“He was an amateur. Meanwhile . . . let’s not mention him to anyone.”
“Not even Lucy?”
“Especially not Lucy.”
*
Who on earth would have sneaked out of the darkness to kill him, here in England? Had it been that boy? The disconcerting thing was that although his assailant had been wearing male clothes, Berkeley had a strong suspicion that it had been a female. In which case the two could be working together, and that could be a problem. Oh, to have Lockwood standing at his shoulder.
He was not the least afraid for himself but his children were so vulnerable, Anna most of all. The thought of her ever having to undergo another such experience was unbearable. But that was impossible. He had killed everyone who had been involved in her kidnapping and rape. There was no one . . . He sat up in bed.
Lucy, just nodding off, looked up. “Is there something the matter?”
Berkeley lay down again. “No. I was having a nightmare.”
“That cheese at dinner,” she suggested. “It was a bit high.”
“More likely that second glass of port.”
“Would you like something?”
“I’ll be all right,” he said.
He closed his eyes and saw Irene Karlovy’s face in front of him. A haunting face, by no means pretty but attractive in its intensity. She had tried to kill him and, when that had failed, she had engineered the kidnapping of Anna. For that she had paid with her life, cut down by the bullets of Serb policemen. But she had had a brother and a sister. He had never met the brother but he could still remember Helen Karlovy, Irene’s sister, saying, very simply and without rancour, “We have to kill you. It is our duty for the sake of our father.” She had been his prisoner at the time and then he had handed her over to the police and had supposed she was gone from his life for ever, as long as he did not return to Serbia – or the kingdom of the Serbo-Croats, Bosnians and Herzegovinians, as he supposed it should now be called. Many people were starting to replace that mouthful with the simple term Jugoslavia.
But if that boy had not been Helen and Irene’s brother he would eat his hat. And if his actual assailant had been a woman, then she had been Helen, a girl he had once held captive for two days, hoping to exchange her for Anna. A girl, now a woman, who was still hell-bent on revenge.
After five years? And in England? That did not seem practical, unless their financial and social situation had vastly improved.
Well, then . . . IMRO again? But IMRO had collapsed, as far as he knew, assisted by himself.
Yet someone had been watching his house, and the boy had been there, watching him. And the girl had been there, waiting to strike. And perhaps even at Anna. The thought made his skin crawl.
He felt so helpless in England. Had this been the Balkans, he would have loaded his Browning automatic and gone hunting. In England one had to wait for the blow to fall before one was permitted to take action. And even then one could not take the law into one’s own hands. One was required to go to the police . . .
*
Next morning he again drove into Northampton, but this time went to see Inspector Watt, now Chief Inspector Watt. Peter Watt and Berkeley Townsend were old friends and business acquaintances. Watt had investigated the attempted murder of Berkeley back in 1908 – by Karlovy as it had turned out, although nothing had ever been proved. Watt had also investigated the strange disappearance of Caterina Townsend, and then, more recently, the abduction of Anna, equally without success. He regarded his visitor somewhat apprehensively. “No problems, I hope, Colonel.”
“I always seem to have problems,” Berkeley said. “You remember that Karlovy business.”
Watt remembered it only too well. “The gentleman you had to kill. In self-defence. And whose family you suspected of having kidnapped Miss Anna.”
“Spot on.”
“But Miss Anna is back with us,” Watt said enthusiastically. “So the matter is closed . . . surely.”
“Unfortunately, it does not appear so. I did not manage to kill all the Karlovys.”
Watt swallowed. This was not the sort of talk any English police officer liked to hear.
“Frankly,” Berkeley said, “I did not think it necessary. The only surviving members of the family were an elderly uncle and two teenage children. They had very little money and almost no prospects. Like you, I considered the matter closed. However, during the past week I have been aware of being followed.”
“You didn’t report this?”
“I didn’t think it particularly important, to begin with. But yesterday afternoon I saw Stefan Karlovy here in Northampton.”
Watt looked suitably outraged but also sceptical. “A teenage boy, you say?”
“That was five years ago, Chief Inspector. Teenage boys grow up. So do their sisters. Soon after I saw the boy, I was attacked by someone with a knife. I think it was the sister.”
“But . . . you haven’t reported that? Really, Colonel, a knife attack on the streets of Northampton . . . we can’t have that sort of thing.”
“I’m reporting it now. But I do not wish a song and dance made of it.”
“The law is the law, Colonel. Could you identify this woman?”
“I can identify Helen Karlovy but I cannot identify her as my attacker. It was dark, and everything happened rather quickly.”
“But you are quite sure it was the same boy? Er, man?”
“Yes. Anna was with me. She saw him too.”
“She recognised him?”
“Of course she didn’t, Peter. She never saw him before. But she saw the man watching us.”
“You don’t suppose they’re after her again?”
“I don’t, actually. I think I taught them a lesson five years ago. Anyway, there’s no way it can happen; Anna never goes anywhere unaccompanied. I would say it’s more likely they have murder in mind. My murder. It was me they attacked.”
“Do you require protection?”
“Wouldn’t it be simpler just to arrest them and have them deported?”
“I can’t do that, Colonel. Presuming they each have a passport and a visa, I can’t touch them until and unless they commit a crime.”
“You mean you don’t consider attempting to stick a knife into me committing a crime.”
“Of course I do. But you have just said that you cannot identify your assailant. The fact that you saw the boy watching you does not link him and the knife attack. Nothing that would stand up in court, anyway.”
“However, if they try again and succeed, you will arrest them.”
Sarcasm was lost on Peter Watt. “Oh, come now, Colonel, I’m sure it won’t come to that. You’ll have protection.”
“How?”
“Well, a constable . . .”
“Mounting guard outside my house? Following me wherever I go? Will he be armed?”
“Well, no, sir, I couldn’t permit that.”
“Then he’d be on a hiding to nothing. Anyway, if they get too close I’ll deal with them myself.”
Watt was beginning to look agitated. “Colonel, do please be careful. You simply can’t go about shooting people.
“Even in self-defence?”
“That would have to be proved, sir. Your victim would have to have a weapon in his hand. And to have fired it.” He gave Berkeley a quizzical look.
“Point taken, Chief Inspector.”
Watt sighed. “I tell you what I’ll do, Colonel. I’ll see if I can locate these people. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Two Serb nationals . . . they have to be lodging somewhere. I’ll find them and I’ll give them a good talking to. Warn them off, like.” He paused. “Don’t you think that’s the best way of handling this?”
“Oh, I do. I think that’s an excellent plan. However, I’d be grateful if, when you find them, you let me have the address.”
“Now, Colonel . . .”
“I’ll be good, Chief Inspector.”
The Second Attempt
“I wish yo
u’d tell me what’s going on,” Lucy complained.
“What makes you think something is going on?” Berkeley asked.
They were sitting on the bench in the orchard, Baby Howard in his pram in front of them.
“Well,” she said, “you’ve been odd the last couple of days. And now you tell me I mustn’t take baby for a walk . . .” She gazed at him from under arched eyebrows.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Berkeley said. “But it seems there is an escaped convict in the district, a man guilty of violent crimes, and I feel we should be careful.”
She frowned. “There’s been nothing in the papers.”
“Well, no, they’re keeping it very quiet. I only know because Peter Watt told me.”
When, he wondered, would he be able to stop lying?
And it was easier to lie to some people than to others. Lucy was still frowning. “You say Inspector Watt told you? Why you? I mean, if this man is a menace, surely he’s a menace to everyone, not just us.”
“I’m sure that’s right. I imagine Watt told me because he and I are old friends. He knows we’re a bit isolated out here, and he knows about Anna and how fragile she is.”
He suspected she didn’t believe him.
“What about your hat?”
“Eh?”
“Your bowler. It is quite ruined. It has a great big tear in it.”
“Ah,” he said. “Yes. It blew off in the wind, and got stuck on a railing. Would you believe it?”
She obviously didn’t, but she decided not to press the matter.
*
Anna was also concerned. “Please tell me the truth, Papa,” she asked.
He could, to her. “Remember that this is our secret,” he said.
“It’s to do with me, isn’t it?”
“Indirectly. That boy we saw is the brother of the woman who arranged your kidnapping. She’s dead now . . .”
Anna’s mouth made an O. “You killed her?”
“As a matter of fact, I didn’t. She was shot by the Serbian police. But this whole thing began because I killed their father, oh, more than ten years ago now.”
“And you think they are coming after me again?”
“No. I think this time they’re coming after me. What I would really like to find out is where they got the money to come all the way to England, where they got the passports and visas. They’re clearly being financed by someone.”
“And you can’t just go out and get them.”
“No, I can’t.” Berkeley gave one of his savage grins. “It’s against the law. We have to wait for them to come to us.”
“Papa, I will help you. You know that.”
“Of course. But you’ll help me best by just keeping your head down. If I need you, believe me, I’ll shout.”
Yet he was acutely aware that he did need help. John junior, who with Anna was the only member of the family who knew what he had really done for most of his life, would be invaluable. But the holidays were still several days off. The Lockwood children went to school in Northampton and cycled out every afternoon. But they were still young teenagers, and he didn’t want them involved.
Savos? The old Serbian police chief could be trusted absolutely. Equally, he knew all about both the Karlovys and the feud. The operative word here was “old”, Alexandros had to be nearly seventy. But he remained forever in Berkeley’s debt for having made it possible for him to take refuge in England following his retirement, safe from the vengeance of the relatives of the many people he had tortured and executed when in charge of Belgrade. And, as he and his wife Martina had proved only two years previously when they had accompanied Berkeley to Germany to regain Anna, they could be deadly.
But there were other drawbacks to calling on them for help. Most important was that by the terms of Savos’s permission to live in England, he could be deported if he ever broke the law in the slightest fashion. Then there was the fact that Martina, beautiful, high-spirited and only slightly more than a third of her husband’s age, also had a cocaine habit, picked up in her girlhood in Serbia, which she seemed able to keep serviced in her new country.
But they remained his best chance of obtaining adequate help.
*
He telephoned the next day; the Savoses lived at Hastings on the south coast.
“Berkeley!” Martina shrieked. “But it is so good to hear from you.”
Too late Berkeley recalled that she had a distinct weakness for him, as her fertile brain made plans for when Savos should be no more, but perhaps seeing him at home, in the company of his wife, might cool her off.
“It’s nice to speak to you, too. I’m calling to ask if you and Alexandros would like to come and visit us, for a week or so.”
“Oooh!” she squealed. “We would like that very much. It is to do a job, eh?”
“No, no,” Berkeley said. “I would just like to see you. So would Anna.”
“But you would like us to bring our revolvers.”
“Do you ever go anywhere without them?”
She giggled. “It is not safe for us to do so. We will come tomorrow.”
“Shouldn’t you ask Alexandros?”
“Alexandros does whatever I tell him,” she explained.
“Ah. Right. Then I’ll expect you tomorrow. Take the train to Northampton and I’ll meet you at the station.”
“I can hardly wait,” she said. “I will pack now.”
Berkeley hung up thoughtfully. He didn’t suppose it would have done any good to remind her that he was married. Such moral issues did not interest her, and she was not, in fact, married to Savos, whatever forged documents she possessed; the old villain had abandoned his wife to spend his retirement with his beautiful secretary.
But it was necessary to tell Lucy.
“We’ve some people coming to stay, tomorrow,” he said.
“People? Just like that? Do I know them?”
“I’m afraid you don’t, yet. They’re old friends of mine. Serbians. You remember I served in the Serbian army during the Balkan wars.”
“Yes,” she said doubtfully.
“I made their acquaintance then. He was a police chief and a great help to me. Now he and his wife happen to be in England and they would like to come and visit.”
“I see,” she said. “For how long?”
“Well, I don’t really know. You’ll like them.” He could only hope he was right.
“I’m sure I shall,” she agreed. “I was merely thinking that we don’t really have a spare room when the children are at home. I can put them in Anna’s room, and put Anna in Johnnie’s, but when Alicia comes home she and Anna will need to share their room again.”
“That’s not for another ten days,” Berkeley said. “I imagine the Savoses will have gone by then.”
“Savos,” Lucy said thoughtfully. “I hope Anna won’t be upset at having to move out.”
“Anna will love to,” Berkeley assured her. “They’re old friends of hers as well.”
*
Anna frowned. “I think I remember them, just,” she said. “It was all so confused.”
Because she had still been on the habit when held captive by Grippenheimer.
“Do you ever feel the urge now?” he asked.
She shuddered. “Not after that rehabilitation centre.”
“Well, remember that Martina is probably still indulging.”
“What do I do if she offers me some?”
“Tell me.”
“What will you do?” She giggled. “Spank her?”
“No. I think she’d enjoy that too much. I’ll just confiscate her supply. She’ll find that much more difficult to accept.”
*
He didn’t like leaving anyone alone at home but his car was only a four-seater.
“I’ll stay,” Lucy volunteered. “Don’t worry. Maria is with me.”
Berkeley was still uncertain. “You’ll keep every door and every downstairs window locked until I return. And you’ll ad
mit no one. No one at all.”
“All right,” she said. “I really don’t see why you are so agitated. The odds on this criminal choosing our house to attempt a break-in must be a thousand to one.”
“We happen to be very isolated,” Berkeley reminded her. “Please just do as I ask.”
She kissed him on the nose. “You worry too much. We’ll all be safe and sound when you return. There’s a promise.”
*
Berkeley and Anna drove into Northampton and parked in the station yard. They waited on the platform, sheltering beneath the roof as it had begun to drizzle.
“Do you think we’ll have a white Christmas?” Anna asked.
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“I’m so looking forward to it. I don’t think I was very much use last Christmas.”
“No one expected you to be,” Berkeley said. “This winter you’ve been just great. Here’s the train.”
The engine puffed to a halt and the passengers disembarked.
“There they are,” Berkeley said and went forward, Anna at his shoulder.
“Berkeley!” Martina screamed, throwing herself into his arms, long curling black hair flowing out from beneath her hat and streaming in the breeze. Berkeley reckoned she might have put on weight, which merely made her more voluptuous than ever; her features retained the same crisply attractive contours that he remembered, and her legs, revealed by the fashionably short skirt, were as shapely as ever . . .
He gave her a hug and kissed both cheeks, while reaching past her to shake Savos’s hand. The retired policeman had not changed at all; his hatchet face might have been carved from granite and for all his age he stood absolutely straight. Only his white hair, revealed as he raised his hat, indicated that he might be past middle age.
“Berkeley, my old friend,” he said, squeezing Berkeley’s fingers. “How good to see you again. And how well you are looking. And Anna!” He stepped past Berkeley to embrace the girl. “Even more beautiful!”
Anna waggled her eyebrows at her father over Savos’s shoulder and Martina giggled. “He cannot keep his hands off a pretty girl,” she said.
“I feel I know her so well,” Savos said. “Do you remember me, Anna?”
“Very well,” Anna lied, and was embraced in turn by Martina.
Be Not Afraid Page 3