Death of a Dormouse

by Reginald Hill

  ‘For ever, if it takes that long to be sure.’

  ‘Good God, girl! I don’t mind you being choosy, but you can go too far. What do you want the poor sod to do? Pass a written test?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Trudi thoughtfully. ‘I rather think I do. For starters. Look, Jan, it’s not easy judging people and I’ve discovered I’ve no talent for it. Look at Trent. I thought he was the Rock of Gibraltar and you thought he was a cocky little chancer. And what was the truth of it? He turns out to have been even more screwed up than I was. It was just our reactions to the big nasty world that were different. While I hid in my corner he put a brave face on and ran boldly out to nibble at the cheese!’

  ‘You’ll be sorry for him next!’ said Janet.

  ‘Perhaps. But not as sorry as I’d be for me if I made the same mistake again.’

  ‘James doesn’t seem screwed up to me.’

  ‘No? Well, there’s all kinds of screwed up. I like James. But I need to be sure I know all about him. Otherwise, after my experience, you get to wondering … well, I told him that I got to wondering. He knows how I feel, I think. We’ll just have to see. Whoops! Here we go!’

  The engines climaxed. The runway markers began to glide by till they formed a continuous line and the grey concrete surface was smudged by their speed. Then suddenly the ground began to dwindle and slow down and they were floating on air.

  Janet peered out at the matchbox view.

  ‘You know,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘we must be a great disappointment to Mrs Fielding.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Trudi. ‘Perhaps she left Mr Fielding a note.’

  They laughed together as the plane broke through a layer of thin cloud into the rich blue, high-arched, sunlit empyrean.

  They were still laughing, though not at the same joke, as they landed in Zürich.

  Trudi had booked in at the modest but comfortable Hotel Rosengarten on Bleicherweg, a long way from the district where she and Trent had lived. This was not going to be a nostalgic return.

  Janet managed to get a room on the floor above. They gave themselves an hour to shower and change, then met in the bar for a drink. Despite Trudi’s reluctance to take trips down memory lane, Janet insisted she be given a guided tour of the city centre. She made it as neutral as possible, pointing out the sights as they strolled through the streets and down the quays. And she was careful to pick a restaurant she had never been in before for their meal. Chance favoured them. The food was good, the service excellent and the wine more plentiful than they intended.

  As they returned arm in arm to the Rosengarten, Janet suddenly became serious.

  ‘This money, Trudi. If you can get your hands on it, what are you going to do with it?’

  ‘What would you do?’

  ‘I don’t know. All money’s filthy lucre, right? But some’s filthier than others. I don’t much like where this lot has been, do you?’

  ‘It’s been in the bank.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ said Janet with tipsy earnestness.

  ‘Do I? I suppose by the same token, everything I’ve ever possessed or enjoyed has been contaminated?’

  ‘Don’t be daft! Trent had a real job, earned real money. It might have been a cover, but he had to do the bloody work, didn’t he? And this life of sodding luxury you led! All right, so you were never short of a bob or two, but you were pretty easily pleased, weren’t you? No motor yachts or private jets; and you didn’t exactly end up laden with gold and jewels, did you? Unless you’re one of those way-out ladies who’s got diamond-studded labia.’

  ‘Janet!’

  ‘No? Pity. I’ve always wondered about that. Anyway, as I was saying, this lot’s different, isn’t it? This really is the nasties. People suffered, and were degraded, and died, to spew out this lot.’

  Trudi didn’t reply. They strolled on in silence for a while, then Janet said, ‘Cat got your tongue?’

  ‘Don’t know any cats, do I?’ said Trudi. ‘Know a mouse though. Not a dormouse. Church-mouse, maybe. Or perhaps a chapel-mouse from the sound of her!’

  ‘Chapel or church, girl, makes no difference. Right’s right, and there’s an end!’ said Janet, very Welsh, very fierce.

  ‘And here’s our hotel. Let me buy you a nightcap. How about a champagne cocktail?’

  ‘You can’t bribe me!’

  ‘No? And where precisely would modom like her diamond studs then?’

  Janet collapsed giggling in the revolving door and the receptionist gave her a glance which said clearly that it wasn’t just British soccer fans that should be barred.

  They had their drink then headed for bed.

  ‘What time’s your appointment?’ asked Janet as they parted.

  ‘Eleven thirty.’

  ‘Oh good. Time for a late breakfast. Nine thirty shall we say?’

  ‘Fine. Good night.’

  ‘Good night.’

  As Trudi got ready for bed, she wondered if she should be alarmed at the ease with which the lie had slipped out. Her appointment at the bank was for ten o’clock. By the time Janet came down for breakfast, she would be on her way. It was very important for her to go to the bank alone. She knew Janet would understand this in retrospect, but in advance deceit had seemed easier than explanation.

  She slept badly. Food, drink and nervousness at the prospect of her morning appointment combined to set her mind and stomach churning. At last at about five A.M. she felt a blessed drowsiness slipping over her. Her last thought was that she hoped the alarm call she had booked for eight would be persistent enough to rouse her.

  She awoke at the first ring, picked up the phone, said thanks, replaced it, yawned, rolled over in bed, and gaped her mouth wide in a silent shriek.

  Seated in the room’s easy chair at this side of the bed was a man. He looked very much at ease. But then he had had the practice, hadn’t he?

  Slowly she let her mouth close, letting out her breath in a gentle sigh.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Adamson,’ said the man.

  ‘Good morning, Dr Werner,’ said Trudi.

  Part Ten

  The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men,

  Gang aft a-gley …

  BURNS: To a Mouse

  1

  ‘Before we plan our day, you might like to make a phone call,’ said Werner. ‘Room 407, I think it is.’

  Trudi picked up the phone, asked for 407, listened.

  The receiver was lifted. No one spoke.

  She said, ‘Jan?’

  Suddenly her friend’s voice came on, breathless, scared but fighting for control.

  ‘Trudi, what the hell’s happening? There’s a man …’

  The line went dead.

  ‘That’s the situation then, dear lady,’ said Werner. ‘I’m so glad you brought your friend. I was uncertain how best to proceed till I saw her. Now we can make our arrangements in an atmosphere of mutual respect and cooperation. I’ll make some coffee while you dress, shall I?’

  He busied himself at the coffee machine. Trudi went into the bathroom, her mind unable to deal with anything except the thought of Janet. She washed, returned to the bedroom, got dressed with the unselfconsciousness of the totally preoccupied and sat down on the bed.

  ‘Coffee,’ said Werner, handing her a cup. ‘And a croissant? I didn’t think you’d want to go to the dining room, so I took the liberty of buying a couple of croissants on my way here.’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Trudi.

  ‘Please,’ insisted Werner. ‘We don’t want to faint, do we?’

  ‘What’s he doing to Janet? Who is it with her?’ demanded Trudi on a rising note.

  ‘Be calm, Mrs Adamson. Just a friend. No harm will come to anyone as long as we all keep our heads. All you have to remember is that I am now your financial and legal adviser. I have full accreditation here,’ he said, tapping an elegant maroon leather document case at his feet. ‘And have no fear. My name and my title remain the same, and it’s all quite genuine! You di
d not know I was a doctor of law as well as medicine? Ah yes, in the old days I would have been addressed as Herr Doktor Doktor Werner! But such archaic usage will not be necessary at the bank when you turn to me for advice.’

  ‘What do you think’s going to happen there?’ demanded Trudi. ‘They’re not going to pack a suitcase full of used notes, are they?’

  ‘I think not. No, it’s all done by microchip nowadays. There will be three stages. One: you and I will establish our credentials. Two: you will issue your instructions. Three: we will return here and wait for a phone call confirming those instructions have been carried out. And then we’ll say goodbye, Mrs Adamson.’

  ‘Instructions? What instructions?’

  ‘Simply to transfer the money to another account in the merchant bank of Shelley and Cable in the City of London. Very natural that you should want your money at home. And Shelley’s, though one of the younger merchant banks, has a good reputation for soundness of funds and sharpness of investment.’

  ‘But I don’t have an account at Shelley’s.’

  ‘Oh you do, my dear. In fact, you’ve had one for a little while. It was opened for you on my instructions after Trent’s alleged death. There was in fact a good deal of money due to you from Schiller-Reise and though for your benefit there had to seem to be none, for the benefit of the firm’s legitimate accountants, the money had to be seen to be paid. This is always the quandary of the left hand knowing what the right is doing, but not vice versa. I need hardly say, however, that the account is not just in your name, but that I myself have legal access to it. The money your husband embezzled will remain in Shelley’s only long enough to register on their computer. Then it’s on to … well, best that you don’t know its final destination.’

  ‘Brazil?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ smiled Werner. ‘Incidentally, I’m sure it’s unnecessary to add that that part of the account which is yours by right of widowhood will not of course be touched.’

  ‘Ah. You only murder children, not rob widows?’

  ‘That’s how you see it? Well, it’s a point of view. I can understand how you feel, of course. In my area of work, I’ve seen so many very very sad cases. It’s a terrible problem and I’m conscious of how little progress we’ve made towards its solution. But I pride myself that I’ve made a not insignificant contribution myself …’

  ‘You!’

  ‘Why yes,’ said Werner, indignantly. ‘In my work at the clinic.’

  ‘You must be slightly mad!’ mocked Trudi.

  ‘I hope not. What I’ve been working to achieve is dependency without deterioration. Drugs provide a real way out of the terrors and traumas of modern life. Visit any psychiatric hospital. You will soon realize that what I say is true. I wish I had my clinical tapes here. I would let you hear for yourself how many of my patients claim that their first experience of drugs made them feel whole for the first time in their lives. I’m surprised that you were never tempted, Mrs Adamson. All those fears and uncertainties and doubts and hesitations and regrets, all to be smoothed away! To be calm and confident and serene! Is this not worth a risk or two? Is this not a gift a scientist might find worth giving?’

  Did I say slightly mad? thought Trudi. He’s utterly insane!

  But this time, because she was starting to believe it, she didn’t say it.

  She glanced at her watch.

  ‘There’s still a little time before we need go,’ he said. ‘Please. I know how the human mind works. These are dangerous, the moments of waiting. There is such a strong pull towards sudden desperate action. Remember your friend who is also waiting. And remember, Mrs Adamson, it is only money we are concerned with. Why should you risk yourself for mere money which I do not believe in any case you would be allowed to keep?’

  ‘Who’d stop me?’

  ‘The law, perhaps. Or your own conscience.’ He shrugged. ‘Failing that, it would probably be taken from you by force.’

  ‘By force? Like you’re doing, you mean?’

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘You’ve already had a taste from Ashburton of what a man will do for this money. Please believe me, there are others beside whom Ashburton was a kind, gentle, innocuous creature.’

  ‘Others? Haven’t the police rounded up most of the others?’

  ‘Most of the Schiller people perhaps. But the organization was not an independent free-standing thing. Once perhaps. In the fifties and early sixties as it grew. But in business as in the jungle, you either eat or are eaten. Ah, I see you do know something of this?’

  He’s very sharp, thought Trudi, who had been casting her mind back to what Ashburton had told her. I’ll have to watch that.

  ‘Something Ashburton said,’ she replied. ‘What was he talking about? The Mafia, that sort of thing?’

  Werner smiled sadly. With his fine features and distinguished greying hair, he was a pretty attractive man.

  ‘If I knew who I was talking about, I think I might be too frightened to talk,’ he said. ‘Ignorance gives me a kind of courage.’

  ‘Courage?’ echoed Trudi. ‘You mean that having the money will put you in danger too?’

  ‘Having it? No. Having the effrontery to have it, yes. You see, when a business folds, the major shareholders think they’re entitled to lay claim to its assets. These people think that this is their money. They don’t actually need it. Twelve million here or there doesn’t much concern them …’

  Trudi closed her eyes at this point. She recalled her amazement when Ashburton had been so dismissive about the quarter million in the Blair account. Now here was someone referring to twelve million in the same way. Where could it end?

  ‘… but what does concern them is being seen to get their due. It’s a matter of principle with them.’

  ‘Principle!’ choked Trudi. ‘Well, if it’s so dangerous, why are you taking the risk, Dr Werner?’

  ‘Because I do need the money,’ he said vehemently. ‘I need it to re-establish my work in … where I’m going. Now I think it is time for us to go, Mrs Adamson. Remember, keep your head, if in doubt ask my advice –it will seem the most natural thing in the world – and soon you will be safe and your friend will be safe, and all this danger you’re in will have passed to me.’

  ‘Doctor, you’re too kind,’ said Trudi.

  They went out of the hotel together – a middle-aged woman of means, well dressed, well groomed, cool and collected; and her professional adviser, smooth, elegant, sophisticated, deferential without sycophancy, concerned without involvement.

  They took a taxi. In it Werner studied the various documents that Trudi had brought with her at the bank’s request. Familiar with them, he placed them in his smart leather case.

  At the bank, he paid off the taxi with an accountant’s tip, a precise ten per cent.

  ‘Remember …’ He hesitated in his admonition as if uncertain what it would best suit his purpose for Trudi to remember.

  ‘Remember, it’s only money,’ he said finally.

  The bank was a rather curious building. To reach it, you had to walk across a cobbled patio adorned with a quincunx of modern statuary, four tapered aluminium tubes in the corners all inclined towards a cast-iron spiral in the centre, which egregious arrangement purported to represent the Spirit of Enterprise. The bank itself had a ground and first floor which belonged to the cobbles and two further floors which belonged to the tubes. In other words two layers of plate glass rested incongruously upon a solid, granite block, nineteenth-century base.

  Inside Trudi got that quiet, efficient, well-upholstered feel you get in the reception area of a first-class Swiss hotel, and the service matched.

  Mention of her name brought a smiling young man in a severely cut dark suit who introduced himself as Herr Dietl, personal assistant to the manager, Herr Hussmüller.

  They all shook hands and then Dietl ushered them into a roomy mahogany lift which sped them effortlessly upwards. When its doors opened, they had travelled in time to a long bright corridor tiled
in some modern mosaic, with one side lined by the huge plate-glass windows which, perhaps symbolically, looked down upon the Spirit of Enterprise.

  They followed Dietl to an unmarked door. He tapped. A green light flashed in a panel above the lintel. Dietl opened the door and stepped inside.

  ‘Herr Hussmüller,’ he said. ‘Mrs Adamson and her adviser, Dr Werner, to see you.’

  The stocky, greying man behind the huge desk rose slowly and offered his hand.

  ‘Come in. Have a seat,’ he commanded.

  Dietl made small adjustments to the two chairs already arranged before the desk and gestured them to sit. He then went and stood behind and slightly to the right of Hussmüller’s chair as the manager sank back down.

  ‘Formalities first,’ said Hussmüller. ‘You have some documentation, I believe, Mrs Adamson. And perhaps you too, Herr Doktor Werner, would favour us with some accreditation.’

  ‘Certainly, Herr Hussmüller,’ said Werner.

  His case was on his knee. He glanced towards Trudi as he opened it, and smiled. Perhaps it was a smile of reassurance that she was doing well, Trudi thought. But it did not feel like it. On the contrary, if a smile can convey hatred and threat, then this was it.

  But while she was still wrestling with the problem, Werner’s hand came out of the case. In it was a small automatic.

  With cool deliberation, he shot Dietl in the chest and Hussmüller through the shoulder. It was curiously undramatic, the gun belched gently rather than exploded, and Trudi’s reflexes could not even produce a programmed scream as the weapon swung round towards her head.

  ‘Bitch,’ said Werner. ‘Do you think I haven’t checked to see what Hussmüller looks like?’

  He could have killed her then, but he seemed to hesitate. Male chauvinist scruples? wondered Trudi, whose mind was whirling madly as though in compensation for her paralysed body. And just as she saw in his face that he had been converted to the feminist egalitarian position, the door burst open.