by Mark Arundel
Natalie didn’t speak. Her face said everything.
In her room, Natalie took time cramming all her new clothes into her cases.
The Tobias’s Rolls Royce arrived, and they went down together. Rafferty loaded the car with the bags and then spoke to the chauffeur.
Natalie looked sad. Rafferty was already thinking about other things. She handed him a folded piece of paper. He pulled it open and read it.
‘It’s my telephone number,’ she said, ‘and the other one’s my agent who always knows where I am. Just leave a message and I call you back.’
He put the piece of paper in his jacket pocket. She leant forward and kissed him softly, at first, and then harder.
‘We must do this again,’ she said and smiled.
‘Yes, we must,’ he said.
The Rolls drove away. Natalie watched him disappear through the rear window.
Then she started to cry.
41 December 28, 1963, Manhattan, New York
Rafferty ran through Central Park in the snow. The big wet flakes had begun to fall just before dawn and now the white covering was deepening fast.
After ten minutes into his run, his body burned with the exertion despite the freezing temperature. His breath was a white plume and steam rose from the top of his black woollen hat like a boiling kettle.
While his wet running shoes padded through the muffling snow and the red cheeks of his face smarted in the biting wind his mind was deep in thought. He was thinking of Marilyn and reliving how he had lost her. Could he have done things differently? Would it have stopped Greene from killing her?
Back inside his warm apartment, he unzipped his tracksuit and pulled off his hat. His body temperature started to normalise. He stood at the tall window and sipped a coffee while he watched the snow fall heavily on the city.
The telephone rang.
‘Hello,’ he answered.
‘Hello, this is Karen Brekke.’
Rafferty recognised her voice.
‘Who is this, please?’ she asked.
‘Bluebeard,’ he said, confirming what she already knew. She was just following procedure.
‘William McGrath wants to see you,’ she said.
Rafferty didn’t respond.
‘Can you meet him this afternoon at four?’
‘Where?’ he said.
‘In the park outside the zoo. Where we met.’
‘I’ll be there,’ he said.
‘Before you hang up,’ she said. She paused. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Okay,’ he said and then hung up.
Rafferty wore boots with a deep tread. His socks were thick, and his woollen jersey zipped up to his chin. He had the brim of his felt homburg pulled down low over his eyes. He trudged through the deep snow and kept to the pathway. The park was quiet and the 4pm winter light was fading into a murky mix of grey and mauve as the sun fell behind the tall buildings and the snow turned icy blue. The blizzard had dampened the traffic noise and given the park a feeling of isolation. Rafferty couldn’t decide if it was tranquil or malevolent.
The two men saw each other. Rafferty walked over. He noticed McGrath was wearing shoes unsuitable for the conditions. He’s going to have difficulty walking in those, he thought. McGrath stuck to the pathway, too. He didn’t want to lose his balance again. He had almost fallen twice already. The conditions were unsuitable for meetings in the park.
‘You’re wearing the wrong shoes,’ Rafferty said. He stamped his own boots securely on the snowy ground.
McGrath ignored him.
‘Do you want to head back?’ Rafferty asked.
McGrath remained motionless.
‘Not at the moment,’ he said. He studied Rafferty’s boots. ‘You’ve had communication with Patrick Smith in Da Nang,’ he said. It was a statement of fact. ‘What have you come up with?’
‘I asked him to carry out a reconnaissance exercise for me aboard a patrol boat.’
‘Yes, I know, I’ve read the report,’ McGrath said. His feet were getting cold. ‘I want to know why?’
‘You asked me to work on your Vietnam problem: a political excuse to begin military action against the North.’
‘Right; so what have you come up with?’ McGrath asked again.
Rafferty studied McGrath’s black eyes in the snowy gloom.
‘Do you really want to do this?’ he said.
McGrath took a breath.
Rafferty watched him silently.
‘It’s politically sensitive,’ McGrath said. ‘We cannot stop it, I’m afraid.’
‘I might have something,’ Rafferty said. ‘I’ll let you know.’
That was enough for McGrath. He just nodded.
‘Be careful how you walk back in those shoes,’ Rafferty said. He turned and left. He thought he heard McGrath mutter something about boots but it could just have been the sound of the wind.
Back in his apartment, Rafferty checked his wristwatch and took off the time difference between the east and west coast. He drank a gulp from his coffee mug and dialled the number. The line rang about ten times and he was going to hang up when finally, she answered.
‘Hello,’ she said. Natalie’s voice was soft and warm.
‘Have you been thinking about me?’ he said.
There was a slight pause and then she laughed.
‘Where are you?’ she asked.
It was the same question Marilyn always asked him whenever he called her. The similarities between Natalie and Marilyn were easy to find, he thought.
‘I’m in Manhattan. At the apartment.’
‘What have you been doing?’
‘I ran in the park this morning. I guess it’s not snowing in Hollywood?’
‘Oh, have you got snow? No, it’s lovely here; warm and sunny. Hey, why don’t you fly out for a visit? Take a break from winter. I’m not working right now. I could show you around my town, return the favour.’
‘Would it involve shopping?’ he asked. It was a tempting invitation.
‘I promise, no shopping. Not unless you want to. Rodeo Drive can be pretty difficult to resist.’
She was still funny. Rafferty smiled. He had made his decision.
‘I’ll fly out tonight as long as the airport has the runway clear and the planes are taking off. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay. I could get called away at any time.’
‘Spies’ convention?’ she asked.
He laughed.
‘Call me when you know,’ she said. ‘I’m really looking forward to seeing you again.’
‘I’ll check on the flights,’ he said and then hung up.
Natalie replaced the receiver. He was coming to see her. She felt a rush of excitement and anticipation, combined with fear. His naked body came easily to mind and the sensations it produced. She remembered the strength of his hands and then felt herself shiver.
At midnight, the Boeing 707 lifted off from the snowy fjord that was JFK Airport. Walls of heaped snow and banks of ice lined its route.
Rafferty tried to block out the engine drone. He sipped his hot drink and thought of Natalie. The thought of seeing her again made his balls tingle. He hadn’t called her back to confirm the flight arrangements. She knew he would be coming. He would call her when he landed. He pictured her naked body and closed his eyes. An image of Marilyn appeared and he remembered the times they had spent together in Los Angeles. He opened his eyes and knew he was scowling.
42 December 29, 1963, Los Angeles, California
The Boeing 707 landed smoothly at LAX and taxied to the terminal.
The early morning Californian air was fresh and bright. Inside the building, Rafferty collected his bag and headed for the public telephone booths.
Natalie answered after a couple of rings.
‘Hello,’ she said. She sounded sleepy.
‘What’s your address?’ he asked.
‘Where are you?’ she said.
‘I’m here. I’ve just landed.’
&nbs
p; There was a pause.
‘It’s very early,’ she said. ‘Do you want to be collected?’
‘No, I’ll get a rental. What’s your address?’
Natalie told him the address.
‘It’s in the Hills,’ she said. ‘Do you know it?’
He wrote it down on the road map.
‘You need to go north on the San Diego Freeway and then turn off on Mulholland Drive heading east.’ she said.
‘Yeah, I know it,’ he said. ‘I’ll find you. I know Mulholland Drive. Once I get the car, I’ll be about an hour. Put the coffee on and I like pastries, chocolate ones.’
He hung up before she could reply.
Rafferty drove away from the parking lot and headed north on the San Diego Freeway. It was the first time he had returned to Los Angeles since Marilyn’s funeral. He drove upwards on Mulholland and the road had great views across the San Fernando Valley. He pushed the memory of Marilyn from his mind and focused on the present.
He found Natalie’s house, hidden away on an exclusive residential street, behind a high wall and an automatic security gate.
He pulled up, wound down the window, leant out and pushed the buzzer.
‘Who is it, please?’ asked a female voice. The intercom crackled.
‘My name’s Edward Rafferty. I’m expected.’
‘One moment, please,’ said the crackly voice. The intercom was cut and then nothing. Rafferty looked at the gates, but they didn’t move. He waited patiently and then just as he was about to hit the buzzer again the motor whirred, the gates parted and they swung inwards. He drove through, turned along the sweep of bushes and parked by the front door. The house was a Beverley Hills mock chateau.
Rafferty stepped out and enjoyed the feeling of the warm Californian sunshine on his face. He looked up at the house. It was lavish with red window shutters and cream detailing on the stone facade. The fairytale turrets made Rafferty think of the movie business. He noticed the stars and stripes hanging from the highest balcony. Amazingly, the flag did not look out of place.
Natalie rushed to the door and pulled it open. She forced herself to stay cool, but on seeing him wearing an open neck shirt and with the sunshine bouncing off him she could not stop herself. She released a squeal of delight and ran to him, leaping with her arms out. He held her weight and spun her round. She dropped back down, smiling and laughing.
‘Are you pleased to see me?’ he said.
She tugged on his arm and dragged him towards the house.
‘Come inside and I’ll show you,’ she said.
They went in, and she led him through the house. He noticed she was wearing the white miniskirt she had bought at Saks and that it made her brown legs look good just as she had said it would.
They walked past the staircase and into the big kitchen. The room was bright and shiny with doors that opened onto a flower-strewn terrace.
The kitchen smelt good and Rafferty noticed a professional looking coffee maker on the counter.
Natalie smiled, went to the Italian gizmo and pulled the handle. It hissed and a stream of coffee filled the cup. She put it on the table in front of him. Then she opened the oven door and using oven gloves took out a baking tray. She transferred the contents to a plate and then placed the plate beside the coffee cup. Rafferty laughed. They were chocolate pastries.
‘Do you have any fruit ones?’ he asked.
Natalie laughed. She placed her hands on his arm and then kissed him on the lips.
‘Bring your coffee,’ she said. ‘I want to show you the rest of the house.’
They went upstairs. A four-poster bed, adorned with silk drapes dominated Natalie’s bedroom. Double doors opened out onto the balcony and Rafferty caught a glimpse of the stars and stripes.
Natalie disappeared into the en-suite. Rafferty sipped his coffee while he looked out at the large sequoia trees. The coffee was good.
Natalie reappeared in the doorway. She had brushed her hair and all she wore was white lacy underwear.
‘Take your clothes off,’ she said. ‘We’re taking a shower.’
He put his coffee down and unbuttoned his shirt. She watched him undress. He stood beside the bed naked while he finished the last of his coffee.
‘That was good,’ he said.
Her eyes remained fixed on his body.
‘Hurry up,’ she said.
Her unclipped bra fell to the floor and her panties quickly followed. She turned and went into the bathroom. Rafferty followed her. He looked at her naked body. She smiled. She put out a hand, grabbed him firmly and pulled him to her. A deep laugh came from her throat as his hands went under her buttocks and he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around him and buried her face in his neck. The deep laugh became a deep sigh as he hugged him tight.
It was some time later, when they were in the four-poster bed, that Rafferty said he was hungry.
‘Do you like French food?’ she asked.
‘I like steak,’ he said.
‘Have you ever eaten chateaubriand?’
‘Yes, in Senegal,’ he said.
‘Where’s Senegal?’
‘It’s a republic in western Africa. It gained independence from the French in 1960. The capital’s Dakar,’ he said.
They were quiet for a while.
‘Shall we go out to eat?’ he asked.
‘I’m well known in this town,’ she said. ‘We couldn’t go out and avoid people wanting to know who you are. It’s probably not a good idea; I don’t want you fighting with everyone.’ She laughed.
‘Marilyn used to wear a disguise,’ he said. It just came out.
‘Marilyn,’ she said, ‘who’s Marilyn?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Marilyn?’ she asked again.
‘…no one. What I meant was if we went out you could wear a disguise to avoid being recognised. I wouldn’t need to fight with anyone, then,’ he said.
Natalie was staring at him.
‘…perhaps a wig and things,’ he said
‘I’ll go and fetch the pastries,’ she said. ‘Do you want a coffee?’
‘Yeah, good idea,’ he said.
Natalie left the bedroom and Rafferty used the telephone beside the bed.
He dialled the number and waited.
‘Hello,’ she answered.
‘Karen, this is Bluebeard,’ he said.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all morning.’
‘I had to go out of town.’
‘You should always leave a number where I can reach you.’
‘What’s the panic?’
‘…no panic. It’s just procedure. It’s for your benefit too,’ she said.
‘No, it’s not. No one’s going to come and save me, are they?’
‘Just let me know, next time.’
‘Okay, so what’s up?’ he said.
‘You’re wanted in D.C. tonight. Apparently, you already know the reason. Tell me where you are so I can book you a flight, and give me a number. I’ll call you back with the details.’
‘I’m in Los Angeles. I’ll call you later for the flight details,’ he said and hung up.
Karen Brekke wondered what he was doing in LA.
Natalie walked in just as he replaced the receiver.
‘Another woman?’ she said jokingly.
‘It was work,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to fly to Washington.’
‘…a spies’ convention,’ she said.
‘Yeah, that’s it,’ he said with a smile.
Natalie went into the en-suite and closed the door. Rafferty picked up the telephone again and dialled the number.
‘Hello,’ she answered.
‘It’s me again,’ he said.
‘…who’s me?’ she asked.
Rafferty smiled.
‘Bluebeard,’ he said.
‘Have you called me back to give me your number?’
He smiled again.
‘I’m leaving for the airport in five minutes.
Book me on the next flight from LAX to Dulles.’
‘Okay,’ she said.
He replaced the receiver.
Natalie came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a camisole.
‘What time do you have to leave?’ she asked.
‘Right away,’ he said and drank some coffee.
‘Was Marilyn an actress, like me?’
Rafferty picked up a chocolate pastry.
‘I’ve got to go,’ he said.
He got dressed and then kissed her goodbye.
She watched him drive away and then the sadness returned.
43 December 30, 1963, Washington D.C.
The Pan-American jetliner landed at Washington Dulles International Airport in a snowstorm. Rafferty smiled at the air hostess as he disembarked, and then frowned because he didn’t have his coat. The capital was white and bitterly cold.
He collected his bag, opened it and found his overcoat. He pulled it on. Then he went to the Pan-Am check-in desk.
‘Yes, sir, you have an open ticket booked for a flight to New York. We have two flights leaving tonight and a further six flights tomorrow.’
He listened to the details and memorised the times.
Outside, he found a cab. The freezing Washington streets were just narrow black strips in a deep white blanket.
He got out one block from the building and walked the rest of the way. Nobody was following and the house was clean.
McGrath was already inside, waiting.
‘The Soviets are in Hanoi,’ he said.
Rafferty took off his coat and sat down.
‘Whatever the true reason, the White House will take it to mean the Soviets are increasing their support for the Democratic Republic of Vietnam. That will mean they will want to increase their support for the South and increase their involvement in suppressing the infiltration of the National Liberation Front. They seem convinced the communists are going to take control of the South, and they are determined to stop it at any cost.’
Rafferty listened without interrupting. He noticed McGrath’s brow was creased and he had smudges below his eyes.
McGrath smoothed his hair and then shrugged. He looked older.