Leeward

by D. Edward Bradley

  Jon kicked off his shoes. “I think I’ll have a lie-down. Be a honey and rub my back.”

  He looked down at the bed. Josie was a very tidy person, and it should have been made up to perfection, but the covers were a bit ruffled. He took off his shirt, then all of a sudden the odd atmosphere that had prevailed during the evening crystallized into an awful thought, and in an instant Jon knew what had happened. Slowly, he put his shirt back on.

  Josie stood in the doorway, then walked over to him. “Don’t you want me to rub your back?”

  Jon looked straight into her eyes. He could see they were moist. Then she glanced at the bed for a second.

  “Never mind.” His voice was raspy.

  “Jon, honey, what’s the matter? You look awful.”

  “What happened with Crispin?”

  He looked at her eyes again, but she turned away.

  “Look at me, Josie! Tell me what happened!” Jon’s voice rose to a shout.

  Josie began to feel dizzy. The tears welled.

  “You fucked with him, didn’t you?” Jon stood in front of her, his face white with rage. “You rotten filthy bitch!”

  He hit her. The fierce blow to the side of her head knocked her backward onto the bed where she blacked out. Without so much as a glance at Josie, Jon grabbed the bag he used to carry books to Tuft’s, turned it upside down to empty it, opened a drawer, pulled out some shirts, stuffed them in and walked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

  When Josie came round she heard the front door of the building crash shut and knew what had happened. The pain numbed her mind for a minute or two longer, then the enormity of it all began to sink in and she started to cry. Great deep sobs racked her body. Tears mingled with the blood oozing from her injured mouth and stained the counterpane.

  “It’s the end!” she cried. “He’ll never come back and it’s all my fault!”

  Half an hour later she was lying on the bed still crying, when the front door opened. Crispin heard her as he came up the short passage leading to the living room.

  “Are you okay?” He knocked on the half-open bedroom door. “Where’s Jon?”

  “Go away,” sobbed Josie.

  Crispin guessed what had happened, and looked into the bedroom anyway. When he saw Josie’s swelling face he was appalled.

  “Jesus, he did that to you?”

  “Why not?” replied Josie. “I deserved it.”

  “Garbage. It was all my fault.” Crispin leaned over her.

  “No, it was mine. I made you come on to me. I wanted you.” She started to cry again. “Please go away and leave me alone.”

  “But—”

  “Just go away!”

  Crispin went into the living room. He had no intention of leaving Josie alone. She would need all the help he could give her in the days to come, assuming of course that she would accept it and let him stay on.

  Friday, October 26, Boston

  Josie tossed and turned. It was three o’clock in the morning when she gave up and made some tea. Then she wondered if talking to her father would help. She wouldn’t tell him about Crispin, of course, but she would have to explain about Jon leaving. Realizing it was breakfast time in Heidelberg she called him, and taking great care to avoid any reference to Crispin, she told him only that she and Jon had quarreled, and that Jon had left.

  “What was the problem?” asked the Judge.

  “It’s personal, Dad. But I’m worried, and I’ve no idea where he’s gone.”

  “I wouldn’t let it bother you just yet, Josie. He’s probably cooling off in some hotel. Now what about Crispin? Did he get anywhere?”

  “Not really. He’s out right now. In a nutshell, the Police Department has virtually abandoned the Marshall Thompson investigation. It’s really weird. I’ll tell Crispin to call you when he has something definite.” Josie didn’t want to prolong the discussion at this point, and said goodbye.

  When Crispin came into the living room around eight, Josie had a vague idea what she wanted to do.

  “I know it was all my fault,” she said. “Crispin, I’m really sorry, but I don’t want you to touch me, even innocently. I feel shitty about the whole thing. Jon’s gone God knows where, and I don’t even know if I’ll see him again.”

  “You must love him a lot.”

  “Yes,” said Josie, but she knew she was kidding herself.

  Crispin turned away and stared out the window. His voice was muted. “I think I’m falling for you.” He paused. “No, I don’t think, I know.”

  Then Josie suddenly felt sorry for him, and took his hands in hers. “Please don’t love me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  For Crispin, her touch was almost torture, evoking his intense desire for her once again. “Maybe I should leave.”

  “It might be best,” she said softly. “As soon as you can.”

  “I’ll have some coffee first.” Crispin hoped she’d change her mind, and added, “The least I can do is look for Jon.”

  Saturday, October 27, Boston

  “Shit!”

  It was just after six in the morning and Josie had forgotten to switch off the bedside phone. Its persistent ringing jolted her viciously out of a deep sleep. She rolled over and lifted the receiver.

  “Who is this?”

  “Jo, it’s me.”

  “Crispin! Do you know what time it is?”

  “I couldn’t sleep and thought you’d be up.”

  “Well, I’m not. Look, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, and need a couple of days to think things over.” Josie’s voice softened a little. “Did you have any luck tracing Jon?”

  “Nope. He might as well have left the planet. I checked endless hotels, the University, and the airport—they don’t give out passenger lists, so he could have skipped town.”

  “You’re probably right, but thanks anyway.”

  “Just in case you’re wondering, I’m at Johnson’s. It’s only a couple of blocks down the road, so if you need me . . .”

  “That’s sweet of you.”

  “It’s just that I didn’t want to be too far away.”

  Josie felt a lump in her throat. She didn’t know quite what it was with Crispin. He seemed to have this power over her. In spite of all her remorse, she couldn’t stop thinking about Thursday when they had first joined together, and the enormous surges of delicious sensations that followed.

  “Crispin, you’re a sweet person, but everything’s such a mess. If anything happens to Jon I’ll never forgive myself. I just need to think, so why don’t you spend the day following up your enquiries?”

  “Okay, Jo. Sorry I woke you. Take care.”

  “Don’t hang up! It’s just that I . . . I thought we should get together soon.”

  Tears ran down Josie’s cheeks as she put down the phone. She didn’t know whether they were for Crispin, or for herself. She just felt miserable and spent most of the day watching TV, but it didn’t register in her tortured mind. During the afternoon, she thought a couple of drinks might help.

  The sky outside was beginning to darken when she poured herself another slug of Crispin’s Scotch, added some ice, and went back to bed. She didn’t even notice that she still had her nightie on from the morning. The alcohol began to take effect, and by seven o’clock she was sound asleep, the empty glass on the bedside table.

  Josie didn’t hear the faint scratching at the outside door, or the faint thunk as the heavy but well-oiled lock slid back in its guide. There was a rattle as the opening door stopped abruptly against its safety chain. It was followed by a snick, and then another rattle as the chain was cut from outside and the two halves parted, clattering against the wall as they fell. This sharper sound must have registered in her mind as she lay on her back on top of the coverlet and woke up, still dazed under the influence of the Scotch. The bedside light was on low, and the first thing she saw was a man standing in the open doorway looking at her. For a split second she thought it was Crispin, but h
e had no business wearing a mask over his head, and would never point a gun at her. In any case, the hand that held the gun was white.

  Two blocks away and almost an hour earlier, Crispin had not been feeling too cheerful. He spent the day talking to Thompson’s lawyers, and tried yet again to get a lead on Jon. After dinner at the hotel, he wondered what to do next. The problem was how to keep away from Josie’s apartment. In the end he decided it couldn’t possibly do any harm to walk back the two blocks to make sure the building hadn’t caught fire, fallen down or otherwise disintegrated.

  His mood wasn’t improved when he emerged into the fine drizzle that was blowing up the street, and he couldn’t resist the welcome lights of a bar at the end of the first block. After a quick bourbon he continued on his way. When he reached the apartment building, he went into the small entrance area with its mail-boxes and buzzers—just to get in out of the drizzle, he told himself. He would have to buzz Josie if he wanted to find out if she was home since he had returned his keys for the inner door. Crispin wiped the moisture off his glasses and stared at the nameplate, which read Whittaker. That was the alias Josie and Jon used for renting purposes. He stood there for about a minute, then took a deep breath and left, turning toward his hotel on the street outside. After fifty yards he changed his mind and turned back. He knew he was behaving like a lovesick teenager, but what the hell, he couldn’t face another night without seeing her.

  When he was about twenty feet from the entrance, a car drove up letting off two men. One of them spoke to the driver through the open passenger door, and Crispin heard him say, “See you out back.”

  The incident appeared trivial, but he instinctively slowed his walk to a saunter. By the time he went through the outer door into the entrance hall, the two men had gone on into the building, but the inner door was still closing slowly. Without thinking, Crispin stopped it with his foot. What a lucky break! He could just appear at the apartment door, and Josie would surely let him in for a while. He dried his glasses again, then went over to the two elevators. There was an Out of Order notice taped to the right-hand one, and the indicator showed that the other was at the top floor.

  What with one thing another, it was several minutes before he got to the apartment. When he arrived, his heart missed a beat. The door was open, and he heard men’s voices. At this point instinct took over. He knew it was a break-in, and Josie was in danger.

  In the bedroom, Josie was terrified.

  “Don’t make a sound,” said one of the men. He had a foreign accent, probably German.

  “Let’s have a bit of fun before we take her away,” grinned the other, who was undoubtedly American.

  “Too risky.”

  “Fuck that. She’s too good to miss.”

  “Then hurry up. I don’t feel like it.”

  The American gave the foreigner his gun and stepped over to Josie, who lay huddled in fear. He pulled her nightie up over her face, none too gently. He was about to undo his belt when something made him glance behind him. What he saw made him forget all about Josie. A big black man stood right behind his partner, arm raised and fist clenched. The arm came crashing down on the hand holding the gun, sending it spinning across the floor and under the chest of drawers. After that everything happened at high speed.

  Josie saw that it was Crispin. He was very strong and muscular, and almost a match for the would-be kidnappers, but the numbers were against him. He hauled the gunman into the living room and pushed him hard so that he crashed into the dining table and sank to the floor. The American tried to get Crispin in a headlock, knocking off his glasses in the process, but received an elbow in the stomach. Furniture crashed, and dining chairs snapped into pieces as the men fought. Then the intruder with the foreign accent rejoined the fray. Josie scrambled off the bed and ran to the next apartment just as a young Caucasian couple was returning home. The man rushed into Josie’s living room. Both intruders saw him at the same time, and went for the door. They exploded into the hallway, knocking Josie and the other girl to the floor. Within seconds, the two men had disappeared down the back stairwell.

  In the living room, Crispin located his glasses, miraculously undamaged, and Josie offered their rescuers something to drink. The neighbors refused gracefully, but suggested the police should be called, then returned to their own apartment.

  As soon as they were out of the room, Josie flung herself into Crispin’s arms. “I don’t want to call the police.”

  “I agree,” replied Crispin. “They’d never find those guys anyway.”

  As Josie stepped back to examine a bruise on Crispin’s face, she felt a small cold object beneath her bare foot.

  “Hey, what’s this?“ she said.

  Crispin picked it up and held it under a table lamp, which had somehow escaped destruction. “I’ve no idea. Never seen anything like it.”

  “But I have. You remember I told you about the bugs that were planted in our house before the fire? Well it’s one of them.”

  “A bug! Hell, Jo, where did it come from? Did it fall out of one of those guys’ pockets, or was it here all along?”

  “It doesn’t make any difference, Crispin.” Josie’s voice rose. “These bugs are quite unique, and it means the St. Barbe’s people know we’re here. Our cover’s shot! We have to leave, Crispin! We have to leave right now!”

  “Together or separately, Jo?” Crispin took her by the shoulders and drew her to him again.

  Josie said nothing for a few moments, then made up her mind. “Together. I need you Crispin, I need you so much.” And she kissed him long and hard.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Friday, October 26, Heidelberg

  Judge Winchester hung up his bedside phone. Josie’s revelation that Jon had left her was disturbing to say the least. But after some thought he decided that the best thing would be to keep quiet for the time being, and hope that Jon would contact Meg soon. Meanwhile, they had to organize the trip to Scotland. Meg was worrying about Bobbie—the relatives she was visiting lived much too close to Norbase 2. The sooner they got her back to Jamaica, the better.

  Later that morning, the Judge asked everyone to meet in a small conference room at Dougal’s law office to decide who should go on the trip, and to discuss their travel arrangements.

  Dougal had a smile on his face as he took a seat at the table. “You won’t believe this, but I think I can get tissue samples from Hedi Wetzlar and have them tested for a virus.”

  The Judge raised his eyebrows. “You’re a resourceful man, Dougal. How did you manage that?”

  “Before you got here, I was talking to one of my partners about a case involving DNA testing. He said he would get it done at his laboratory in Mannheim. I asked him what he meant by his laboratory, and it seems he’s on the board of a private research facility. To cut a long story short, I spun him a yarn about the circumstances of Hedi’s death, and told him that her relatives weren’t satisfied with the autopsy done in Stockholm. By the way, the report concluded that she died of a heart attack. Anyway, the mythical relatives wanted me, their lawyer, to arrange for certain tissues to be examined for a virus. He said no problem. All I have to do is let him know when, and provide the necessary paper work.”

  “That’s excellent news, Dougal,” said Meg. “But how do we get hold of tissue samples?”

  “I called the Wetzlars and had to give them a bit of information about The Organization. It scared them, and they wanted to help. Hedi’s body is on its way from Stockholm for the funeral, and will be held at the local morgue until it takes place. I will instruct the lab to take brain and heart samples during that time. This affects our arrangements for Scotland, because someone will have to stay behind to speak to the lab manager.”

  Meg turned to the Judge. “Marvin, you’re the obvious person. You have a judge’s professional status, despite the fact that you’re outside your jurisdiction.”

  Judge Winchester agreed, if somewhat reluctantly.

  “You can mee
t Bobbie and I at Heathrow Airport, and we’ll go back to Jamaica together. How about that?”

  “Meg, that’s a great idea. I must say I’d like to return to the villa for a while, if not permanently.”

  “I imagine we'll have to stay overnight before we can get a flight.”

  “Probably,” replied the Judge. “We should set everything up right now.”

  The final plan was that Meg, Dougal and Kurt would leave for Scotland the following day, Saturday. They would then have Sunday to check out Norbase 2 and collect Bobbie. Afterwards, they could travel to London on Sunday night or Monday morning, depending on how things worked out. While this was being discussed, Dougal’s partner had persuaded the manager of the research laboratory to meet with Judge Winchester on Saturday morning in Mannheim. The Judge would then fly to London on Sunday. It was to be an exhausting few days.

  Sunday, October 28, Scotland

  A vicious westerly wind howled along the top of the cliff where Meg, Kurt and Dougal were crouching behind a small outcrop of gray rock. Heavy showers of rain occasionally mixed with snow, marched in succession up the sea loch far below. Clad in winter clothing, the group was hiding on the south side of the deep fjord that bore the name of Loch Hourn. When they first arrived in Scotland, they had rented a sport utility vehicle, a Landrover, which they managed to drive to within a quarter of a mile of the cliff edge where a precipice plunged several hundred feet to the head of the water. They could see a small jetty protruding from the end of a gravel track, which ran alongside a large stone house with a lawn and a few birch trees. Several hundred yards up the valley, the track widened and the cliffs leveled out to form gentler heather-covered hillsides. A farmhouse with outbuildings nestled there.

  At seven o’clock in the morning, the only sign of activity at the stone house was a plume of blue-gray smoke, which quickly dissipated in the wind as it emerged from one of the chimneys. Meg was watching the building through low power binoculars, while Kurt was peering at the farmhouse through a more powerful pair.