Death of a Dormouse

by Reginald Hill

  ‘Then what?’ demanded Trudi.

  ‘Then your father dies. Which is what Schiller wants. You get married to a man whose location and career are in Schiller’s control, which is also what he wants. And Trent’s career prospers, which is what he wants. So much satisfaction can hardly be ascribed to coincidence, I feel. Don’t look so distressed, my dear. As I say, I’m sure you’ve worked all this out for yourself. Indeed, what I find hard to believe is that a woman of your obvious intelligence didn’t work it all out a great deal earlier. Surely you must have sensed something odd, something not quite right in your life all those years?’

  ‘Which years?’ said Trudi dully. ‘You don’t notice time when you’re sleeping.’

  Ashburton took off his spectacles and polished them, blinking at her with what looked like genuine sympathy.

  The door which he had half closed was suddenly flung open. Usher stood on the threshold.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, man! What the hell’s going on? Give me two minutes with the cow. I’ll guarantee she’ll talk!’

  ‘Patience, I beg you. Patience,’ said Ashburton.

  ‘Patience! If we’d hit her hard from the start like I said, we’d be long gone by now. All this shilly-shallying, all this clever clever stuff – they’re all out there now, you know, out there looking, you’d better believe it!’

  ‘In a general sense, yes. But there’s really no chance that anyone is out there in a simple geographical sense. So go away! This matter will be resolved in a very few minutes!’

  He put on his spectacles as he spoke. It was like the assumption of a badge of authority. Reluctantly, Usher withdrew.

  ‘Who’s out there? What does he mean?’ asked Trudi.

  ‘All kinds of people,’ said Ashburton vaguely. ‘You’d be surprised what interest there is in you. You see, what’s happening in the organization at the moment is rather like the dissolution of the Roman Empire. No one’s quite sure where the power will end up, everyone’s struggling to make sure they don’t get the dirty end of the stick, and the Vandals, in the form of various law enforcement agencies, are at the gates.

  ‘A couple of years ago, with Herr Schiller growing old, your husband looked set fair for the succession. Your grandfather had never been able to bring himself openly to acknowledge you. You were after all the Jew’s daughter, and the cause of your mother’s death. But you were all he had of family. Had you had a child of your own, a son in particular, I think that would have brought him into the open. But it never happened, and the best he could do was elect Trent to the rôle.

  ‘Trent’s rise had created resentment and curiosity, but it was a long time before any of his rivals discovered the reason for his success.’

  He smiled as he spoke and Trudi said, ‘It was you. You sold the information.’

  ‘So sharp! Perhaps I did. Not that it seemed very helpful to Trent’s enemies. The best they could think of was the old-fashioned idea of getting some compromising photographs and either using them to shock old Schiller or perhaps drive you into a divorce and thus cut the connection. Your friend, the Welsh lady, obliged – unwittingly I hasten to add. You have enough to forgive her for, I wouldn’t want to suggest anything worse. I don’t know what effect the photos might have had on Schiller but he never saw them. He had his first stroke. It took him out of the game for over a year. By the time he got back, everything was in a turmoil. Trent was in the thick of it, of course. You must have been aware of something?’

  Trudi thought of the even tenor of her life in Vienna, the slow drift from dawn to dusk, the drowsy cocoon of rich food, fine wine, good living; theatre, cinemas, television; dress shops, furniture shops, cafés …

  She could not believe she was remembering herself. She shook her head helplessly and said, ‘No.’

  ‘No? Well, possibly Trent went out of his way to keep you unaware,’ said Ashburton comfortingly. ‘He had enough on his plate. You see, we know now that in the middle of all this he was also approached by the police. Of course, you know that from Herr Jünger!’

  ‘Jünger told me that Trent came to him and said he suspected that something crooked was going on at Schiller-Reise.’

  Ashburton laughed.

  ‘Is that what he said? Does that mean he believes in your innocence, I wonder? Or is it a bluff to persuade you he believes in it? A bluff, I think. I see from your expression that your experience with Herr Jünger has not been altogether happy. Well, you must forgive him. He will have worked out by now that something very nasty has happened to his brother and must suspect you know what it is. Which, of course, is true, isn’t it?’

  ‘No! I only know he’s dead!’

  ‘Yes? Well. Let’s play the game a little longer then. Nearly two years ago, your friend’s husband, Alan Cummings, died suddenly of a heart attack on his way to work in the Customs and Excise office at Manchester Airport. He picked a bad day to die. A shipment was on its way from Holland that day which needed a friendly eye to ensure its safe passage. Alas, the friendly eye was now glazed, permanently. The shipment was discovered. It was a triumph for our clever Customs officers. But one of them, cleverer than the others, wondered why it had in fact been so easy to find. Surely the traffickers would have shown more ingenuity in concealing it – unless, of course, they had been confident that the finders would also be the keepers. That’s when they started to look closely at Cummings. The trail quickly led to Trent and Schiller-Reise, tying in with other leads and suspicions in Austria. Trent was alerted, probably through your friend, the widow Cummings, who told him of their strange post-mortem interest in her dead husband’s affairs. Jünger, I suspect, is telling the truth in part at least. Trent, wanting time, probably did actually approach him, not as the innocent who has stumbled on a crime, but as the guilty willing to do a deal. Jünger agreed. He wanted the whole set-up. And Trent had his time.

  ‘He also had Jünger’s brother as his liaison and his minder. Over months, he fed the police enough titbits of information to keep them happy. But by an amusing paradox, his own need for time forced him to protect his great rival in the organization, the only other man capable of inheriting complete control from Schiller. You see, once Jünger got him, then the whole operation would be folded up, including Trent.’

  ‘But you said he’d done a deal.’

  ‘Oh yes. I’ve no doubt he’d have got away with five years instead of the twenty he thoroughly deserved. But you don’t imagine Trent would settle for that! No. He wanted freedom, security, wealth. So he kept quiet for the time being about his main rival for the throne, which was easier than you think, as unlike the others, this man had no overt link with Schiller-Reise. Again, I see you’re ahead of me, my dear!’

  ‘Dr Werner,’ said Trudi.

  ‘Of course. Even I have only found this out in recent months. He’s so highly respected in every field, social, cultural as well as professional. And that clinic of his! Some of the most advanced treatment in the world in the field of drug addiction is carried on there. It’s incredible, isn’t it? He gets paid at both ends.’

  ‘Why did he come to Trent’s funeral?’

  ‘A good question. Panic. A mistake. Though of course he’d no idea then that the police were involved. Trent wanted to be in England. He needed a legitimate reason and he got Schiller in one of his last acts of authority to appoint him my successor. Werner’s suspicions were roused, of course. He started looking into the areas of business that Trent was responsible for. And what he found was – nothing! Almost literally. Trent had been clearing out the organization’s coffers for months and covering up his tracks with exquisite care. Then, almost simultaneous with this discovery, Werner was told that Trent had died. He flew to England at once.’

  ‘Why? Trent was dead. Did he expect to be able to examine the body?’

  ‘Oh no. It wasn’t Trent he wanted to see. It was you. He wanted to get to you before anyone else did. He wanted to find out for himself what you knew. Like me, he found it hard to believe that you
could be totally ignorant. And things were in such turmoil, he could not bring himself to trust anyone else.’

  ‘But he didn’t stay after the funeral.’

  ‘Because Astrid Fischer turned up. He’d never met her, you see. But now he recognized her as a former patient at his clinic and he knew who’d been picking up the bills for her treatment. I don’t mean specifically, but in general terms. She had friends in high places, the kind of friends to whom an organization like Schiller’s was either a threat to be removed or an attraction to be absorbed. The realization that they must have put Astrid in to keep an eye on Trent made Werner realize that the absorption programme had gone much further than Schiller himself had ever revealed.’

  ‘You mean Astrid was spying on Trent?’ said Trudi, wondering why she felt so indignant at the idea.

  ‘Initially. But Trent, I think, was sharp enough to suspect, and attractive enough to get confirmation through an affair. What he discovered must have convinced him that the time had come to get out, even without the realization that the authorities were on his heels.

  ‘Anyway, the sight of Astrid stopped Werner short and made him realize just how foolhardy he’d been to come out so openly and turn up at the funeral. He retreated as fast as possible to await events.’

  But Trudi wasn’t interested in Werner.

  ‘What are you saying about Astrid then? That she had something to do with Trent’s death?’

  ‘Oh no. On the contrary. She was I think besotted with him, or at least sufficiently infatuated to have let herself be used. But when he died, she suddenly became aware of her situation. She’d been seen with Trent, if only by an old farmer. She wasn’t to know that chivalry would keep his mouth shut! Her masters had ways of finding out things. So she controlled her grief and set about putting herself in the clear and ringing back in to report on what happened and ask for instructions. She was told to attend the funeral and pass on to you the information that Trent no longer worked for Schiller-Reise.

  ‘Well, she must have thought she’d got away with it. But these are hard people to satisfy. They questioned her, I should think. Then gave her a bit of rope. You see, there were very large sums of money involved, money they hoped she might lead them to. Or yourself, Mrs Adamson. Or yourself.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Just people,’ he said vaguely. ‘And Werner too, of course. And myself, I shouldn’t let modesty forbid me to mention that, I feel! So when you suddenly appeared for your long heart-to-heart with Astrid, eyebrows were bound to be raised. It must have been decided that one of you needed rather more pressure applied. Fortunately for you, the choice fell on Astrid.’

  Trudi shuddered and said, ‘Why did they have to kill her?’

  Ashburton shrugged. ‘They probably pumped her full of something to get her talking. So they pumped her fuller of heroin to shut her up. Don’t feel too sorry for her, Mrs Adamson. Indirectly, you see, she was responsible for your husband’s death. There are still those who don’t really believe he is dead, but I’m sure of it. You see, what had happened was this. Trent, concerned about his future, had created for himself a new persona as Eric Blair. He bought this cottage. And all the time he was helping himself to every penny of Schiller money he could lay his hands on. Now all he had to do was put himself out of reach of the authorities on the one hand and his colleagues on the other.

  ‘So he planned to die.’

  ‘He planned it?’

  ‘Oh yes. Almost exactly as it happened. But with one essential difference. It wasn’t going to be his own body that was charred beyond recognition in the car. He required, of course, another body with the same general specification of build and age. And by a happy coincidence, he’d been provided with one in the shape of Gerhardt Jünger, his attendant policeman. Such an elegant solution! His shadow became his substance. Exit Gerhardt, popped into the freezer out there to keep him fresh until required. Now all he had to do was prepare his own demise, burnt to death in a car accident. Cars, of course, don’t burn all that easy, but it wouldn’t be difficult for a man of Trent’s skills to make some modifications to the fuel system so that on impact it could go up like a torch. When the chosen moment came, he would defrost Gerhardt, load him into the car, drive ever so gently up on to one of the lonely cross-Pennine roads which he’d already reconnoitred, get his foldaway motor-scooter out of the boot, put Jünger into the driving seat, blow a tyre and run the whole thing over the edge.

  ‘Then, ah then, who knows? Back here and lie low, perhaps? Or perhaps he had other hideaways, other arrangements? Who knows? Only Trent, and he can never tell us. For he had made an error. He thought his sexual power over Astrid extended to her mind, and that she would go along with all he said unquestioningly. But he underestimated her. Perhaps his life with you had persuaded him that all women were docile, blinkered and easily deceived.’

  The edge of cruelty gleamed momentarily in his voice, but Trudi was too wrapped up in the narrative to be affected by it.

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘Astrid sensed something was wrong and knew she had to find out what, either to join in or report on it to her masters. Trent probably assured her he would be in touch soon after his return to England. But once he was out of her sight, she realized just how very little she trusted him! So without a word to anyone, she followed him to Yorkshire. There was no point in making you suspicious by turning up at the house, so that last morning she probably just sat at the end of Linden Lane and waited. When Trent appeared, she followed him. Perhaps she kept well back in the town or perhaps the traffic was heavy enough to separate them. But once they got into open countryside she closed up. He was heading here, probably, but she had no way of knowing how long he would drive for. So she flashed her lights and got close. When he looked in his mirror and saw who it was, his stomach must have turned over.

  ‘But he was a man of endless resource. He stopped on that lonely road and waited till she joined him. What a story he doubtless told! Culminating, I imagine, in an invitation to Astrid to join him in his flight to distant parts when the time came. Perhaps he just wanted her out of his hair for a couple of days till he could implement his plan. Or perhaps he was already modifying it in his mind and thinking of having Astrid’s body in the burnt-out car too as extra authentication!’

  ‘You make him sound monstrous! Completely cold-blooded!’ burst out Trudi.

  ‘Do I? I really don’t mean to,’ said Ashburton apologetically. ‘He was an opportunist. He took the nearest way to his own advantage, always. A monster would have killed you and left your body in the car as authenticating evidence, I think. But he avoided putting you in harm’s way, didn’t he?’

  ‘He what? He betrayed me, used me, stole half my life from me, intended me to think he had been burnt to death, left me penniless …’

  Indignation was strangulating her voice. Ashburton was shaking his head.

  ‘Oh no. He left you well provided for, my dear.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh yes. There were certain securities he had, plus of course the lump-sum payment and the substantial pension due from Schiller-Reise. Only our masters clearly decided in the circumstances the best thing to do to get you to show your hand, if you had a hand to show, was to squeeze you financially. That would have sent you scurrying off to the money if anything would.’

  Trudi’s features rounded in amazement, contorted in anger and finally, just as explosion seemed inevitable, relaxed into tearful amusement.

  ‘Laughter again?’ said Ashburton. ‘It’s good to see you so merry.’

  ‘It’s not merriment,’ said Trudi in a low voice. ‘More disgust. I just realized that, after hearing this monstrous tale, the thing that was making me more indignant than anything else was that you hadn’t let me have my pension! Isn’t that pathetic? Perhaps I’m really as money-grubbing as you after all, Mr Ashburton!’

  ‘Hang on to that thought,’ said the solicitor, eyeing her dubiously. ‘But I do hope you mean that
you wanted your pension in addition to all the money Trent appropriated. Mr Usher certainly intends to proceed on that basis and he’s a hard man to divert once his mind’s made up. But we are delaying our story’s ironic climax.

  ‘Finally Astrid drove away, convinced by Trent’s silver-tongued reassurances. Trent sat a little longer, doubtless adjusting his plans to this new factor. And over the hill came the fertilizer truck. Now, I believe Trent had probably already started making the modifications which would turn his car into a fire-bomb when the time came. Remember, he had to guarantee a conflagration sufficient to render Gerhardt Jünger unrecognizable. Naturally he would leave the final adjustments to the very last minute and the car was safe enough for normal driving. But when the truck hit him, what thoughts must have gone through his mind! What prayers that his preparatory adjustments would prove totally ineffective!

  ‘But of course he was not an ineffective man. Suddenly the mock funeral pyre he had so carefully been preparing for himself became the real thing! And what a confusion it threw us all into. Because of course all the parties concerned suspected that this must be a trick, that Trent must really still be alive, and that you were possibly privy to the plot.

  ‘So the long watch began. There was a kind of unspoken truce between the organization and the police, both watching, both knowing the other was watching, both applying little bits of pressure to try to force you to show your hand. But what was your hand? Your behaviour so extraordinary, so erratic! A suicide attempt – could it be real? A marriage agency – could it be part of a plan? Sometimes you seemed like a bewildered child, at others a calculatingly mature adult. Sometimes, as when you got on to the Blair account, we were sure you knew. Sometimes, as when you went to see Fischer, we were sure you didn’t. We tested you with the offer of a little job. You accepted with gratitude! Bluff or reality? At least it gave us a chance to sit you down somewhere where we could watch you at our ease and listen to your conversations on the telephone or with visitors. It was suggested that perhaps Trent’s mistress, not his wife, was the key. We searched her house. We even sent her husband a copy of the photo I mentioned, hoping to provoke a reaction. It did, but not a useful one. Nor did your reaction, when you saw it, suggest that Trent was still alive and answerable. All we knew was that somewhere, probably in a bank, under a false name, was the Schiller money, accessible only to whoever had the necessary identification and the access number. Neither the organization nor the police knew how to get at that money. You were the only hope, and so the truce continued while everyone concentrated on watching you!’