The Graveyard Shift

by Jack Higgins

  He helped himself to a cigarette from a box containing Turkish and Virginian, another anachronism, and moved across to the shelves. From their general appearance, the books had come with the study in some kind of package deal. He took one down, examined it and smiled. Even the pages hadn’t been cut. As he replaced it, the door opened and Bella came in.

  It was quite incredible. She didn’t look a day older, no different from the healthy young animal he’d worshipped as a kid, hanging around on the corner of Khyber Street to see her go by.

  The clothes were more expensive, of course. The red dress had obviously cost Faulkner a packet, the diamond brooch on one shoulder looked real.

  But these were inessentials. The hair was still as dark, the eyes bright, mouth full and generous and when she moved to meet him, the old indefinable something was still there. A complete, deep sensuality that would still move men when her hair was grey.

  ‘Miller?’ she said. ‘Nick Miller? Don’t I know you?’

  ‘A long time ago,’ he said. ‘Around the corner from your old house in Khyber Street. My mother kept a shop.’

  Her smile was like a bubble breaking through to the surface. ‘Now I remember. You’re Phil Miller’s kid brother. I met him at a party the other week. He told me all about you.’

  ‘I’m surprised he mentioned me in company.’

  She took a cigarette from the box and he gave her a light. ‘So you’re a Detective Sergeant now?’ She shook her head. ‘And everywhere I go I see another of those television shops of Phil’s. It doesn’t make sense. Why aren’t you working with him?’

  ‘Phil has a flair for making money.’ Nick smiled. ‘I run to darker talents. In any case, I’m a sleeping partner.’

  ‘Isn’t that illegal or something? For a policeman, I mean?’

  ‘We don’t mention that.’ He threw his cigarette into the fire. ‘I’ve been trying to run Ben to earth for the past two or three hours without success. He’s here in town, but that’s as far as I’ve got.’

  ‘Ben?’ she said warily, her smile vanishing. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Your sister made a complaint earlier this evening. Said you’d had a message from Ben saying he’d look you up. She asked us to run him down. Warn him not to bother you.’

  ‘Why can’t she mind her own damned business?’ Bella said angrily.

  ‘I didn’t see her personally,’ Nick said. ‘But from all accounts, she was worried about you. About what might happen if Ben showed up.’

  ‘Worried about herself and that precious school of hers more likely,’ Bella flashed back at him, lapsing momentarily into the harsher accent of her youth and then she seemed to pull up short. ‘No, that isn’t really fair. She does worry about me – always has.’ She smiled and shook her head. ‘Daft, when you think about it. She’s five years younger than me, but she started to do the thinking for both of us a long time ago.’

  ‘Can I see the letter?’

  ‘I’ve got it in a drawer in the bedroom. I’ll only be a second.’

  She crossed to the only other door in the room, opened it and went in. Nick could see a luxuriously furnished bedroom in red and gold with a reproduction four-poster bed. She opened a drawer in a dressing-table and came back carrying the letter. It was a small sheet of official prison notepaper, folded to envelope size and dated a couple of days previously. It was brief and to the point. See you soon – Ben. Even the prison officer who censored mail could have taken no exception to such an innocent sounding message.

  ‘When did you get this?’

  ‘The day before yesterday.’

  ‘And you haven’t shown it to your husband?’

  ‘With his temper?’ She shook her head and tapped her fingers impatiently on the edge of the desk. ‘What would be the point? It might never happen. If he does show up, it’ll be more for old times’ sake than anything else. Ben would never do anything to hurt me.’

  ‘Then what are you worrying about?’

  She laughed. ‘It seems to be Jean who’s doing all the worrying. Maybe you’d better have a chat with her.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘I’ll see if I can find her. She may still be in the kitchen. She was giving me a hand with the supper arrangements. You can’t trust these catering people out of your sight.’

  The door closed behind her and Nick moved across to the fireplace. He was standing with one foot on the polished brass fender, gazing into the flames and thinking about Ben Garvald, when the door opened again.

  Some things can happen in life which have such a devastating effect that, after them, nothing can ever be quite the same again. Nick Miller was caught in such a timeless moment when he turned to find Jean Fleming standing just inside the door.

  She wore high-heeled shoes, dark stockings, a simple dress of black silk which was barely knee-length and left her arms bare. There was about her a tremendous quality of repose, of detachment, as she stood there looking across at him.

  It was as if in some strange way she was waiting for something. It was not that she was beautiful. The dark hair, razor-cut to the skull, gave her a rather boyish appearance and the sallow, Irish peasant face indicated strength more than any other quality, yet never before in his life had he felt such an immediate and over-riding attraction to another human being.

  ‘We’ve met before,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘A long time ago.’

  She moved towards him and when he took her hands, she was trembling slightly. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘That I’d like to take you away now – this minute – to some quiet place where no one could touch us.’

  ‘Is there such a place?’

  ‘Only in dreams.’

  She laughed shakily, pulled her hands free and took a cigarette from the box on the table. He gave her a light and she smiled.

  ‘I think you must have been about nine years old when I first fell in love with you.’

  ‘Is that a fact now?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She nodded seriously. ‘I used to hang around your mother’s shop on the off-chance that you might come out.’

  ‘I always thought you hated me.’

  ‘Not you – Bella. Everything male in the district from the kids upwards thought she was the last word. I never minded till you joined in.’

  ‘It would seem I’ve got quite a lot to make up for,’ he said calmly and when she turned to look up at him steadily, her eyes were sea-green, so deep a man could drown in them.

  She took a deep breath, as if pulling herself back sharply to reality. ‘Bella said you wanted a word with me about Ben.’

  ‘That’s right. She didn’t seem very pleased about you coming to see us.’

  ‘Bella’s been putting off what she should do today till tomorrow, ever since I’ve been old enough to understand her,’ Jean Fleming said. ‘If it was left to her, she’d pretend Ben didn’t exist and never had. That’s no good. No good at all.’

  ‘I’ve done a little checking with some of his old friends,’ Nick said. ‘He’s definitely in town.’

  Her head came up sharply. ‘You’ve no idea where he is now?’

  ‘None at all. I thought he might come here.’

  ‘Oh, God. I hope not.’

  She walked away from him, obviously in deep distress, and Nick frowned. ‘What can he do? Kick up a fuss, be a little unpleasant, that’s all. Anything more and we run him in.’

  ‘That’s what Harry said.’

  She reached out momentarily, almost as if she would recover the words and Nick said: ‘So you told him about the letter?’

  She nodded. ‘Bella didn’t want to, so I went to him behind her back. She still isn’t aware that Harry knows. That’s why I wasn’t completely honest with Superintendent Grant. I thought that if Ben turned up in town and the police had a word with him, that would be enough.’

  ‘What did Faulkner say when you told him?’

  ‘He laughed about it. Said he could have Ben taken car
e of any time he wanted. He also said I was more worried about myself than Bella in this business.’

  ‘And are you?’

  ‘I suppose I am if I am honest. If Ben turned up here now, created a scene and had to be arrested, the scandal would brush off Bella within a week at the most. It could ruin me.’

  ‘The school, you mean?’

  She nodded. ‘I can just see the newspaper reports. A headmistress with a brother-in-law released from prison after a ten-year sentence for armed robbery. They’d have a field day.’

  ‘It means a lot to you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Oakdene?’ She laughed. ‘It isn’t even mine. Not completely, anyway. When Miss Van Heflin had to retire unexpectedly and offered to sell me the school, I didn’t have the necessary capital.’

  ‘Wouldn’t Faulkner help?’

  A muscle tightened in her right cheek. ‘That kind of assistance, I don’t need. Not from him. Miss Van Heflin suggested I should pay her a percentage of the annual profit for an agreed period.’

  ‘And it’s worked out all right?’

  ‘Another five years and it’s all mine.’

  There was real pride in her face and he grinned. ‘A long way from Khyber Street.’

  ‘That’s what Superintendent Grant said.’ She smiled. ‘A long way for both of us.’

  He took her hands and held them tightly. ‘I’d like to see more of you, Jean. A lot more.’

  She moved into his arms and touched him gently on the face. ‘I don’t think you could get rid of me if you wanted to, now.’

  They stayed there for a moment and then she pulled gently away. ‘I’d like to have a few words with Bella, then you could take me home. I didn’t bring my car. Or are you staying?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I’d like to see Chuck Lazer before I go, though. Do you know him?’

  ‘He used to play at Ben’s club in the old days. He’s the best there is. I’ll look for you in there after I’ve seen Bella.’

  She turned to the door and he caught her hand. ‘I wouldn’t like to be responsible for what might happen if I do see you home.’

  Her face was very calm, the eyes fathomless. ‘Then I’ll be responsible.’

  The door closed behind her softly. For a long time, he stood looking after her and then he started to move. Life could certainly be complicated and that was the understatement of the evening for a start.

  When he went into the Long Room, Chuck Lazer was really high, way out on the edge of a cloud in a cool and quiet place where no one could touch him. After a while, he came back to earth slowly, his fingers crawling down the keyboard in a series of intricate chords and opened his eyes.

  No one was listening and half the couples on the floor kept on dancing as though the music was still playing. As Lazer recognized him, Nick grinned sympathetically.

  ‘You were on your own, man. Nobody heard.’

  ‘Depends on your point of view, General. They were all out there with me, alive or dead, makes no difference. Fats and Bix, Jack Teagarden, Charlie Parker, Goodman, Billie Holliday. Anyone there ever was or ever will be.’

  Nick offered him a cigarette, gave him a light. ‘How about a drink?’

  The American shook his head, ran the back of a hand across his forehead to wipe away the sweat. ‘I need more than any drink, General, for what ails me.’

  ‘I was speaking to your doctor earlier tonight,’ Nick said carefully. ‘He seems to think there’s some hope for you.’

  ‘Don’t they always?’

  ‘A new treatment,’ Nick said. ‘Not really new, but it’s been tried successfully.’

  ‘What’s it involve. Withdrawal?’

  ‘With the assistance of a drug called apomorph­ine. Prevents withdrawal symptoms and cuts out the craving for the usual stuff.’

  ‘Sounds too good to be true.’

  ‘How did you get hooked in the first place?’

  Lazer shrugged. ‘The wrong kind of party, too much booze. Someone gave me a shot for a giggle after I passed out. That’s all it took.’

  Nick’s hand balled up into a fist on top of the piano, the knuckles gleaming whitely, and Lazer grinned. ‘I know, General, that’s just how I felt.’ He got to his feet abruptly. ‘Sit in for me a couple of minutes, will you? I need a fix.’

  He pushed his way through the crowd to a door in the corner by the bar. Nick sat down, nodded to the bass man and drummer and moved straight into a solid, pushing arrangement of ‘St Louis Blues.’ He was into the third chorus when Lazer returned. Nick started to slow, but the American shook his head, sat on the edge of the stool beside him and joined in.

  The volume increased gradually with the tempo, Lazer gauging the length of each break expertly, Nick responding in the bass. Quite suddenly, there was something there, something different that had the couples on the floor turning in surprise to move towards the piano, crowding in, drawn by something that was real, that was as elemental as life itself.

  Without changing the tempo, Lazer moved into ‘How High the Moon’ and Nick, challenged by the brilliant phrasing, countered with a rhythm pattern that had the American crying out in delight, head thrown back.

  His hands found a richer theme and Nick balanced with an intricate series of chords, dissolving into an eight-bar break that left his arms aching. He started to slow and Lazer followed him, down to the valley after the mountaintop, the quiet places where they finally faded in a minor key.

  People were applauding all around and Lazer grinned, his eyes shining feverishly. ‘You’ve been there, General. You’ve been there.’

  Jean pushed through the crowd, her face glowing with surprise, and reached out to take his hand as he got to his feet. ‘One of my minor vices,’ Nick said with a grin. ‘Are you ready to go?’

  There was a slight tap on his shoulder and

  he turned to find Craig standing there, a polite, remote smile on the craggy face.

  ‘Mr Faulkner’s compliments, sir. If you’d be kind enough to follow me, I’ll take you to him. He’d like a few words before you leave.’

  Chapter 15

  Although Nick had never met Harry Faulkner personally, he had seen him at a distance on many occasions and knew that his brother met him now and then at clubs of the sort frequented by the wealthier business men of the town.

  Respectable business man with wide interests, philanthropist, sportsman, chairman of several charities. That was the image he liked to cultivate. Harry Faulkner had come a long way from the riverside slum where he’d first seen the light of day and he wore his possessions for all to see, like the fresh gardenia in his buttonhole daily, his house in St Martin’s Wood, his cars, his beautiful young wife.

  And he had won all these things, his position in society, by breaking the law or, at least, by using it for his own ends. All his life he had worked on the fringe of the underworld, using his brains to make others do the things he wouldn’t do himself, always careful so that whatever happened, whatever went wrong, nothing could touch Harry Faulkner.

  He was sitting at the desk in his study when Nick was shown in, a stockily built man of middle height who carried his sixty years lightly. Even the iron grey hair somehow gave an impression of force and vitality.

  Craig withdrew and Faulkner got to his feet and came round the desk, hand outstretched, a pleasant smile on his face. ‘So you’re Nick. I’ve heard a lot about you. Play golf at the club with your brother regularly.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Nick said.

  ‘How about a drink? Whisky all right?’

  ‘Irish if you have it.’

  He sat on the edge of the desk as Faulkner went behind the bar. He was wearing one of the most beautiful dinner jackets Nick had ever seen, superbly cut and somehow right up to date without being too far out. His pleated shirt front gleamed in the fire-light, the cuff-links had just the right touch of ostenation.

  There wasn’t a hair out of place as he busied himself with the drinks, looking like something in an a
dvertisement for good whisky in one of the better magazines. He was too perfect. It was as if someone had given him a list containing all the characteristics of a gentleman and he had ticked them off one by one.

  He handed Nick one of the glasses and sat down behind the desk again. The whiskey was Jameson’s and Nick savoured the inimitable flavour with conscious pleasure.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said.

  ‘Glad you like it.’ Faulkner carefully fitted a cigarette into a silver holder and leaned back in his chair. ‘I’ve just had a little chat with Bella about this whole business. It’s a pity that damned sister-in-law of mine can’t keep her nose out of other people’s affairs.’

  ‘She seems to think it is her affair.’

  ‘She would,’ Faulkner said. ‘All she can think of is that precious school of hers.’

  ‘So you’re not worried about Ben Garvald turning up here and causing any trouble?’

  ‘He wouldn’t be such a mug,’ Faulkner said crisply, his accent slipping a little. ‘I can look after my own. If Garvald doesn’t know that by now, then it’s time he learned.’

  ‘An interesting point.’ Nick swallowed a little more of his Jameson’s. ‘Someone tried to teach Ben a lesson outside Wandsworth when he was released yesterday morning. From what I hear, they came badly unstuck.’

  ‘These things happen all the time,’ Faulkner said blandly. ‘All you need’s a little bit of fog and every tearaway in town turns out to see what he can pick up.’

  ‘Strange you should say that,’ Nick said. ‘Although we didn’t have any fog up here, it was quite thick around Wandsworth yesterday morning.’

  Faulkner had stopped smiling. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means that a lump of dung called Sammy Rosco arranged the hit outside Wandsworth. He made a mistake. So did Fred Manton.’

  Faulkner’s face was quite expressionless. ‘And what’s Manton got to do with this?’

  ‘That’s the interesting part. From what I can make out, he was acting as middleman for a friend. Now I wonder who that could be?’

  When Faulkner answered, his accent had slipped right back to the canal docks and his eyes sparkled viciously. ‘If you’ve got anything to say, spit it out and be sure you can make it stick because I’ll take you all the way.’