Charlie Muffin U.S.A. cm-4

by Brian Freemantle

  9

  Charlie never despised good luck, any more than he liked doubting instinct. Sometimes his good fortune had not been immediately obvious, but at others it had shown itself as clearly as the hangover the morning after Hogmanay. His arrival in Florida was like several New Year celebrations rolled into one. It might never have happened had he flown into Miami, which had been his original intention. But Clarissa, who knew about such things because her comfort was very dear to her, had asked him just before he left New York why he was bothering with an hour’s car journey up the coast when there was a perfectly good airport at Palm Beach itself. And so he had flown there instead, and as the aircraft circled for landing, he had seen the name TERRILLI written on a hangar roof and several other buildings, which he presumed were administrative, and felt the sort of happiness that comes to a jig-saw aficionado when he finds the first bit that fits from a three-thousand-piece puzzle.

  Having come to appreciate the advantage of Clarissa’s accommodation in New York, Charlie had taken a suite at the Breakers. Without bothering to unpack, he settled at the sitting-room coffee table and spread again the information and pictures he had obtained in New York, this time concentrating only upon Giuseppe Terrilli. His first reaction was one of annoyance, because the location of Terrilli’s businesses in Florida had been mentioned in two of the newspaper cuttings he had photocopied in the Wall Street Journal office and he had missed the significance, which showed a carelessness of which he was not normally guilty.

  ‘But is it the link?’ he demanded of himself. If it were, then it was tenuous. There could be a dozen perfectly logical, understandable explanations why a man interested in stamps should choose to see the exhibition in New York rather than wait for it to reach the State in which he lived. Nevertheless, it was a coincidence and coincidence, like instinct, was always worth consideration. Reacting to his training, he reached sideways to the telephone table and took up the Palm Beach directory. The airport numbers were in heavier type and then came G. Terrilli’s, against an address off Ocean Boulevard. From the map he had already studied in the foyer, Charlie estimated Terrilli’s home to be a five-minute fast walk from the hotel. He replaced the book, sighing contentedly: still a puzzle without even the edges completed, but surely he was beginning to recognise the colours.

  At last he unpacked, gazing out as he did so at the cloudless sky and the people far below at the poolside, and then, beyond to the beach. Everything seemed bleached by the heat, so that the constantly tended and watered trees, lawns and shrubbery stood out starkly green. Charlie turned back into the room, looking down at his comfortably spread shoes and shifting his toes so he could see the movement. It was going to mean a lot of walking, the pavements were going to be hot and at the end his feet were going to hurt. Bugger it.

  It took him longer than he had expected to reach South Lake Drive, and he was already sweating when he got to the Chamber of Commerce building backing on to the golf course. The blue-rinsed lady welcomed a respite from a view with which she was bored and, imbued with the proper civic pride, launched into her prepared address about the benefits of the community. Charlie let her speak, interposing the odd question only when it became absolutely necessary, and as he had with the procuring of the photograph in New York, clouded his enquiries with sufficient other questions to disguise any interest in Giuseppe Terrilli.

  After an hour, in addition to what he had learned in New York about the man’s business activities, Charlie knew him to be an archetypal Palm Beach resident, respected benefactor, admired philanthropist, a member of all the right organisations and a stalwart pillar of local society.

  He thought the air conditioning was better at the offices of the Palm Beach Daily News and they gave him a chair in the newspaper library, where he spent three hours going back through ten years of bound copies, discovering the death of Terrilli’s wife and studying intently the faded, grainy photographs of the mourners after the private funeral. In only two of the reports in all that time was there any reference to Terrilli’s interest in stamps, and even then it was so oblique that Charlie would have overlooked it had he not been searching for it.

  Back in his suite, Charlie ran cold water into the bath, took off his shoes, socks and trousers and sat on the bath edge, soaking his feet and trying to assess what he had discovered. Nothing, he decided, after fifteen minutes. From the information he had been able to assemble, there was no reason why Giuseppe Terrilli shouldn’t run for President of the United States or found a religion to rival Christianity.

  Was he trying too hard? Had he spent so much time during the last eight years jumping at his own shadow that he’d lost the touch? Or was he just looking the wrong way? He considered the question, answering it with another. What other way was there to look?

  ‘ There are different ways of reaching the end from the same beginning. ’

  Another piece of advice from Sir Archibald. So what had been the beginning? An unease about Jack Pendlebury and then Pendlebury’s response to Terrilli. Since which time he had been mainly looking away from Pendlebury; which was perhaps the mistake.

  Charlie dressed and, because he knew it would be expected, went downstairs, contacted the security division of the hotel and embarked upon a detailed tour of all the precautions that had been installed to protect the exhibition. Half way through, the ubiquitous Heppert arrived, falling into step beside Charlie and repeating much of what the Breakers official had already said. Once again, the video was duplicated.

  As he had in New York, Charlie ended by telling both he thought their precautions were adequate, aware once again of Heppert’s disappointment. As an apparent afterthought, he invited the heavily bespectacled man into the coffee shop.

  Charlie followed the American’s aimless conversation for fifteen minutes, before bringing the discussion to Pendlebury.

  ‘Sound man,’ judged Charlie, inviting the other man’s contradiction.

  ‘First class,’ agreed Heppert immediately. ‘Came up with one or two things none of the rest of us had thought of.’

  ‘Been with your company long?’

  Heppert shrugged. ‘Never met him before.’

  ‘Never met him?’ Another piece of the puzzle, thought Charlie.

  ‘I gather he’s been attached to headquarters for some time, but I’ve never worked with him. He’s highly regarded.’

  ‘Really?’ Charlie encouraged him.

  ‘Seems to be allowed an awful lot of autonomy.’

  ‘Is that unusual?’

  ‘Kind of. Our people normally like to be kept well in the picture.’

  Heppert put down his coffee cup so that he could consult his watch. It was a heavy, digital affair with a minuscule calculator built into one edge. It went with the executive spectacles.

  ‘Should be here soon,’ he said.

  ‘Didn’t he come down with everybody else?’

  ‘Had to make a call at the Washington office.’

  Charlie estimated that he had directed the conversation almost to the point where Heppert might become suspicious, so he allowed the talk to meander again. Charlie ordered more coffee even though he wanted to leave, anxious that Heppert would never think back upon it and imagine some reason for the encounter.

  It was late afternoon by the time Charlie got back to his suite. It took only minutes to get the telephone number of the Pinkerton Washington office, and Charlie was connected before he had had time to ease off his shoes. He had to identify himself and his business, and was finally connected to someone who confirmed Pendlebury’s visit but apologised that the man had already left on his way south to Florida. He enquired if he could be of any help, but Charlie declined, promising to await Pendlebury’s arrival.

  Charlie replaced the receiver and lounged back in his chair. Everything checked, just as it should have done. So perhaps he was wrong; his instinct hadn’t always been right in the past. Just a very high proportion of the time.

  Pendlebury’s call came within the hour, su
rprising him.

  ‘You wanted me,’ said the American with his customary curtness. ‘Washington office said you’d been on.’

  ‘They’re efficient.’

  ‘That’s the motto,’ said Pendlebury. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I wondered if you’d made it clear to the organisers that there wasn’t to be any display case opening here, any more than there was in New York.’

  ‘And you called Washington, just for that!’

  ‘I wasn’t sure how long you’d be there,’ said Charlie, aware of the man’s suspicion. ‘If you’d intended staying over a couple of days, I was going to tell them myself.’

  There was the barest hesitation from the American. Then Pendlebury said, ‘I told them.’

  ‘Good,’ said Charlie. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Unpacking.’

  ‘Shall we meet later on?’

  ‘Fine,’ agreed Pendlebury. ‘I’ll check the exhibition, then call you.’

  Charlie bathed and changed, awaiting Pendlebury, carefully rehearsing an approach that he hoped would be productive. There had been curiosity in the man’s voice about the Washington call, Charlie decided. So he would have to be cautious about doing anything to increase the attitude; he would have to be friendly, not intrusive. They met in the lobby and Pendlebury led the way to the Alcazar bar overlooking the ocean. Senator Cosgrove was already at a table with some people Charlie recognised from New York. Charlie nodded and the politician allowed a vague inclination of his head in response.

  ‘Great view,’ said Charlie as they were seated.

  Pendlebury grunted. ‘In most other bars at this time there’s a Happy Hour, with drinks at half price.’

  ‘You’re on expenses,’ Charlie reminded him. ‘Security as good as when you rehearsed it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pendlebury. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘New York seemed to go well.’

  ‘Raised $5,000 for the kids’ charity,’ confirmed Pendlebury, as the drinks arrived. ‘They’re expecting to treble that here.’

  ‘You got any kids?’ said Charlie, seeing the natural opening.

  ‘Two,’ said Pendlebury. ‘Both at high school. You?’

  ‘No,’ said Charlie. Edith had always been saddened by her infertility. Considering what had happened, it was fortunate that all the gynaecological treatment had failed.

  ‘Still time,’ said Pendlebury.

  ‘My wife’s dead,’ said Charlie. ‘An accident, about four years ago.’

  He reached into his jacket pocket for the photograph he had selected. He offered it across the table and the American took it.

  ‘Taken about five years ago,’ said Charlie. ‘We were on holiday in Switzerland.’

  The strain hadn’t been showing too much on Edith’s face then. They had only been running and hiding for about two years, and he hadn’t made the stupid mistake which had got him recognised by the British service, so the hunt hadn’t started.

  ‘Good-looking woman,’ said Pendlebury politely.

  ‘You live in New York?’ enquired Charlie. He was looking out over the Atlantic, a man politely keeping a casual conversation flowing.

  ‘Long Island,’ said Pendlebury, searching around for the waitress. ‘Bastard commuting every day, but it’s better than bringing up a family in Manhattan.’

  Charlie nodded, feeling again the sensation he had known seeing the word TERRILLI written on the hangar roof. If Pendlebury were attached to the New York office, why didn’t Heppert know him? Producing the photograph had had a relaxing effect upon the other man, decided Charlie.

  Pendlebury ordered more drinks, turning back to the table.

  ‘Used to take me three hours, getting in and out of London,’ agreed Charlie.

  ‘About the same for me,’ said Pendlebury. ‘Sometimes I think I should get a small apartment in town and just commute at weekends.’

  ‘Get about much?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Not a lot,’ said Pendlebury. ‘We’ve offices in most of the big towns. This sort of thing is unusual.’

  ‘Now I’m by myself, I welcome the chance to travel,’ said Charlie.

  They both pulled back for the waitress to replace the glasses, and when she moved Charlie saw that Pendlebury was sorting through a billfold, selecting some photographs. Up in the suite he had wondered about the psychology of showing the other man a family picture, but he had never expected Pendlebury to respond so readily.

  ‘Here’s the kids,’ said the American, offering a slightly out-of-focus Polaroid of two teenagers grimacing selfconsciously into the camera, both trying to hide their teeth braces.

  ‘And Betty,’ said Pendlebury.

  The American’s wife was a woman who would become fat within a year or two but at the moment was just keeping her figure with the aid of an all-in-one girdle and desperate diets every three months. Charlie smiled down at the portrait of the blonde, shiny-faced woman, saw his bonus and recorded it, handing the picture back before Pendlebury could become aware of any special attention and realise his error.

  ‘Nice family,’ said Charlie politely. He made a show of swivelling in his seat, seeking something.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Washroom.’

  ‘By the entrance,’ said the other man.

  Charlie excused himself, hurrying to the toilet. He went straight into a cubicle in case Pendlebury followed, snatching a pen and paper from his pocket. The picture of Pendlebury’s wife had shown her outside a typically American single-storeyed home with the garage forming one side. She had appeared to be making her way into the garage because the doors were open, and the camera had recorded perfectly the car registration. Charlie wrote it down, looking up reflectively. As well as the number, the registration plate had listed the State. How was it, wondered Charlie, that Pendlebury lived in New York State and drove a Chrysler Monte Carlo with a Texas registration?

  He returned to the table, to see that Pendlebury had ordered again. The American was putting the pictures back into his wallet.

  ‘Your wife’s a pretty woman,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Worries about her weight,’ confessed Pendlebury. ‘She’s joined Weight Watchers.’

  ‘Changed since that picture, then?’

  ‘Not much,’ said the American. ‘She’s only been going to meetings for about two months. Crazy about candy, that’s the trouble.’

  ‘You eating?’ asked Charlie.

  Pendlebury nodded with the eagerness of a man who had already chosen a meal for which he wasn’t paying. ‘But later,’ he said. ‘I’ve arranged to see Heppert and the rest of the security team at seven for a final run-through. Senator Cosgrove is going to be there. Want to come?’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘Better I don’t see it, otherwise I might come to rely on it.’

  ‘Probably a good idea,’ agreed Pendlebury.

  After Pendlebury had left the room, Charlie decided against food, but for reasons different from Pendlebury. His telephone call to Houston took longer than he had anticipated. To the clerk in the State vehicle licensing department he explained that he had been involved in a traffic accident with a Chrysler Monte Carlo, knew the owner’s name was Pendlebury but had mislaid the address necessary for the insurance claim to be settled. It took a further ten minutes to locate the details from the registration number, and once he had obtained the address, Charlie went back to directory information and established that Pendlebury was currently listed in the Houston telephone book.

  It was quite dark by the time he had finished, but Charlie didn’t bother with anything more than one side-table lamp. Pendlebury’s lie about where he lived was the first tangible thing Charlie had from all the supposition and guesswork. But it was enough to satisfy him that his instinct hadn’t failed. Not completely, anyway.

  ‘What happened?’ said Warburger.

  ‘We’d established the routine that if anybody called Pinkerton’s in Washington, where Jack was supposed to be going, they patched the c
all through to me. The Englishman came on about two this afternoon,’ said Bowler.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me. I alerted Jack, who came back later to say the guy wanted to check about something concerning the opening of the damned display cases.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘An unnecessary risk, like I’ve said all along. I think we should dispose of him rather than endanger everything.’

  ‘Might draw attention to the exhibition, which is just what we don’t want to do,’ warned the Director. ‘Get any sort of activity around there and Terrilli won’t come within a mile.’

  ‘It’s not an easy decision now it’s gone this far,’ admitted Bowler. ‘I don’t think we should have listened to Jack, in the first place. We could have settled this in New York.’

  ‘Warn him,’ said Warburger. ‘Tell Pendlebury we’re unhappy with it.’

  ‘One of the troubles with Jack,’ said the deputy, ‘is that he’s a cocky little bastard… thinks he can handle everything.’

  10

  Giuseppe Terrilli chose a downtown Miami Howard Johnson hotel for the meeting with Chambine, confident of the anonymity. He arrived early, but found Chambine waiting for him. Still club soda, the millionaire noted.

  Chambine made to rise, but Terrilli gestured him down, not wanting any indication of deference that might be remembered by a curious waiter. They delayed until one came and completed the order before talking. Terrilli realised the younger man had selected a table apart from others in the bar so that they could not be overheard.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Terrilli.

  ‘Fairly standard security,’ reported Chambine. ‘Electronic surveillance and the cases are wired, I suspect. A rotating staff of twenty uniformed people and some plainclothes. I don’t think more than ten. Pinkerton chief is a man called Pendlebury. There is also an Englishman representing the insurers.’

  ‘Anything unusual about them?’

  Chambine shook his head. ‘Has-beens, both of them.’

  ‘What do you think?’