by John Creasey
There seemed to be no need for alarm.
He reached number 7. His heart thumped now, because there was the possibility of finding the money, as well as Max.
He turned the handle of the door, and thrust; and the door opened. Warning rose very high in his mind, for there was no longer any doubt: it was too easy, and that probably meant that it was being made easy. He thrust the door hard back against the wall, and it banged noisily, making pictures shake and oddments on the dressing-table rattle; but there was no sound.
The bed, made, was empty. The curtains were back and the blind was up. The room looked surprisingly bright and fresh, and had a well-kept appearance. There was a slight scent of roses. He looked into every corner, heart hammering because he was so sure that it was too easy.
Then he saw a suitcase.
It stood between the bed and the far wall. It looked new; and Joe had told him that the case which Eve had taken was a lightweight air-luggage case, a pale biscuit colour. Could it be full? He did not believe that anyone, even a pair as sure of themselves as Max and Felix, could be so careless; if it were full then the room was being watched and they knew that he was here. How could he be watched, except from the door? He glanced up at the ceiling and at the walls, seeing if there were a spy hole of any kind; it would be easy enough. He saw none. He went out and looked round, down the stairs and along the passages, and the place seemed deserted; there was that sizzling sound of frying and the appetising smell.
He reached the case.
There was room for someone to hide under the bed, of course, although no one could move easily and freely from there and he did not think it was likely; yet he turned up the drape of the bedspread carefully, feeling a little absurd; he saw only the cheap carpet. There was positively nowhere else that anyone could hide and from where they could surprise him, so he picked up the case.
It was as light as a case could be; empty.
He knew that the moment he touched it, yet he put it on the bed, turned the key and opened it, taking great care not to put his prints on the chromium plated locks. He eased the lid back. Yes, it was empty. Eve had told him that there had been four packets and it would be easy to take four separate packets out of the house; that was why Harry had noticed nothing. Rollison had a curiously flat feeling of disappointment, although all the time he had tried to persuade himself that he would not find the money.
Nor did he expect to find Leah.
But there was one other possibility: Max’s room. There were only two men’s names on the board downstairs, and one was against room number 12. A Mr M. Leon. ‘M’ for Max. Rollison went out, still feeling that he was being watched, yet unable to be sure. He went up the stairs. Now a radio had been switched on, and it sounded as if two men were talking. He reached the next floor; here were rooms 9 to 11; there was only one floor above. He hurried up the final flight, not really expecting to find Max; only he had to make every possible effort before he began to try to find Leah; and before he talked to Grice of the Yard.
The door of room 12 was closed and locked. Rollison hesitated, then took out his picklock, bent down and saw that the key was not inside the lock, so the tenant of this room was out. He had the door open in a few moments, and stepped inside a larger room than he had expected, and one which was comfortably furnished, where there was a 21” television set in a corner, a radio, rows of books, extremely comfortable armchairs; and there was a door leading to other rooms, the bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. He re-locked the door, then went into the bedroom, which was quite tiny, with just room for a bed, a small chair and a wardrobe. He opened the wardrobe and took out a suit; and he knew in a moment that this was not Max’s room, nor Felix’s; for the suit belonged to a much taller man.
Then he saw a photograph, standing on the window-sill, and even the Toff could hardly believe his eyes.
It was identical with the photograph on his desk; a print taken from the same negative. He stepped towards it and picked it up, just as he had picked up the one from his desk. Eve was smiling; Caroline, too: and only Ralph Kane had been straight faced when this photograph had been taken.
Who but Kane would have this photograph in his bedroom?
If Kane used this apartment when he was not at home, was his liaison with Leah more permanent than Eve realised? If Kane lived here, did he know Max and Felix, and had he been a party to the kidnapping?
The thoughts were racing through Rollison’s mind as he searched the apartment, finding nothing that helped him; no money, no papers, no letters, nothing except the photograph to point to the identity of the tenant. He had finished, and was trying to weigh the situation up when he heard a man approaching up the stairs.
17
RALPH KANE
Rollison stepped swiftly behind the door, waiting with increasing tension; there was a possibility that this man was going to pass the door, but it was not likely, and he did not think that the footsteps were those of either of the brothers. The man reached the landing, and came straight on. Outside there was a crash as if two cars had jolted together, and someone cried out, but Rollison had no time to think of that. He flattened himself against the wall, and dropped his right hand to his pocket.
A key was thrust into the lock.
The lock turned, and the door was pushed back slowly; it did not touch Rollison. A man stepped in, keeping his back to Rollison, and closed the door. A glance towards the right would be all that was needed; but he took the normal course when a door opened as this one did, and went further into the room.
He was taller than Rollison had expected, he had a lean figure, and he moved well. His hair was much greyer than Rollison had expected, too; silvery grey hair which waved a little, like the popular conception of an actor’s. He thrust one hand into his pocket and jingled some coins, and went to the window. He stood looking out for a few seconds, the coins still jingling, upright, immaculate, the suit of pale grey that he was wearing looking as if it had been made by the world’s best tailor. So far, Rollison had not been able to see his face, except for a glimpse of his profile; he had only the photograph to judge by, and he expected to see a very good-looking man.
Then, Kane turned round.
Rollison had moved forward a little, without a sound, and was watching closely. He saw how right he was to have expected someone good-looking; this man was strikingly handsome.
Kane saw him, started violently, and raised his hands towards his chest, as if he expected an assault. He was older than Rollison had realised: in the early fifties. He stood with arms extended as if in boxing pose, mouth a little slack. The shock which had showed so clearly in his eyes faded; and the fact that Rollison made no move against him obviously took away his fear.
Rollison said: “Good evening, Mr Kane.”
Kane said in a low-pitched voice: “Are you Richard Rollison?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” Kane pressed a hand against his forehead, and that gesture was remarkably like Eve’s when she had been so tired, and when she had not known what to do. “I see,” he repeated, and moved forward slowly. “They’re always right. Always. Sometimes I think—”
He broke off.
“Who are always right?” asked Rollison.
“The Leonis,” Kane answered. “Max and Felix Leoni.” He pressed his hand against his forehead again, and went on: “They told me an hour ago that you would probably be in touch with me during the day. They always seem to know exactly what is going to happen – it’s almost uncanny. I suppose it’s what is called a sixth sense.”
This man was tired, and worried; he was no middle-aged Lothario, buoyant and confident in his attractiveness to women, certainly no lady-killer – if he could be judged from his appearance now. He was a jaded, worried man, Rollison realised, and did not quite know why that surprised him so much.
“What else did they tell you?”
asked Rollison.
Kane moved towards a cabinet on one wall, opened a cupboard, and showed an array of bottles and glasses. He took out whisky, a syphon of soda and two glasses. His movements were smooth and easy; twenty years ago he must have been not only handsome but remarkably agile; the eligible bachelor of any girl’s dream. Instead of answering, he said: “What will you have?”
“Whisky will be fine,” said Rollison.
Kane poured out, picked up soda, and said mechanically: “Say when.” He brought Rollison the drink, then raised his glass to his lips; he didn’t say a word more, but drank as if he were in urgent need of the stimulant. Rollison certainly was.
Then Kane said: “They told me that you would be here, and gave me a message for you.”
It was easy to understand why he thought that the Leoni brothers had a sixth sense. It was easy to see, too, that he had taken the strong whisky and soda so as to brace himself; and now he looked straight into Rollison’s eyes, his own shadowy; in that way, remarkably like Eve’s. “They told me that unless you kept away from the police, and away from my wife, they would kill my daughter. And you’ve got to stay away, Rollison; you mustn’t take any risk with Caroline’s life.”
Rollison said: “Well, well,” and finished his drink. “So they’re as frightened as that.”
“They’re frightened? What the devil do you mean?”
“If they weren’t, they wouldn’t throw that kind of threat about.”
“You’re wrong, Rollison,” Kane said, very tensely. “You, and anyone else who underestimates the Leonis, is quite wrong. You’ve got to give up. You’ve got to leave me to work this out with my wife. It’s essentially a family matter, and it won’t help if you or the police become involved, in fact it will do terrible harm. They’ve part of what they want, now – twenty thousand pounds. They’ll try to get more. But if the worst came to the worst they would kill Caroline, and get out of the country with the money they have already.”
“You’re more wrong than I am,” Rollison said.
Kane moved towards the largest armchair, and sat on the arm of it, adjusted the line of his trousers, swung his leg a little, and then said: “I don’t care what reputation you have; I don’t care how clever you think you are. You can’t get the Leonis at the risk of my daughter’s life. You’ve got to give up, Rollison. Where is my wife?”
“At my flat, under doctor’s orders,” Rollison answered, “and in good hands.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that you mean well and will do the best you can,” said Kane, still very tensely, “but you aren’t equipped to handle men like the Leonis. You probably think that they have some decent qualities because they can be so smooth and pleasant. You couldn’t be more wrong. They are murderous killers, they have absolutely no compunction, and if it would pay them to kill Caroline, or me or you, they would kill.”
Rollison said quietly: “So we daren’t let them get away with this.”
“Yes, we can,” barked Kane. “And we must. I’ve got to get my daughter back.” He narrowed his eyes as he stood up, still speaking in a very level voice, and giving the impression that he meant every word. He poured himself another drink and tossed it down, then went on: “I don’t know how much my wife has told you. I know she has been pretty strung up lately, living on her nerves, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she had told you the truth – or her side of it. There might be one or two things that would surprise you, and even surprise her.” He sounded very bitter. “I’d rather lose my own life than take any risks with Caroline’s. Caroline is the one real thing salvaged out of the wreck of our marriage. Oh, she’s Eve’s child; I wouldn’t make the slightest attempt to get her away, any more than I am prepared to take any risks with her life. I know these men too well.” He shivered, as if he were looking upon horror. “Have you told the police about the money?”
“Not yet.”
For the first time a glint appeared in Kane’s eyes, as if he were both relieved and glad to hear that.
“And you’re not going to,” he declared, and put the empty glass down. “I know exactly what the Leonis want, and they’re going to get it.”
“What do they want?” asked Rollison.
“Fifty thousand pounds,” Kane answered.
“Your wife’s money?”
“Yes.”
“You’re very generous with it.”
“If it were a hundred thousand it would make little or no difference to her.”
“It’s still her money.”
“And it’s our child.”
“Why didn’t you tell her about this when you found out what they wanted?”
“I don’t have to explain my actions to you, although I might have to Eve,” Kane said slowly, “but you may as well know how this developed. I got to know the Leonis through Leah Soloman, the girl you saw here. They discovered that my wife was a wealthy woman. They tried to blackmail me, over Leah. They came to realise that I really hadn’t any money of my own. They suggested that I should get a large sum from my wife, saying that if I didn’t get it for them, they would injure Caroline. I refused.” He pressed his hand against his forehead again. “I not only refused, but said that I would go to the police. You see,” he added, and there was an ugly twist to his lips, “I didn’t know the Leonis then. I wish to God I had. It might have saved Caroline from this horror—” He broke off. “Never mind that. I’ve told you enough to show that I mean exactly what I say.”
“How well do you know the Leonis now?” asked Rollison quietly.
“I’ve seen Caroline,” Kane answered. “I’ve seen how ruthless they are. I know they ran down that policeman. I’ve seen—” He hesitated, and then stood up and clenched his fists and strode towards Rollison, eyes flashing, looking a younger, fiercer man, as if the recollection of what he had seen so horrified him that it gave him a new vigour to fight against it. “I know what they do to other girls. I tell you, I know what they do! I didn’t realise it until recently, I didn’t realise what I was helping them to do. They traffic in women. They ship young girls to North Africa and to South America, they—good God, Rollison, you don’t need telling what goes on, or what happens to a girl who gets into the hands of devils like these.”
Rollison said, slowly: “No, I don’t need telling.”
“Then have some sense, and get off this case.”
“If the Leonis are as bad as you say they are, they’ve got to be caught.”
“That’s right,” said Kane, his voice harsh with bitterness – “that’s the kind of stiff-necked fool you are. You forget you’re dealing with human beings, with creatures of flesh and blood – you’re not just dealing with a principle. It doesn’t matter a damn to me what happens to the Leonis or what they do to other people – all I want is to get Caroline back, and make sure that no harm can come to her. I can do it, and make sure that nothing else goes wrong. You haven’t a chance.Rollison just watched the man, seeing the glitter fade from his eyes, as if the recollection of fear soon conquered his anger. The Leonis could not have wanted a better spokesman – and in a way it was easy to understand him. If he felt for his daughter as keenly and as deeply as he said, then he would take any risks to save her; and the risk of losing another thirty thousand pounds of his wife’s fortune was hardly one to worry him.
There was one good thing in this for Rollison: the Leonis had never intended to exchange Caroline for twenty thousand pounds; they might say they had; they might blame Rollison for having them followed, so as to exert more pressure on Eve; but it wasn’t true. They had always been after this fifty thousand pounds – or more – had always felt quite sure that they would get it.
“So I haven’t a chance,” Rollison said, very slowly. “Kane, how wrong can you be? If they’ve got Caroline, if they’re that kind of people, what guarantee have you got that for another thirty, another fifty or another
hundred thousand pounds, they’ll let her go?” He saw the glitter back in Kane’s eyes as he went on: “There’s just one way of getting Caroline back safely: that’s finding her and fetching her away.”
“All they want—”
“Don’t be a credulous fool! They’ll keep squeezing until your wife hasn’t any money left. Look what they’ve done to her already, and look what they’ve done to you: you’re both physical wrecks, you’re both on the point of a mental and physical breakdown. You can’t fight men like the Leonis, you’re not equipped to try; and if they look like being too tough, I can get help from the police. Try to make up your mind—”
Kane said: “Rather than let you tell the police, Rollison, I will kill you. I’m quite sure that if the police know about them, they’ll kill Caroline before they get away. They have several escape routes ready, they’ll have no difficulty in getting out of the country. I tell you I know what devils these men are. And I tell you that I would rather kill you than let you talk to the police.”
As he spoke, he took an automatic pistol from his pocket.
18
MOOD TO KILL
Kane looked as if he meant what he said.
He held the gun tightly in his right hand, and covered Rollison, who was too far away to hope to push it aside, and too close for there to be any chance of missing. The door, closed, was two yards away from him. He looked into Kane’s glittering eyes, saw the tension at his lips, and told himself that he must be very careful indeed, or the man would shoot to kill.
