by John Creasey
“What on earth are you doing up at this hour?” demanded Miss Ellerby.
“She woke, and discovered that Caroline was missing, and I found her outside,” Miss Abbott said. “I thought you’d better have a word with her.”
“Yes,” agreed Miss Ellerby quietly. “Yes. Patricia, you are not to say a word about this, do you understand? Not a word.”
“I—I won’t, Miss Ellerby,” the girl promised, “but—but is Caroline going to be all right?”
“Of course she is,” the headmistress replied, and became quite mellow while reassuring the girl, before Miss Abbott took her off.
Twenty minutes later, Dawson was back, admitting that he had found nothing to help. Rollison took Eve out to the car. Miss Abbott had gone, yawning, to bed; there was no sign of Higgs, but outside there were at least a dozen men, half of them in uniform, and a lamp had been rigged up to light up the spot where Jeff had been run down. Dawson came out with Rollison, and asked a man: “Any news from the hospital?”
“No, sir.”
“Terrible business,” Dawson said. “Terrible.” He stepped with Rollison and Eve to the car, and shook hands and said sententiously: “I meant every word I said, Mrs Kane. We will protect your and your daughter’s interests in every way we can.”
“I’m sure you will,” Eve said.
The clock on the instrument panel said ten minutes to four when Rollison moved off. The bright light behind him fell away, and he turned the corner which the small Hillman had turned a few hours ago. Almost immediately beyond it was a set of road signs, and he did not need Eve’s directions. He turned left, for the London road, and soon they were in the starlit countryside, with the car moving very fast.
“If it were left to that awful man Dawson, I don’t think I’d feel there was any hope at all,” Eve said.
“I shouldn’t underrate the Dawsons or the police in general,” Rollison advised.
“They’ll be so anxious to catch that driver that they’ll tell the newspapers everything.”
“They can handle the running down job simply as a case of hit-and-run,” Rollison answered, “and they probably will. Eve, did you and the others recall anything which might help to tell what is behind all this?”
“No.”
“Have you any idea at all where we might find your husband?”
“No. I would have told you.”
“Do you know of anyone else who might know? This Leah, with whom he had trouble, for instance.”
“I haven’t any idea who he might be with or where he might be, but it looks as if he’s taken Caroline out of the country, doesn’t it?” Dread sounded in every word.
“Not on your life!” Rollison startled her by his vehemence.
“But, surely, the car at the airport—”
“That was the obvious place to leave it if anyone wanted to create the impression that Ralph had taken Caroline out of the country. Think of all the arguments against doing that. It’s just possible, but extremely difficult, to get a drugged person on to an aircraft, and there aren’t many drugs injected into the blood stream which put you out for a short period – usually they keep you under for hours. If you were really going to leave the country, would you make it so obvious? If your husband were going to kidnap Caroline, would he use a Colfax car and make it so clear that everyone would jump to the conclusion that he was responsible? The man you’ve told me about would have more sense than that.”
There was new eagerness in Eve’s voice.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I still don’t think the evidence implicates your husband,” Rollison said. “When you first came to see me it was to look for him, now it’s to look for them both. We might find them together, too. If they’re not in this country, I’ll be astonished. Eve, do you know this Leah’s address?”
“Why do you keep harping on her?”
“She’s the only name I’ve got of anyone who might know where Ralph’s gone, if he’s in hiding.”
“You just said that you didn’t think he was involved, and that if we find one we might find both. You’re not consistent. It isn’t any use guessing.”
“Tell me what else we can do,” said Rollison grimly. “Tell me any other line we could follow, and I’ll follow it. The police will cover all the obvious channels; we need to get on to something they’re not likely to find. Leah, for instance, or any other of Ralph’s girl friends.”
“How do you think I know where to find them?” Eve demanded bitterly. “They weren’t exactly social acquaintances.”
“None of them?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, didn’t you know any of them socially? Or, at least, don’t you know where to find a single one of them?” When Eve didn’t answer, he went on: “The police will work on the Colfax angle, they’ll be after the people in the Super Snipe and the driver of the Hillman, so it will be wasting time for us to cover the same ground. Is there anyone who knew or knows Ralph who might be able to help?”
“I’ve thought about it until my head goes round and round, and I can’t think of anyone,” Eve answered, almost desperately.
“What about his men friends?”
“He had no real friends, just a lot of acquaintances.”
“Surely someone knew him well?”
“Richard,” Eve said, and it was the first time that she had used his Christian name, “not long after we were married Ralph told me that he would probably never have married me but for my money. He said that at the time he honestly thought that he was in love, but that it had been a mistake to tie himself down – he simply hadn’t the right temperament. He told me he liked new faces, new people, and constant change. His work helped him – travelling as a top-line advertising consultant, and meeting big business men from all parts of the world. In a way I felt almost sorry for him. He was never in one place for long; he seemed to be always chasing happiness. It didn’t hurt any the less because I could see that he was driven to it by some inner compulsion, that he didn’t live the way he did only for the sake of it. I honestly believe he tried in the first few years of our marriage; the years when Caroline was young, and when I was deeply in love with him. He just won’t make close friends or permanent associations. He lives by himself and for himself. That’s why I couldn’t believe at first that he knew anything about this. I was sure he wouldn’t want to saddle himself with Caroline. He was beginning to enjoy taking her out to dinner or luncheon, because she was becoming less of a schoolgirl and more of a young woman, but I can’t believe he would want her with him all the time. I tell you that there’s no one I can think of who might help, except possibly people at Colfax’s, and I’m not even sure about them.”
“Do you know this Leah’s surname?”
Eve cried: “Don’t keep on about Leah!”
“Eve—”’
“Talk, talk, talk, that’s all I hear, that’s all that ever happens. I just can’t stand it, I simply can’t stand it!”
Rollison said: “I know, Eve.” He drove for a few minutes, saw a lay-by sign, and pulled off the road. Eve was crying. He did not speak or touch her, and after a while she quietened. He heard her moving, saw that she was pushing her fingers through her hair. There was just the light of the dashboard to show her face when she looked at him.
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know how you kept up so long.”
“It’s not fair to start shouting at you.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “You must have some reason for keeping on about Leah.”
“She’s the only person I’ve heard about who hated Ralph and might want to harm and to injure him, the only one with a possible motive. Is there anything at all you can tell me about her?”
Eve said slowly: “I don’t know.” He didn’t ask her to explain
the cryptic comment, and after a while she went on: “She once left a telephone number for him to call her back. It seemed to burn itself into my mind then, but I can’t think of it now. It was Kensington 33412 or 44312 – a number something like that. I’m sure there was a 3 and a 4 and a 1 in it, I’m sure it was Kensington. I wrote it down on a scrap of paper, and afterwards when I realised who it was, I threw it away.”
Rollison said: “We can dial all likely permutations of 4, 3, 2, and 1, and we may strike lucky.”
“It’s such a slight chance. I didn’t expect you to clutch at straws.”
“You’d be surprised how many bricks a little straw will make,” Rollison said mildly. He touched his pocket, and the ransom note, which he had not shown to anyone else. He would have taken it out then, but he did not want to add to Eve’s tension. He started off again, and as dawn was breaking, reached the outskirts of London. The city seemed to stir itself from the stillness of the night.
At a little after half-past five he pulled up outside 22 Gresham Terrace, helped Eve out into the grey morning, and went upstairs. He opened the door and tiptoed in quietly, not wanting to disturb Jolly. He switched on the light, and it showed Eve looking washed-out and red-eyed; she would hate to think that he had seen her looking like this. He took her to the spare bedroom, said: “I keep this ready for out-of-town relations. You’ll find everything you need, and the bathroom’s next door. I’ll bring in some tea and biscuits in ten minutes.” He went back to the big room and stood looking at the Trophy Wall and the hangman’s noose which was the most macabre of the exhibits. Then he took out the ransom note. It was in pencilled block lettering, and he already knew it off by heart.
“GET £20,000 READY IN CASH. THEY MUST BE OLD NOTES.”
Was this simply a case of ransom?
How rich was Eve? Could she find such a huge sum? Would anyone make a demand unless they felt sure that she could? He picked up a magnifying glass, once used to catch the sun’s rays to start a fire which had burned down a barn with two people in it, and went over the note for prints: there was none. Gloved hands had held this, the envelope, and the other card which he had in his pocket. A clever amateur would think of it; and a professional would not be careless enough to make a present of his prints to the police.
He turned round – and saw an envelope addressed to him in Jolly’s clear handwriting, which as yet showed little trace of anno Domini. So Jolly had been up; and he should have been allowed to sleep the clock round. Rollison opened the envelope and the fact that it was sealed told him that Jolly had meant to impress him with its seriousness. It read:
“There was a telephone call at 3.45, sir.
“The caller, a man with a slightly coarse voice, said that he now realises that the police will have to be told something of what has happened, but that if they are told of the cash request, the child will not be returned. He said that he would be sending Mrs K. further instructions.
“As there was nothing else I could reasonably do, I decided to return to bed. Please call me immediately you are in – I shall be perfectly well.”
Rollison put the note down, looked sardonically at the Trophy Wall, and said sotto voce: “All very calm and under control.” He put the note in his pocket, and went into the kitchen. “They’re very sure of themselves, but they shouldn’t have run Jeff down.” He made tea, took biscuits from the larder and carried them into the spare room. There was no nonsense about Eve Kane: she was in bed, lying back on the pillows, wearing a borrowed pale blue nightdress; her eyes looked lack-lustre.
“I don’t want anything,” she said. “I saw some veronal tablets in the bathroom and took one – if I don’t get some sleep, I shall be no use at all.”
“You’ll sleep like a top.”
“We’ll see,” she said, and when he turned to the door and had his hand on the switch, she said: “Rolly, it’s quite impossible for me to say how grateful I am.”
“Forget it,” he said. “Good night, Eve.” He turned out the light, went into the passage, and closed the door slowly. He moved away, as slowly. She was not truly beautiful and she had probably never looked more dishevelled than she did now, but there was a quality in her which caught and held him. He had never felt quite like this before. He grinned at himself, and went into his own bedroom, stripped, put on pyjamas and slipped into bed; it had been a waste of time making that tea. He needed a few hours’ sleep, and it wouldn’t be much use trying to trace this Leah too early in the morning. Kensington 33412, or 443x2, or—
He began to count permutations as one might count sheep, until eventually he dropped off.
The telephone bell woke him.
8
KENSINGTON 33412
“Rollison here,” Rollison said gruffly.
“Hold on, please, Superintendent Marshall wants you,” a girl said with a brightness which seemed hideous in Rollison’s ears. He sat up in bed, one eye open, and squinted at the bedside clock; it was twenty minutes past eight. He hoped the ringing hadn’t disturbed Jolly or Eve. He held on for what seemed a long time, and no one else moved in the flat. Then Marshall came on: “Rolly?”
“Don’t you ever go home?”
“I’m on my way, but I thought you’d like a word first,” said Marshall, gruffly: he might have been talking after a night’s rest, not after a long spell of duty. “We traced the drug in that needle. Morphia. No way of being sure how much, but a normal dose would put a girl under for eight or nine hours. We’ve got a line of sorts on that Super Snipe, too. It was driven to the airport by a Teddy boy type, thirty-ish, on his own. He walked out of the car park and wasn’t noticed after that. He didn’t go to one of the loading platforms or the customs bays, and he certainly didn’t have a girl with him. Shouldn’t think Caroline Kane went off from London airport; that was a blind. You listening?”
“And marvelling,” Rollison said. “Thanks very much, Nick.”
“Only hope we can find that kid,” Marshall said. “We haven’t traced the Hillman – it was a bad time of night, and too many roads weren’t covered. That shocking bore Dawson thinks he had a tyre print taken from Jeff’s shirt, but that’s the only hope there.”
Rollison was suddenly wide awake.
“Any news of Jeff?”
“Multiple internal injuries and fractured arm and hip. No more than a fifty-fifty chance, the hospital says, but they’ll pull him through if it’s possible. Have you got anything else?”
“No,” Rollison said, and half wished that there was no need to lie. “There’s something you can do for me, though.”
“What is it?”
“Leave a message to whoever is taking over from you that I might want to find out an address starting from a telephone number.”
“It’s Bill Grice,” Marshall said. “Doesn’t he always eat out of your hand?”
Rollison said: “Never known it yet,” but he felt more cheerful, for he knew Grice well and was sure that Grice would help in every way he could. “Thanks.”
“What’s this about a telephone number?”
“One Mrs Kane remembers her husband using a lot.”
“Oh. Well, I wish you luck,” Marshall said, and then broke off; the sound which followed seemed as if he had been caught with a gargantuan yawn. “. . . ugh,” he finished. “Sorry. Goodbye.”
He rang off.
Jolly was asleep; and so was Eve. Her back was turned towards Rollison when he looked in, and the bedclothes were drawn right up to her shoulders, in spite of the sticky warmth of the morning. He found himself wondering what her husband would say if he came here and saw her. Rollison had a cold bath, felt much better for it, munched biscuits and drank tea as he sat at his desk, the telephone in front of him. The first number that Eve had given him was Kensington 33412, and there was at least a chance that her memory was better than she realised. At ten minutes past nin
e exactly, he dialled the number.
There was a long pause, and he began to wonder if it were an office which didn’t open until later; or an empty flat; or even a telephone call box. He was on the point of giving up when there was a break in the ringing sound, and a woman answered: “Marple Guest House.”
“Where?” asked Rollison, startled.
“Marple Guest House,” the woman said, and she sounded breathless. “Who do you want?”
“Is Leah there, please?” asked Rollison, and was answered almost before he had finished speaking.
“It’s no use asking me to wake Leah, she wasn’t in until after two, and she’s like a log until ten or eleven every morning, anyway. Can I give her a message?”
“No,” Rollison said, his heart thumping. “I’ll call again.”
He put down the receiver, very slowly, and as the bell went ting! he heard a rustle of movement in the door behind him. He turned. Eve was standing in the doorway, a pale blue dressing-gown loosely round her, her hair dishevelled and yet attractive, her face as attractive although she had on no make-up. She was holding the dressing-gown together at the waist.
“What is it?” she demanded eagerly. “Why are you smiling?”
“There’s a Leah still at Kensington 33412,” Rollison said quietly. “The first number I tried. That’s the kind of luck that needs following up. I’m going to see her alone. I want you to take it easy here, and when Jolly wakes make him telephone Dr Welling, or telephone yourself. Will you?”
“Yes, of course. Dr Welling?”
“Yes. Thanks,” said Rollison. “And there’s negative news, too.” He told her about the airport story, but not about the morphia, and he saw the glow of hope in her eyes.
