Blood Red

by John Creasey

  He did not speak in his normal voice, but used a grating one which made him sound a much older man. ‘For a price,’ he said, ‘I might help you, Wray.’

  The girl turned her head with a startled movement, and actually started to get up. Theo spun round, the knife glinting, but there was no threat in the movement, only absolute astonishment.

  He looked into the face of a stranger.

  ‘Who—’ he began, and broke off. Mannering had never seen him utterly flabbergasted before; at another time that might have been a memorable sight.

  Then Odell’s widow moved.

  She thrust Theo backwards off his balance, sending him staggering. She bounded off the couch and rushed towards Mannering and the door. She swerved suddenly to try to get past him. He grabbed at her, touched her arm, felt the soft, warm flesh, then lost his grip. She reached the door, which was still open. If she reached the front door and the passage, even if she managed to lift a telephone and cry for help, she would bring the police swarming here. Mannering pivoted round and ran after her. She slipped through this door, and tried to slam it in his face, but she could not. She darted towards the front door, which he had left unlocked and easy to open for his own escape.

  She was just out of reach.

  She touched the handle of the front door.

  Mannering reached her, clutched her shoulder and pulled her back. She kicked and struck and clawed at him, but could not get away. She gave one scream, but before she could repeat it, Mannering had her fast with one arm, and smothered her cries with his free hand. Then Theo came. Mannering lifted the girl off her feet, and Theo clapped his hand over her mouth. They took her into the room from which they had come, and Theo closed the door. Mannering put the girl on the couch, and then drew back, his right cheek smarting from a scratch, and breathing hard.

  ‘Vixen is the word,’ Theo said tautly. ‘What’s the word for you?’

  ‘Friend.’

  ‘The kind of friend who would cut my throat.’

  ‘The kind of friend who thinks you’ll pay well for help.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Theo, less harshly, ‘but the help would have to be good.’

  ‘Try me,’ Mannering suggested.

  Theo did not press his questions, but was very wary as he looked at the girl again.

  ‘What’s your price for help without any argument?’

  ‘You won’t be able to pay anybody’s price,’ said Odell’s widow in a gasping voice.

  ‘You forget that you need a few days to complete his ruin,’ Mannering said, in that harsh, unfamiliar voice, ‘and you won’t have them when we find out who killed your husband.’

  ‘You’ll never find out.’

  ‘You didn’t think that Wray would kill you,’ Mannering said very softly, ‘but you can’t be sure about me. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for money, and Wray can pay me all I want.’

  She was frightened by that, and Mannering did not think that she would be able to throw this fear off so quickly: but she would try. It had looked as if Odell had married a clinging vine, but she was a fighter, and it was impossible not to admire her.

  ‘You’ve said I can pay,’ Theo said tautly. ‘Just name your price.’

  ‘He’ll never be able to pay you,’ Diana Odell said harshly. ‘Tomorrow he’ll be in jail and there’ll be panic selling of his shares – not only here, but all over the world. Once that starts, the bottom will fall out of the markets he’s in, and he’ll be in trouble, he’ll be so deep in trouble that he’ll never be able to get out. Even if he’s let out of jail and tries to save the bottom from falling out of his market, he’ll have to sell his real estate. But once the slide’s started there’ll be no stopping it. I know exactly how it works.’ She was almost breathless. ‘I had to stand by and see it work with my own father. He was one of the richest men in the country until Theodorus Wray started to work on him. Wray played the markets until my father was compelled to sell all his land, all his property, everything he possessed to try to stop the rot. But he couldn’t. And do you know why? Because he’d bought too much of some big stocks, and when he started to sell, the price just went down to zero. Wray forced it down. Wray thinks he controls an empire, but it’ll soon start crumbling away. He himself might be able to hold it, but he won’t be there to try. Why, I’ve already had word that the news that the police are after him had started a wave of selling in Australia and New Zealand!’

  She stopped; and the silence in the room seemed heavy and ominous.

  Wray looked at the girl without speaking, and Mannering felt that it was almost superfluous to ask, ‘How right is she, Wray?’

  ‘I couldn’t be more right,’ the girl said, and fear had gone in this new kind of bitter triumph. ‘He hasn’t a chance unless he’s on the spot to handle the situation for himself. He’s the great one, he’s Midas the Memory Man, he’s the one who keeps everything in his head, he’s the one who makes millions by balancing one million against another.’

  ‘Anyone who knows what holdings I’ve got and what property and real estate I own could do it,’ Theo said in a strangely quiet voice. ‘Sure, I did this kind of thing to Cunningham, but he was trying to fight me. I offered to buy him out. He wouldn’t sell, so it was war. That’s just a different way of fighting. It went my way. If it had gone his way, I would have been in trouble.’

  ‘You couldn’t be in worse trouble than you are,’ Odell’s widow said viciously. ‘You haven’t a chance to save yourself from losing all you’ve got – your money and your liberty, perhaps your life. What does it feel like to be on the receiving end, Theo?’ How she sneered.

  Theo said in that unexpectedly quiet voice, ‘I don’t like it much, but I’ve been there before.’ He looked up into Mannering’s face, not knowing that it was Mannering, not showing the slightest sign of recognition. ‘Someone told me recently that I had to face facts. The facts are that unless I can handle this situation myself, it can go the way she says. So I have to find out who killed Odell.’ The beginning of a smile curved his lips. ‘Or you have to, I don’t seem to have the knack! Will you try?’

  Mannering said: ‘Don’t you have an assistant? Can’t he help?’

  ‘Charley?’ said Theo, and his lips curved still more and he shook his head. ‘No, that’s where my method hits back at me. Charley hasn’t got the initiative or the courage for a job like this. He’s got all the physical courage in the world, but when he starts juggling with big money he gets scared of the risk. It paralyses him. That’s how I wanted it. I wanted a man who would do what I told him and never make any attempt to show me how clever he was himself. I talked to him earlier tonight. It was obvious he was standing by and waiting for me to tell him exactly what to do. But I can’t handle this on a telephone, now.’ Theo gave a choky kind of laugh.

  ‘You can’t handle this at all,’ Odell’s widow sneered. ‘You haven’t a chance in a million.’

  ‘You might try by asking her one question,’ Mannering suggested. ‘Ask her if her father ever had a secretary whose name was Bettley, a middle-aged, grey-haired woman who talks too much and is always ready to show how bright she is by acting on her own initiative.’

  Theo gasped: ‘Betty!’

  The girl lost her colour, but didn’t speak.

  ‘Betty,’ repeated Theo, thinly. ‘She’s the brightest secretary I ever had. She’s been with me just two months, and I’m quite sure how good she is. She knows all the answers. She knows world markets inside out. I was so lucky to get her I couldn’t believe it. If it wasn’t for her love of making decisions off her own bat, I’d have paid her a fortune to join me and Charley. Betty,’ he repeated, and it was almost a groan. ‘She knows as much about my holdings as anyone in the world except Charley and me.’ He turned very slowly towards the girl on the couch, and asked in the same level voice, ‘How about it? Did she ever work for your father?’

  Diana Odell did not say a word, but for the first time since Mannering had seen her, her spirit s
eemed to fade.

  ‘Wray, I’m going to talk to the woman, Bettley,’ said Mannering abruptly. ‘You keep trying to make Mrs Odell name the murderer.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll try,’ Theo promised. ‘Maybe it won’t be so difficult now.’ He looked straight into Mannering’s eyes, which were gummed a little at the corners so that their shape was altered, and the pupils were enlarged because of drops, and looked quite different from Mannering’s eyes. ‘How come you’re so anxious to help me?’

  Mannering said, ‘I’ve always wanted to be a millionaire.’

  He turned and went out, knowing that both the girl and Theo were staring after him in the one thing they shared: bewilderment about him. He opened the door of the passage, stepped out, and closed it again without a sound. He turned towards the lift, but had taken only a step when he heard men walking, two or three heavy men, treading heavily enough for the thud of their footsteps to sound in spite of the thick carpet and the sound-absorbing walls.

  He moved round swiftly, looking over his shoulder. He could still hear but could not yet see the men. He pushed the velvet curtains aside and stepped behind them, with his back to the open window.

  Then the men appeared, three of them, and he recognised a Chief Inspector of the CID.

  They headed for Odel’s apartment, as if they knew exactly what they wanted and what they were going to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Who Killed Odell?

  The three men stopped outside Odell’s door, and Mannering, peering through a tiny gap between the curtains, saw one put his finger on the doorbell. Another man looked his way, then glanced up at the chandelier, which was in darkness. Mannering kept quite still, but a breeze was coming in at the open window, and he could not stop the curtain from billowing. If that detective noticed it he would come at once. Could he climb down?

  The men still stood there, looking at the door, and one of them said, ‘Try again, before we use the passkey.’

  ‘I can’t understand what makes you think that a search warrant was necessary. Surely poor Mrs Odell has suffered enough today.’ So the speaker was from the apartments, not a Yard man.

  A man said, ‘We just want to make sure that Mrs Odell isn’t hiding someone we want to talk to.’

  The wind seemed a little fresher, and the man glanced at the curtain again. Did he notice anything? Mannering felt his heart pounding: the thudding seemed enough to suffocate him.

  Then the door opened, and Odell’s widow said, ‘Who on earth are you?’

  ‘I’m a police officer, Mrs Odell, from New Scotland Yard. I’m sorry to worry you so late, but we’ve instructions to come and search your apartment. Please don’t make difficulties.’

  He was fluttering a paper, doubtless the search warrant.

  Mannering couldn’t see the girl.

  He did see the way the three men tensed themselves.

  Then suddenly Theo appeared, corning like a bullet and looking as if he meant to force himself bodily through the trio. He sent one man staggering, brought the other to his knees, actually turned into the passage, and began to run. Then one of the men stretched out a leg and brought him down.

  As he crashed, Mannering saw Odell’s widow. She would tell the police about the visitor, and they would want to know why they hadn’t seen him. They might come and look here.

  One of them had snapped handcuffs on to Theo Wray, who stood very still, his face set; yet in some remarkable way he hardly looked dishevelled. At last he looked every one of his years. He was staring at the girl, who backed into the flat, saying, ‘He forced his way in here! I couldn’t keep him out!’

  ‘You two take Wray downstairs,’ said the man who had done most of the speaking. ‘I’ll have a word with Mrs Odell. Send Parsons and Jameson up at the double, will you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Wray was marched off, at once.

  The man went into the flat, but left the door ajar.

  Mannering waited until he and his captors had vanished round the corner, then crept out of his hiding place, past the open door, and towards the stairs. He reached the staircase safely, and prayed that he would meet no one on the way.

  He did not.

  He went out boldly, and no one stopped him.

  Theo was held between the two men who had arrested him, just outside the flats, and made to get into a police car. Mannering waited until it had driven off, and then walked briskly to his own car. In fifteen minutes, he was back at the garage, but never had fifteen minutes seemed so long, never had he lived so much in so short a time. He was not really normal until he was beginning to remove the disguise, and even then his mood was very subdued.

  In half an hour, he was John Mannering again, and the most dangerous part of the great gamble had succeeded.

  But the case wasn’t over yet by a long way.

  He left the garage at a little after four o’clock, while the night was still black and most of London still asleep.

  He went to a telephone kiosk near the station, and put in a call to the Chelsea flat. There was no answer at first, which hardly surprised him. The bell went on ringing. There was none in the bedroom, but one just outside. Usually Lorna woke quickly; she must be sleeping heavily tonight. Brr-brr-brr-brr. On and on it went, and he began to frown, puzzled. Could he be ringing a wrong number? Perhaps he was tired, and had dialled quickly, without concentrating. He got his sixpence back, inserted it again, and dialled – with exactly the same result. This time there was no question of a wrong number. He felt his grip tightening on the telephone as the ringing sound went on and on. Someone would wake up and hear it, surely: and he could not remember a time when Lorna had not answered, if she had been able to.

  If she had been able to.

  Brr-brr. Brr-brr.

  He put the receiver down and stepped outside. Suddenly he was frightened. A mist of rain was in the air, and he felt it cold upon his face, matching the sudden coldness in him. He went hurrying towards the station taxi rank, almost at the double. Police and porters watched, and a cabby leaned out of his seat to open the door.

  ‘Green Street,’ Mannering said.

  It was a ten minutes’ journey. Mannering sat back in the cab, hands clenched tightly, and lips set, looking into the misty drizzle, the haloes round the street lamps, the haloes round the lights of cars and the trucks and cycles coming towards him.

  Soon they turned into Green Street.

  ‘Wait, please,’ he said.

  No one was about. He could not be sure, but he did not think the Yard men were here now, and as Theo was in custody, their main purpose in watching the premises was gone. Mannering unlocked the street door. It was very quiet when he stepped inside the house, and only a dim light burned in the hall and on the landings. He stepped into the lift. Tension had never been greater in him than it was as the lift crawled upwards.

  He stepped to the front door of his flat, inserted the key, hesitated, and opened the door cautiously. If there had been trouble here, someone might be lying in wait. He heard no sound, not even of breathing, and felt sure no one was in the hall. He pushed the door wide open, and stepped swiftly inside – and then saw a glimmer of light in the main bedroom, the door of which was ajar.

  Lorna’s name was on his lips, but he did not utter it. He crept across the hall to the door, listening for the slightest sound, but heard none until he reached the bedroom door; then it was the softest of soft breathing.

  Lorna’s?

  He opened the door.

  She was lying on the top of the bedclothes, in her pale green pyjamas. Mannering could see even at this distance that she was breathing. She did not seem to be hurt, looked as if she had got up, been searching for her slippers after putting on the tiny bedside light, and then dropped back to the bed, asleep. Why? How long had she been like this?

  Her pulse was steady.

  He left her, and turned towards the spare room, the door of which was wide open. He stepped inside, and switched on the light, and stared at t
he empty bed.

  Claudia was in a drugged sleep too; but she did not look as if she had been disturbed.

  Mannering lifted Lorna, put her down again, pulled the bedclothes over her, and then went out and down in the lift to the waiting taxi.

  ‘Seen anyone about?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Expect someone?’

  ‘I just hoped,’ said Mannering.

  The police had been withdrawn, and someone had come to the flat, picked the lock, drugged Lorna and the maid, and taken Rosamund off.

  Mannering did not want to think about the alternative.

  It was just possible that Rosamund had got up and drugged the others and left of her own free will. It was remotely possible that Rosamund had been involved in the plot against Theo, and that something had alarmed her, and she had decided to get away from the flat, perhaps from London, perhaps from the country itself.

  And there was another possibility which he hated to think about.

  No Scotland Yard detective was outside the Panorama Hotel when Mannering paid his cabby off. He went inside. The hotel was brightly lit; there were several commissionaires; there were page boys inside, lift boys, pale-faced men in black at the reception and the cashiers’ desks. A little woman with a child asleep on her lap sat unexpectedly against a pillar, with several Pan American bags about her feet.

  A boy took Mannering up in the lift.

  A chambermaid sat dozing at a junction of passages. A waiter wheeled a trolley containing tea and toast along past her. Both wished Mannering good morning. He reached the door of Theo’s apartment, and glanced right and left, making sure that neither waiter nor chambermaid had followed or were watching him. He saw no one. This was just a hotel-room door and simple to force. He made little sound, and pushed the door open only an inch.

  He heard nothing.

  The outer room was empty.

  He stepped across, knowing that Theo’s bedroom was on the right, Charley’s on the left, and the main living-room-cum-office beyond, overlooking the park. The desk where Betty had been yesterday was tidied; a chair stood squarely behind it; and the telephone he had used was squared: whatever else, Betty kept her things in good order.