Elizabeth glanced towards the garage buildings. There would be a phone there, so she could report in easily enough, and get all the protection in the world, and all the good advice too. But none of that really answered his question.
The fat man came out of his doors again to stare at her once more.
‘Would you rather have someone else alongside you, Elizabeth?’ asked Audley gently. ‘You can send me packing quite easily, you know.’
She watched the fat man. In a moment or two he would come across and ask her what her trouble was. And she couldn’t begin to tell him. ‘Did you make a mistake, David—back in 1958?’
The fat man turned his head slightly, his eyes still on her, and spoke to someone inside the garage.
‘Not so far as I know.’ He paused as the fat man disappeared again into the garage. ‘I suppose you could say Major Turnbull could be an end-product of someone’s original error … whatever that was. But after so many years I think it would be a little unfair to suggest as much. It’s still 1984 which has killed Major Turnbull; Elizabeth—not 1958. So … even if I made a mistake in 1958, we must not compound it by making another one now. That is what matters.’
‘Even if it ruins you, David?’
‘Ruins me?’ His voice came closer to her. ‘My dear Elizabeth—you’ve all got it quite wrong! You—and your Paul, doubtless—and most of all our esteemed Master Latimer, if you think that. The only thing that can ruin me is if I play fast and loose with you now, Elizabeth. What the hell do my antique follies matter? Now is what matters.’
‘We have to know why he died, David.’
‘Okay! But we already know what he was doing. So all we have to do is back-track along his route, for a start—eh? So we drop everything else, do we?’
The fat man had emerged again, but she turned to Audley as he did so, frowning. ‘But, David—‘
‘Exactly right, love! If we back-track, to find out what it was about Mrs Thomas that I missed, all those years ago, then we stop doing what we were planning to do. Is that what you want to do?’
That was it. Killing a field-man in his own country sounded all the alarms, but really solved nothing, because there were others to take his place. All it gained was time, if it drew maximum effort away from what mattered.
‘Can I ‘elp you, Miss -‘ The fat man leaned on the car, lowering himself with difficulty, his piggy-eyes travelling up leg and thigh and bosom until they reached her face, and registering inevitable disappointment then ‘—Miss?’ She watched the eyes shift to Audley, uncomprehending as they took in the whole unlikely mixture: the hard-faced elderly gentleman with the plain woman in the sports car, engaged in a heart-to-heart exchange on his forecourt, maybe father-and-daughter, not bird-and-boyfriend as he had expected from the car.
‘I’d like some petrol,’ she said.
‘Right.’ He stood back. ‘You’ll need the pumps for that.’
‘And a telephone?’ Audley leaned across her.
‘No—‘ The fat man caught sight of the note in Audley’s hand ‘—yes, there’s one round the back, in the office.’
Audley looked at her as the fat man walked towards the pumps. ‘Moment of truth, Miss Loftus.’
Moment of truth, thought Elizabeth.
In fact, he had more or less told her to do what she had intended to do this morning. And that, oddly enough, was pretty much what the book said too: plans should be adhered to unless compromised. And since no one except David and she herself knew the plan, it could hardly be compromised yet. But it could be the wrong plan, nevertheless.
But the fat man had reached the pumps now.
‘Very well, David.’
‘Very well?’ His expression was made up of doubt and curiosity in equal parts.
‘We’ll go on as planned, to see your contact first. Then I want to meet the famous Haddock Thomas as soon as possible. And I’ll ask James Cable to look after the Major until we get back.’
He relaxed. ‘We’ll need transport. Let James look after that, too.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Tell him to lay on a plane at South Five, Elizabeth. Flight at six A.M. -Marseilles for Monaco. They’ll fix the documentation and cover. You might suggest a little gambling party—the big spender can be me, and you can be my PA. And tell him to arrange a car and a driver—tell him to get Dale on to that.’ He smiled at her suddenly. ‘Decisions, decisions! But, for what it’s worth, I agree with you, Elizabeth: going on is usually better than turning back.’
But who was really making the decisions? She wondered, as she rolled the car forward the last few yards to where the fat man was fretting by his pumps.
After a few miles of his instructions, after they had reached the Salisbury road, and used it for another five miles and then left it for another labyrinth of minor roads, she felt able to draw on her account again.
‘You’re sure we haven’t been followed, David?’ She looked into her empty wing-mirror.
He shrugged. ‘We live in a technological age, my dear. So they may have bugged you somehow. And one day they’ll probably have a satellite on your tail, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He massaged his knees again. ‘But, for the time being, there are reasonable limits we can assume, as to their omniscience.’ He stretched his massaged legs in turn. ‘Meaning … anyone could have kept a tail on poor Turnbull, after he asked too many questions in Normandy. But they don’t have the resources to follow everyone everywhere.’
‘Why did you abort Debrecen, David?’
‘Good question!’ He touched his wing-mirror idly, as though the previous question still echoed in his mind. ‘You know what I did—when old Fred asked me to draw up a list of Debrecen possibles, Elizabeth?’
She had to adjust her imagination, back twenty-six years, to another David in another time. And she couldn’t do it. ‘No, David?’
‘I made a lot of money, actually—you turn right up here, by the church. I spent some at first—some of my own money, too … but I made a lot in the end—over there—see?’ He pointed. ‘And ultimately I made a lot for General Franco too, when I rediscovered Spain.’ He nodded. ‘Maybe that’s stretching it a bit … But I always like to think that I paved the way for the second British invasion, since Wellington.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Did you know, Elizabeth, that I had an ancestor killed at Salamanca, charging with poor Le Marchant?’
‘What on earth are you talking about, David?’
‘What?’ One knee came up again. ‘Market research is what I’m talking about, love. I funded a friend of mine—half with Her Majesty’s funds, half with my funds, I admit—to find out where the British took their holidays-abroad. And then I sold our research to the holiday-business—through my partner, who was the front-man for the enterprise … and he made a fortune too. Which was fair enough, because he did all the real work—he had a diploma in statistics, from Oxford … But, what we found out, between us, was where people went for their holidays in ‘58—places and dates and reasons. Although what he found out was in general, and what I found out was in particular. Because we quizzed some particular people about their colleagues—the ones I was interested in, but who hadn’t filled in our innocent questionnaire. And some of ‘em did fill in the forms, but not always correctly, as it turned out when we started cross-checking.’ He gave her a twisted smile. ‘It was a damnably weary business, I can tell you. But I got some sort of list in the end—not far now.’ He pointed. ‘Another mile or two, you turn right. Then there’s a pond and a track among some trees on your left. Down the track, and tuck the car behind the trees—okay?’
He hadn’t used the map since they’d left the Salisbury road. So, wherever they were going, he’d been there before, and not just once, thought Elizabeth. ‘So what happened then?’
‘Then the real fun started, my dear. I left my pal to carry on the survey—it was good cover, if we had struck gold, if anyone from the other side came sniffing around, looking for a rat. And by that time we were making honest money, too. I let him buy me out in the en
d.’ Audley chuckled suddenly. ‘All above board—paid Her Majesty back her share, plus interest—so whatever Master Latimer gets me for, it won’t be for ancient peculation. But I made a bob or two all the same.’ He chuckled again. ‘And if I mentioned the name of our little company you might be surprised. Maybe I should have stayed in the business and told old Fred to find another genius.’
‘What happened, David?’
‘I started to snoop, my dear. Eliminated the impossibles, snooped the possibles until it hurt. Then zeroed in on my short-short-list.’
‘And that was where Dr Thomas came in?’
‘More or less.’
‘And Sir Peter Barrie?’
‘Him too.’ Audley nodded. ‘I gave him a damn good going-over.’
‘But you told him you weren’t really after him.’ Elizabeth frowned.
True.’ Audley rubbed his knee. ‘But sometimes I tell lies.’
Sometimes? ‘Even though he’d already resigned from the service?’
‘Uh-huh.’ He pointed ahead. ‘Your turning—‘
‘I can see it. Why did you give Sir Peter the treatment, David?’
Audley said nothing for a moment. ‘He wasn’t “Sir Peter” then.’
Elizabeth looked for the pond. ‘Of course not. He was—a clerk in a shipping office, was it?’
‘Yes … just a clerk in a shipping office. And I’m afraid that’s the point, Elizabeth: he was just a clerk.’
‘But he was on your list all the same.’
‘Oh yes! He had been an assistant principal. Only he didn’t really fancy the life—the Civil Service life. And it was a funny sort of period, the first half of the fifties, that life.’
Pond—okay! She scanned the woods for their turning. ‘How—funny?’ There it was: a track between two holly bushes.
‘Oh … hard to say, exactly—I was never a civil servant. But I’d guess the war had interrupted the pattern. A lot of odd types went in during the war. Some of ‘em left at the end of it, but a lot stayed on—maybe over-promoted, too. Different tradition, as well. Like, your old-fashioned civil servant, he’d say “Here’s this piece of paper on my desk. But have we any legal powers to act in this matter? If not—why the devil is it on my desk?” But your war people—they felt that everything was the business of government. Different traditions made for a curious atmosphere. Tensions, too … And then there was Suez, of course. Stop here, Elizabeth.’
The track had curved, so that the metalled road was lost in the trees behind them. Just ahead there were a couple of tiny cottages, hull-down behind their private hedges, over-shadowed by several giant beech trees. It was a very private place.
‘I talked to his old boss—Peter Barrie’s boss. He reckoned Barrie had let the side down by quitting, when he was lucky to be in the Service: ‘I’ve seen bright young types like him before—the shine wears off ‘em’ … That was the typical over-promoted brigade talking. No wonder Barrie didn’t hit it off with him!’ Audley showed no sign of moving. Instead he turned towards her. ‘The truth is, my dear, at that moment Peter Barrie didn’t have a friend in the world. And I already had a shrewd idea that it wasn’t going to be so easy to dig up dirt on young men who hadn’t actually done anything wicked. Except take their holidays at the wrong time. But he wasn’t in any position to make waves, so I made him a test case, to see just how good I was at tracking—and bullying.’ He wrinkled his nose with distaste. ‘I found I was quite good. But I also found I didn’t enjoy it much.’
‘But you cleared him.’
‘Oh sure! He had a perfect alibi. I mean … well, you remember what he said? He impressed half the waiters in Italy—they remembered his girl and his generosity, in that order. In fact, it was such a damn good alibi it was suspicious—who ever heard of an innocent man with a perfect alibi? So even though he wasn’t really on the list any more—he’d quit the Service and he was just a clerk to an egregious Greek—in spite of that I did my damnedest to break that alibi, just for the hell of it. And I checked him back to the cradle, too.’ The distasteful memory showed again. ‘But the rest you know: I couldn’t break it, but I got on to the Haddock from it.’
‘And you cleared him, too. Was that another perfect alibi?’
Audley gave her a jaundiced look. ‘Not quite so perfect, maybe. He’d given out that he was visiting Romanesque churches in Burgundy. But actually he was shacking up with Barrie’s girl, first in a hotel in Cannes, and then in a little cottage on the edge of the Vaucluse, at a place named St Servan—‘ He caught her expression ‘—St Servan? You know it?’
‘How wasn’t it perfect?’
‘The alibi? St Servan is perfect … The alibi—‘ He shrugged slightly ‘—was an honest philanderer’s one … or a lover’s, let’s say.’
Elizabeth blinked questioningly at him.
‘Ham-hmm … ’ He blinked back at her. ‘She was an uncommonly attractive young woman, was Delphi Marsh—Delphi Thomas. And it was … and still is … an idyllic spot, St Servan.’ Another shrug. The sun, and the wine, and the smell of the wild herbs—lavender, and thyme, and rosemary—hah-hmmm—‘ He cleared his throat. ‘Lovers, Elizabeth—lovers … are not always in the habit of walking abroad, establishing perfect alibis for others to unravel. They often keep themselves to themselves. They—let’s say they have other things to do, shall we?’ He didn’t shrug this time. But the effort of not shrugging was somehow mutually embarrassing. ‘Or … or, as I remember them from long ago … shall we say instead that Haddock Thomas didn’t need to impress the fair Delphi by over-tipping the waiters? He was quite a man.’
Elizabeth matched his not-shrugging effort with her not-letting-her-mouth-gape effort. Because what he was saying was itself impressive, and for a wildly different collection of reasons—reasons beyond his simple embarrassment at her pathetic inability to understand how lovers behaved among the wild herbs of Provence.
She forced herself to nod wisely. Because David Audley’s famous memory of things long-past was nonetheless impressive (even though he’d had time, and reason enough, to refresh it recently).
‘Uh-huh.’ He was glad to be able to press on. ‘So he couldn’t account for his St Servan fortnight as exactly as Barrie could, for his Italian progress—which was more like a royal jaunt in Tudor times, with memories and largesse scattered behind it like confetti—do you see?’
What she saw was that Haddock Thomas—Dr Caradog Thomas more recently, and Squadron Leader Thomas formerly—must indeed have been impressive, to have been so much more certain of himself than Peter Barrie (or, anyway, more attractive, all those years ago). Because Sir Peter Barrie had been pretty goddamn impressive, and certain, and attractive just this morning.
‘Yes, David—‘ But this time, as she tried to nod wisely again, she saw something else grimacing at her which took all the conviction from her voice.
‘You do?’ He caught her doubt, and threw it back at her angrily. ‘Do you? Do you, Elizabeth?’
That only made her more certain: he had already conceded the impossible, that he might have made a mistake—or even mistakes—all those years ago. But he had not yet admitted the slightest possibility that those mistakes had related to Haddock Thomas. Or, for that matter, to Sir Peter Barrie. He had cleared them both once, and innocent they both remained, notwithstanding the Pointe du Hoc and the King’s Arms, Fordingwell.
‘I see well enough.’ Her instinct was to hit back. But that would only betray her insight into his obstinate faith in himself. Thomas’s alibi stood up well enough, one way or another. ‘And you found nothing else to suggest he was a Debrecen man—obviously.’
‘That is … correct, Elizabeth.’ He looked as disappointed as a boxer poised to parry a weak punch, with his own knock-out counter-punch ready, only to have the towel prematurely thrown into the ring.
‘Yes.’ She mustn’t smile—she must appear innocently serious. And she had to get away from Haddock Thomas. ‘But you investigated other people—other names on the list�
��?’
‘Oh yes. Yes … ’ He studied her speculatively for a long moment. ‘I worked over maybe two-thirds of the short-list before we consigned Debrecen to oblivion.’ He watched her narrowly.
‘And—?’
He shrugged. ‘Cleared a couple. More or less.’
‘Including Sir Peter Barrie?’
‘Three, then.’
‘More or less?’
‘Didn’t do them any good.’ He sniffed. ‘You put a question mark beside a name, and then rub it out. But the erasure still shows.’
She began to see why he hadn’t liked the job. ‘And—?’
‘Ruined a couple more. More or less.’
He had probably ruined Haddock Thomas. Or at least driven him out of the Civil Service, whatever he said to the contrary. But she didn’t want to return to Thomas. ‘How?’
He thought for a moment. ‘They had two question marks.’ He looked at her. ‘Another one I killed. More or less.’
Again, she remembered Paul’s assessment of Audley plus Debrecen. ‘Killed, David?’
‘Not personally.’ Audley showed her his hands. ‘Clean—see?’
There was, as always, a slight ink-stain on one of his fingers; the result (so Paul said) of his religious use of a leaky gold fountain-pen given to him by his wife as her first birthday present to him, years ago.
Audley considered his hands critically for another moment, then bunched them into fists on his lap. ‘He was the closest thing I had to success, actually. If that’s what you’d call success.’ The fists tightened. ‘He probably was a traitor. Though whether he ever visited Debrecen is another matter.’ He looked at her. ‘I leaned on him … and he conveniently shot himself.’ He raised his shoulders slowly and eloquently. ‘Or maybe the KGB shot him—I was never quite sure. But if they did, it was very expertly done, anyway. And I didn’t expect it.’ He gave her a dreadful smile. ‘Mistake Number One, possibly?’
Here Be Monsters Page 18
