips tasted as good as they had done all those years before.

  29

  ‘Can I take Freddie to the beach?’ Alena asked, feeling foolish for having to seek permission.

  Natalie shook her head, but Ben disagreed: ‘Sure, we’ve got breathing space at the moment.’ He hoped he wouldn’t regret those words.

  Alena looked at Natalie before turning and staring at him. ‘He’s so excited. We won’t stay long, I promise.’

  ‘Go for it.’ He smiled and waved an arm towards the ocean, doubting the Nazis had followed them to California. But they would have to move before they found out. For now, they were safe and one step ahead of their pursuers. If they could make it two steps, perhaps they would have a chance. While they were gone, he aimed to patrol the area looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  ‘Give me the car keys.’ Natalie interrupted Ben’s thoughts with an outstretched hand.

  ‘Why? Where are you going?’

  Hesitating as if selecting an appropriate answer, she replied: ‘I want to find a store. There are things I need.’

  If he gave her the keys and trouble arrived, they would be trapped without transport. But Alena made the decision for him. ‘Okay. And please get something for me.’

  Outnumbered, he handed them over and wondered where Natalie was going and would she return. With her track record, she might disappear to take herself out of the line of fire. If she stayed, there would have to be a reason.

  ‘It’s okay; you’ll get them back.’ Natalie’s laugh was unconvincing as if reading his mind. ‘I’m not going to make a run for it.’

  He wouldn’t stand in her way if she did, as long as she returned the car first.

  Natalie found a store off the main drag selling almost everything you could need and more. She was looking for a payphone, but it didn’t appear to have one. Having bought the provisions Alena requested, she paid a sour-looking woman, with long, grey hair that hung straight as though she had just walked out of the ocean. And she headed for the car parked in a lot out back. Ben was taking over, and that made her nervous. The agreement to kill the boy appeared dead. With Solomon out of the equation, she had hoped to call the Manhattan number to determine whether his associates might stick to the arrangement. And did the Nazis still need her help to abduct Freddie? If that were the case, it would save her a difficult decision. Whatever, she must not allow Alena and Freddie to vanish, or she would always be anticipating the assassin’s hot breath on her neck.

  Clutching a brown paper bag, she wedged herself against the car door and reached for the keys.

  ‘Morning, ma’am.’ A man with a friendly expression had been watching her struggle with amusement and approached. He lifted his hat. ‘Looks like you need a hand.’

  At first startled, she warmed to his smile. ‘Why, thank you, cheri. That would be helpful.’

  Handing over the bag, she unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel. ‘Please put it in the seat beside me?’ She reached across to open the door.

  ‘Sure.’ The man’s grin grew wider as he climbed in holding the bag. Before she could protest, another man pushed into the driver’s seat forcing her into the middle and Smiler deposited the groceries on her lap. Between them, they wedged her in tight, trapping her arms by her sides.

  ‘What the devil is going on?’

  ‘OK, don’t talk, just listen,’ the newcomer ordered. This one wasn’t smiling. A thin, grey face with mean lips as white as scar tissue. ‘Better that way.’

  ‘I have no money, I–’

  ‘You know a friend of ours.’

  ‘I have many friends.’

  ‘Shut the wisecracks, lady.’

  ‘If you’re cops, you’ve got the wrong person.’

  Thin face looked at his colleague. ‘No, lady, got the right one.’

  ‘Who in hell are you?’ She tried to stop trembling.

  ‘I said, you know a friend of ours.’ He reached inside his jacket, and a paralysing panic spread through her. They pressed her from both sides, and she could not move. He extricated a pack of Luckies and pulled out one, sticking it in the corner of his mouth, and let it roll around his lips. Then he scratched a match alight on the sole of his boot and inhaled deep and exhaled over the windshield.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Mr Solomon.’ As she tried to work out where they fitted into the equation, he studied her. ‘That’s good. You remember.’

  What did they want? She stole a glance at the other man, who was playing only a bit part.

  ‘He’s dead,’ she said.

  ‘Indeed, lady, and you should know. Dead as yesterday’s newspaper.’ The cigarette dangling from the corner of his leering mouth.

  ‘But what do you want from me?’

  ‘You killed him.’ He took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew smoke in her face.

  ‘I didn’t,’ she spluttered. ‘I swear.’

  ‘Alive when you went in, and,’ he clicked his fingers, ‘dead when you came out.’

  ‘I didn’t kill him, I had an arran–’

  ‘An arrangement?’

  Keeping her eyelids low, she wondered how much they knew and whether it would make any difference.

  ‘Doesn’t matter to me, lady.’ He sniffed. ‘You might not have killed him, but it’s in the cops’ hands. No mistake, you’re in the frame. Got all the witnesses needed.’

  ‘I’m innocent.’ By framing her for Solomon’s murder, it stopped her approaching the cops for help.

  Thin face wasn’t impressed and glanced at his co
lleague, and a silent message exchanged between them.

  ‘Unless…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look, lady, as upstanding citizens, we should hand you to the cops.’ Smiler was chuckling. ‘A murderer on the run. Doing our bit to keep killers off the streets. Or–’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Think about it.’ He encouraged her to understand. ‘You still have work to do.’

  ‘I’m working on it.’

  He looked towards the store and then back at her. ‘No shit, lady.’

  She dare not move or say a word.

  ‘Cut all the crap. Old man Solomon told you to take care of business.’

  ‘But–’

  ‘No buts. You agreed and you ain’t done it yet.’

  ‘Still trying to track down the boy.’

  ‘Don’t waste time, lady. Especially not my partner’s. Got a nice way about him; all the ladies say that, but likes beating on women. And while you’re swallowing your teeth, he’ll still be smiling.’

  She stole a glance at his colleague – and he was smiling.

  ‘Followed you. The boy’s here. You were too busy looking for Nazis to notice. And anyways friends arranged a few distractions to slow them down.’

  ‘Solomon’s dead, how–’

  ‘Like a bet, you have to honour the deal.’

  ‘Why should I do your dirty work? You’re capable of doing it yourself.’

  He looked at her as though she were deranged. ‘If it came out that Jews killed this kid, it would add to the shit we get in this country. People still blame us for the war and the Yanks that died. On the other hand, you’re perfect. A lone wolf, a foreigner with no motive. No connection.’