Blood Red City

by Justin Richards

  ‘You what?’

  ‘J.D. Sumner. I need to see him. You know Sumner?’

  Jed shrugged. ‘Sure I do,’ he lied. ‘But why would a farmer like you want to see Mr Sumner? They say he hasn’t been outside his mansion in years.’ A thought struck him. ‘You want to sell him whatever you’ve got back there? He’s a collector, might make you a good offer.’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ Wiles said. There was still barely any inflection in his voice. ‘We share an interest, me and Sumner.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘An interest in…’ He paused, glancing upwards again as if listening to something in the distance before continuing: ‘… in native American artefacts.’

  ‘Stuff the Red Indians left behind, you mean? Yeah, I’ve heard he goes for that stuff.’ Jed remembered subbing an article about it recently. He struggled to recall the details.

  ‘Found some pieces on my land. Might interest Sumner. So, can you arrange for me to meet him?’

  ‘Sure.’ Jed smiled. He remembered the article now. ‘Sumner’s opening a new gallery of his museum this week, going to show off some more of his collection. Including some of these Native American Artefacts. He’s having a reception for the opening, on Friday evening.’ Sumner probably wouldn’t even show up, but Jed wasn’t about to mention that. ‘I can get a press pass for you if you want. I’ll talk to Felix, my editor. Won’t be a problem. We’ll sort something out.’

  Now Wiles did lower the shotgun, just slightly. ‘Good. You do that, Jed Haines. Then you can see what’s here.’

  ‘No, I want to see it now.’

  The gun swung back up. ‘After I see Sumner.’

  Despite the lack of emotion or accent, there was something in the voice that told Jed he meant it. ‘OK, OK. I’ll sort out that press pass, like I said. We can arrange somewhere to meet. I’ll be going too. Then next day, I come back here and see what you’ve got. I’ll bring a camera, all right?’

  Wiles nodded. ‘Come back before and I’ll know. Then I’ll kill you.’

  Jed’s mouth went dry at the matter-of-fact way he said it. He forced himself not to show how afraid he suddenly was. ‘Hey, we got a deal, right?’ He tried to smile, tried to sound in control. ‘This reception will be a big deal, you know. Loads of important people there. Rich people too. You’ll need a suit.’

  * * *

  There was a plane waiting for them at Montreal. If Sergeant Green was impressed with Sarah’s father’s hospitality, he didn’t show it, but settled back in the rather more comfortable seat of the DC-3, and was almost immediately asleep.

  Sarah spent the journey down to Los Angeles staring out of the window, enjoying the tangible motion of the flight as it bumped gently through the clouds, and wishing she was at the controls.

  It didn’t surprise her that Dad was there to meet them when they landed. She hadn’t seen him since before the war. His face was a little more lined, his hair no longer streaked with grey but a uniform gunmetal. He was a tall man, lean and confident, and enfolded Sarah immediately in his arms.

  ‘How’s my favourite daughter?’ There was a trace of accent he’d picked up from his years living in the States.

  ‘I’m your only daughter,’ Sarah pointed out as she untangled herself from the embrace.

  ‘You can still be my favourite.’

  Sarah introduced Green, and her father led them through the airport, assuring them their luggage would be at their hotel before they were. A limousine was waiting for them at the kerb, the uniformed driver already holding open the back door for Sarah to climb inside.

  ‘You’ll want to freshen up, I’m sure,’ Anthony Diamond told them as he settled himself in the front beside the driver. He twisted round to look back at them. ‘But then I’ll stand you both dinner.’

  ‘That’s very kind, Mr Diamond,’ Green said. ‘But—’

  Diamond waved away the protest. ‘But nothing. Least I can do.’

  ‘We’re here to work, Dad,’ Sarah pointed out.

  ‘Not today, you’re not. You want to see Jonny Sumner, you’ll have to wait until he wants to see you.’

  ‘And when is that?’ Green asked.

  ‘I ship goods around the world for him, but he’s not at my beck and call. More’s the pity.’

  ‘So you can’t help us?’ Sarah couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice.

  ‘It would help if I knew why you’re so desperate to see him.’

  Green shook his head. ‘Can’t tell you that, I’m afraid, sir.’

  ‘I know, I know – there’s a war on. Not that you’d notice it much over here yet. But for what it’s worth, I do have an invitation to the reception on Friday when Sumner’s opening the new gallery you seemed so interested in. If that’s any good.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Sarah told him, leaning forward to put her hand affectionately and gratefully on his shoulder. ‘There’s something in the gallery we need to see as well as Sumner, if we can.’ She was aware of Green looking at her, and knew she’d said more than he thought she should have. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ Green added. ‘That’s really good going.’

  ‘Not as good as you might like, Green,’ Diamond said, turning back to face the windshield. ‘My invitation is for me and one guest. I’m not missing it for the world, and my guest is my daughter. So you’ll have to sit this one out.’

  There was the hint of a smile on Green’s face. ‘Oh I’ve never been one for sitting things out, Mr Diamond. Invitation or not, I’ll be there, I promise you.’

  * * *

  While it was late afternoon on the west coast of the USA, it was the middle of the night over occupied France. A plane smaller and quieter than the DC-3 that had taken Sarah Diamond and Sergeant Green from Montreal to Los Angeles made its clandestine journey from RAF Tempsford in Bedfordshire. The Westland Lysander banked away from Paris, evading German observation posts with practised ease and descending towards a field to the east of the city.

  The plane was on the ground for less than a minute. As it took off again, its two passengers set off across the countryside and disappeared into the night. Not for the first time, Guy Pentecross and Leo Davenport were risking their lives in occupied France.

  CHAPTER 8

  It wasn’t the sort of place Jed had expected at all. The bar was upmarket and expensive in a good area of the city. But the note from Davy Wiles, delivered to Jed at the office that afternoon, said to meet him here.

  Jed almost didn’t recognise the man. Wiles was sitting at a table in a booth towards the back of the dimly lit room. A glass of beer sat untouched on the table in front of him. But perhaps it wasn’t the man’s first.

  Jed waved to the barman for a beer of his own, and slid into the booth to sit opposite Wiles.

  ‘You all set?’ he asked.

  Wiles fixed him with an unsettlingly focused stare. ‘All set.’

  ‘You look smart,’ Jed said as he waited for his drink.

  The man had shaved and generally cleaned himself up. He was well dressed too. Very well dressed in a dark blue double-breasted suit.

  ‘You said I’d need a suit.’

  ‘So I did.’ Jed’s own suit was in need of cleaning and pressing. But it would have to do.

  ‘You have the invitation?’ Wiles demanded.

  Jed patted his breast pocket reassuringly. ‘I do indeed.’

  It had taken all his charm and more to persuade Cynthia to go to the considerable trouble of getting it. She’d been livid when she found out Jed didn’t intend to take her with him. He’d promised to make it up to her. If this evening – and more importantly tomorrow morning – went as well as he hoped, he’d be able to afford to.

  ‘I’ve got the car outside,’ Jed told Wiles as he drained his beer. Wiles, he noted, still hadn’t touched his drink. ‘You staying in town tonight? If you are, I can give you a ride back to your place tomorrow. I’ve got the camera with me,’ he added, hoping to provoke some clue from the ma
n about what he might see in the morning.

  But Wiles remained impassive. ‘I have a ride arranged for tonight,’ he said.

  ‘You’re full of surprises, ain’t you,’ Jed said, buoyed up by the beer. He signalled the barman for another. ‘Nice suit, by the way. Did you get it specially?’

  There might have been the hint of a smile on Wiles’s lips as he watched Jed start on his next drink. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I got it specially.’

  The barman took Jed’s empty bottle and tossed it into a crate full of other empty bottles. The crate was almost full, so while the bar was fairly quiet he decided to dump it out the back.

  The back door of the bar opened into an alleyway. It was already dark, and the nearest streetlight was out. Scrumpled paper caught what light there was as it blew down the narrow street. The barman heaved the crate up and emptied it into a large dumpster. The bottles rattled against the metal sides. Usually they smashed on the bottles and other trash already inside, but this time they didn’t. The barman barely noticed. He was already thinking about how long he still had to work and what he’d do when he got off tonight.

  Inside the dumpster, deadening the fall of the bottles, lay the twisted form of a man’s body. He had been killed by a single, powerful blow to the head. Until recently, he had been a the manager of a small bank three blocks away. Until recently he had cared about his appearance, but now he was lying amongst a stale mass of discarded restaurant food and broken glass, flat beer dripping onto his lifeless body.

  Until recently, he had been wearing a dark blue, double-breasted suit.

  * * *

  The beaten-up, muddy car looked as out of place beside the smart, gleaming limos parked on the forecourt as Jed felt among the smartly dressed people arriving at Sumner’s house.

  ‘House’ was an understatement – it was a mansion on an estate outside the city. The house was lit with floodlights. The grounds were sculpted out of the landscape, designed to show off the grandeur of the place. A long driveway curved its way to the house so as to afford the best possible views. Even in the dark of the evening, it was an impressive sight.

  As they joined a group of other guests heading up the wide steps to the main entrance, Jed tucked the bulky camera under his coat. He pulled the crumpled invitation card from the pocket of his crumpled jacket.

  ‘I’ll get you in, as agreed,’ he said quietly to Wiles. ‘But once inside it’s up to you to find Sumner and talk to him, all right?’

  ‘All right,’ Wiles repeated, without looking at Jed. ‘I will find what I need.’

  ‘Then I get to see whatever came down on your land. That’s the deal, right?’

  ‘You will see it,’ Wiles promised, still not looking at Jed. ‘You will see it very soon.’

  * * *

  It was a long time since Sarah had dressed up for an evening out. Drinks or even a meal with Guy after a day at work were special, but not in a dressing-up sort of way. She had spent a pleasant afternoon shopping in the city, forgetting for a while all about the war and rationing and how difficult it was to find anything to wear in London apart from the drab utility clothing everyone bought.

  Now, walking up the steps to what looked like an English stately home dumped down outside Los Angeles, she felt like a million dollars. She had a coat that had some shape to it and actually kept out the chill of the evening. A dress that fitted – fitted very well, she was happy to admit, and in all the right places. For once she was wearing stockings. Real stockings rather than wiped-on gravy browning with a line of pencil to represent the seam. Lipstick was a luxury – she had never been able to stand using beetroot juice to redden her lips like some of the girls in the ATA. Or, come to that, soot from the fireplace to darken her eyes.

  She didn’t think of herself as vain. These were all things her father could have sent over from America for her if she’d really been that bothered. But that hardly seemed fair on the other women struggling to manage in a country under siege. Just for this evening, though, Sarah was happy to feel good about how she looked. The appreciative smile from the man who checked their invitation enhanced the feeling – even though he probably thought her father was a rich playboy showing off his latest gold-digging trophy.

  ‘Is Mr Sumner here this evening?’ Sarah’s father asked the attendant. ‘My daughter would very much like to meet him.’ He stressed the ‘daughter’ – obviously reading the man’s smile the same way Sarah had.

  The smile faded. ‘I believe he is, sir, yes.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  A maid was on hand to take their coats. Her own smile had been painted on with a lot of practice. They followed the general flow into a huge reception room with an impressive chandelier hanging from the high ceiling and wood-panelled walls. White-jacketed waiters moved through the crowd with bottles to top up glasses, and trays of food.

  ‘Let’s mingle for a bit,’ Diamond said. ‘If I spot Sumner, we’ll try to grab a few words with him.’

  ‘It’s a nice home he has here,’ Sarah said.

  Diamond laughed. ‘Oh, he doesn’t live here. This is his collection of art and artefacts. It’s open to the public, notionally.’

  ‘What’s that mean?’

  ‘It means by appointment. Sumner actually lives in a penthouse at the top of one of the hotels in Los Angeles. Runs his company from there too.’

  ‘And rarely leaves.’

  ‘He’s rarely seen in public. There’s a difference.’

  They were interrupted by a sudden flash of light close by. Sarah turned, startled – to see a photographer moving through the room, a young man with dark curly hair in a suit that had seen better days. He paused to take another picture of a middle-aged couple, nodding his thanks and moving on to take more.

  ‘I doubt Sumner will take kindly to having photos taken,’ Diamond said.

  He was right. Two of the waiters, distinctive in their immaculate white jackets, were already hurrying after the photographer. They reached him as he framed up yet another picture. The flash went off again, just as one of the waiters put his hand on the man’s shoulder. The other relieved him of his camera. The photographer’s protests were shrugged away.

  A short, rather nondescript man in a plain suit and slightly off-centre bow tie had appeared beside Sarah and her father. His dark hair was oiled and slicked back from his high forehead. He sipped at his wine and nodded to where the photographer was now defiantly scribbling in a small notebook. ‘The press are always with us, it seems.’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Diamond agreed. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ve met my daughter, Sarah.’

  ‘I don’t think I have.’ The man took Sarah’s hand. She thought for a moment he was going to kiss it, but instead he gave a gentle shake and let go. ‘You’re every bit as beautiful as your mother.’

  She hadn’t expected that. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Oh call me J.D. – everyone does.’

  ‘Sumner?!’ Sarah mouthed at her father as the man turned away for a moment to speak to a waiter. Her father nodded.

  ‘Tell him he can have his camera back tomorrow,’ Sumner was saying to the waiter. ‘But he’s not to use any of the pictures without my express permission. And the permission of whoever is in them, of course. No real harm done.’

  The waiter nodded and moved off. Sumner turned back to Sarah and her father, smiling. ‘I hate these events,’ he said. ‘But thank you for coming. It’s good to see some friendly faces in amongst the people you have to invite for…’ He frowned. ‘Well, I’m not quite sure why I have to invite them, but there must be a reason.’

  ‘I confess we’re not really here for the fun of it either, I’m afraid,’ Diamond told him.

  ‘Oh? You intrigue me, Anthony.’

  ‘My daughter wanted to ask you some questions.’

  Sumner’s smile hardened slightly. ‘You’re not a reporter, are you?’

  ‘No,’ Sarah assured him. ‘I work for the British military. We believe you might have
something in your collection that is important to the war effort.’

  The smile was back. ‘Reduced to bows and arrows now, are you? I knew things were getting tight over there.’

  ‘Not quite. But an ancient axe-head, actually. It’s in the collection you’re showing off tonight.’

  Sumner nodded. ‘There are several axe-heads. But I would guess you’re interested in the Doll-Child’s Axe.’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Normally, I wouldn’t—’ Diamond started to say.

  But Sumner waved away his apology. ‘Fascinating. The Doll-Child’s Axe has some significance, some relevance today?’

  ‘It would seem so. Though we don’t know what – just that…’ She hesitated, not sure how to phrase it. ‘The enemy are interested in it, and we want to know why.’

  Sumner nodded. ‘A puzzle. And one probably best discussed more privately.’

  ‘I’d appreciate that,’ Sarah agreed.

  ‘Let’s go look at it, then.’

  ‘The axe?’

  ‘Why not? Every man and his mistress, and there are quite a few of those here tonight, will be traipsing through to look at it when we open the gallery in an hour. If you want to take a look without the fanfare and the inane comments then now’s the time.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Diamond asked.

  ‘An excuse to get away from this lot?’ Sumner said quietly. ‘You’re joking. Course I’m sure. Get yourselves another drink, I need to say hello to the Mayor, but then I’ll be with you.’

  * * *

  Muffled sounds of the reception carried to the wing where the new exhibition hall had been set up. It was like a long corridor, with display cases along each side. Not all the lights were on yet, so the corridor was lengthened by shadows, stretching into the distance. At the far end was a large window giving out into the grounds. Since it was dark outside, the window acted as a mirror, making the gallery seem even longer.

  The white jacket of a uniformed waiter almost glowed in the dim light as he stood a short way along the gallery. He nodded to Sumner and his guests, his face dipping deferentially into shadow as they passed.