Murder, London--Miami

by John Creasey

  How would he welcome her?

  Why did he want those documents so desperately?

  Why did the police so obviously suspect him?

  She was hardly aware of flying over the flat land of the Deep South, hardly aware of the tall white palaces of the Miami Beach hotels. Anxiously she scanned the people waiting at the end of the passage at the airport, sure she would see him, sure that he would come to meet her.

  But he was not there.

  Hardly able to believe it, not sure what to do – whether to get a taxi to the hotel, or wait, she hovered near the gate where she had come off the aircraft. Disappointment gave way to bewilderment, bewilderment to concern, and she was getting really worried when a deeply sun-tanned woman in her early sixties, heavily lipsticked, heavily mascaraed, wearing a brilliant pink candy-striped dress and a large, floppy, matching hat, came up to her.

  “You are Henrietta, aren’t you? . . . I knew I couldn’t be wrong, you’re so obviously British!” She took Henrietta’s hand. “David wasn’t able to get here, so he asked me to come instead.”

  She held on to Henrietta’s hand rather too long, and then added, “You know who I am, of course – I’m Cousin Chloe!”

  16

  COUSIN CHLOE

  ‘Oh, no,’ thought Henrietta, ‘this can’t be David’s Cousin Chloe!’

  But she found herself drawn close, almost absorbed in a huge, cushiony bosom, and kissed firmly on both cheeks.

  “How very nice to meet you,” she said at last, as soon as she was able to break away.

  People turned their heads, as they often did at the sound of her voice.

  “How very nice to meet you, honey,” enthused Cousin Chloe. “Let me look at you, now.”

  She stood Henrietta at arm’s length and raked her from head to foot with bright brown eyes. “My, but you make me jealous with that figure of yours. And I’ll bet you don’t even diet! Now we must get your baggage – do you have very much?”

  “Only one case and this.” Henrietta held up the briefcase.

  “Let me take that for you,” said Cousin Chloe, stretching her hand towards it.

  Henrietta tightened her grip. “No, thank you, I can manage this easily.”

  They walked briskly through the air-cooled rooms, which Henrietta found slightly chilly, until they saw the luggage coming down a conveyor belt and being picked up by the passengers. Henrietta’s case was not in sight, so they stood waiting. Surreptitiously, Henrietta studied David’s cousin. She was so unlike David – and for that matter unlike Yolande – that it hardly seemed possible she was his cousin.

  Then she saw her case, and stepped forward. As she lifted it, Cousin Chloe stepped forward and took it from her, and Henrietta had a sense of someone who was physically very strong.

  “This way,” said Cousin Chloe, and turned.

  Soon, they were approaching the main exit from the airport, and suddenly Henrietta found herself in a steam bath. The sun was blazing, the sky a beautiful blue – but it was so hot she caught her breath.

  Cousin Chloe was striding towards an enormous car park. Henrietta, breathing deeply, forced herself to follow. There was a strong smell of oil, and twice she brushed against a car and found it so hot she stung her hand. She knew that her face must already be shiny, and she could feel the perspiration on her forehead.

  At last, Cousin Chloe stopped by an enormous white car; it looked big enough for two – three – of her little mini-car at home. She went automatically to the passenger side, and found herself staring at the wheel.

  “Everyone from little old Britain does that,” declared Cousin Chloe, highly amused. “I’ll open your door from inside, honey.”

  Henrietta, still clutching her briefcase, so hot she could hardly believe it, walked round the car, which was radiating heat. David’s cousin opened her door, leaned across and opened Henrietta’s. The impossible happened. A gust of even hotter air blasted out of the car.

  ‘Goodness,’ thought Henrietta, ‘I can’t get in there.’

  Cousin Chloe got in, apparently without a thought. Gingerly, Henrietta did so too. The seat burned hot through her skirt, and the temperature was so high she thought she would faint. Cousin Chloe slammed the door and turned on the engine, which started at a touch – and immediately there was another blast of air from the front of the car; this was cold.

  “I don’t know what we did before air-conditioning,” remarked Cousin Chloe. “When I first came here there wasn’t any in cars.”

  “But didn’t you bake?” gasped Henrietta.

  “That’s just about right, honey – we baked.” Cousin Chloe moved the car off slowly. “You feeling better now?”

  “Yes. I—I’m all right.” In fact, unbelievably, Henrietta now felt almost too cold. “How long have you been here, Mrs . . .?”

  “You call me Chloe, honey, and I’ll call you Henrietta, we’re in America now! Thirty-two years. And I was twenty-nine when I came, so now you know how old I am!”

  “That was before the war, then,” murmured Henrietta, a little embarrassed.

  “Just before the war,” agreed Chloe. “You were hardly born, honey. I ran away.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear you . . .”

  Cousin Chloe laughed.

  “You heard but you couldn’t believe me,” she said. “I came away from Britain because Hitler scared the life out of me! And I came straight down to Miami. It wasn’t the place it is now, but it was pretty nice even then. I took a job in one of the big hotels and I’ve been in the hotel business ever since.”

  David had never said so, but Henrietta had always assumed that Cousin Chloe had money. As if reading her thoughts, Chloe gave another laugh, and darted a sideways glance towards her.

  “I was on the poor side of the family – didn’t you know there was a poor side?”

  “I really hadn’t given it any thought,” Henrietta said, truthfully.

  “Well, I always did believe in calling a spade a spade,” said Cousin Chloe. “David’s not wealthy, like Yolande was. Her side had the money!”

  “I knew she was very rich,” admitted Henrietta.

  “You’ve said it, honey. All that dough – and to be crazy along with it! I surely felt sorry for Yolande.” Chloe darted Henrietta another sharp glance. “And I feel mighty sorry for David, too.”

  “He has had a very difficult time,” said Henrietta cautiously.

  The laugh came again; was it a little forced?

  “He’s had a hell of a time, honey. Ever since he discovered what Yolande was like—”

  “I—do forgive me, but I’m not at all sure I should talk about David. He is my employer . . .”

  “Forgive you? I’ll do better than that, honey, I’ll ignore you,” said Cousin Chloe. She put a big, well-shaped hand on Henrietta’s knee. “I haven’t had a chance of talking about David for so long I would burst if I didn’t talk to you. You want to know something?” she went on, taking her hand away and turning the car into a wide road, pausing long enough for Henrietta to see that they appeared to be driving on to a huge bridge. The water on either side was indescribably perfect blue, and in the distance the skyline seemed vivid white. “I fixed David with an appointment he couldn’t dodge, so I could come and talk to you and see what you were like.”

  Henrietta’s heart lifted. So that was why he hadn’t come to meet her.

  “You think I’m crazy, don’t you, honey? So did the family – that’s why they were glad when I came to America. I didn’t do them any good in little old Britain! So, as I was saying, David had one hell of a time. I’m glad I didn’t do what he did.”

  All Henrietta’s training told her she shouldn’t listen; all her instinct told her that she wanted to know. She did not have to ask.

  “I married a poor man for
love, honey,” Chloe went on. “Maybe that sounds foolish the way things are today, but it’s what I wanted and I’m not sorry.” Now she shot a glance, almost sly, at Henrietta. “Do you believe in marrying for love or for money?”

  Three things were going on in Henrietta’s mind. The implication that David had married Yolande for her money, was completely new to her, and after her first reaction – to dismiss it as impossible – it filled her with misgivings. The fact that Cousin Chloe was probing was quite obvious. And thirdly, the skyline was not so distant now. It looked like a miniature city, crystal white in the sun, with a foreground of equally brilliant blue.

  Very precisely, she said, “I’m not at all sure I believe in marrying at all.”

  “You don’t . . .” began Cousin Chloe, and then she roared with laughter, rocking to and fro, so that for a moment Henrietta was afraid she would lose control of the car. But she didn’t.

  “I didn’t think I was going to like you, honey,” she gasped at last, “but I surely am. You don’t believe in marrying at all – that’s poppycock!”

  “What makes you think so?” asked Henrietta, mildly.

  “You’re a woman,” Cousin Chloe answered simply. “David’s quite attractive, and now Yolande’s dead he’ll be rich as well. He’s quite a catch, Henrietta.”

  Henrietta felt inwardly cold, and, in a strange way, a little frightened.

  For a few moments all she could think of was the fact that David would become rich, that the police obviously suspected him, and that he did have a strong motive for murdering his wife. It was a hideous possibility.

  Slowly, her thoughts were drawn from her, for now they were much nearer the white buildings, and the skyline seemed full of them – white castles standing beyond that sea of unbelievable blue. The vista helped; it soothed her.

  “You think that’s beautiful?” asked Cousin Chloe, unexpectedly.

  “Oh, I do!”

  “Sure, it’s beautiful,” said Cousin Chloe. “Folk say a lot about Miami Beach which isn’t in its favour, but gee, it’s beautiful. It’s just about the most beautiful city in the world. You’re going to like it here.”

  “I’ll only be staying a few hours,” Henrietta remarked quickly.

  “That’s not the way David understands it, he’s booked you a room for a week – I guess he wants to work you to death!” Cousin Chloe laughed raucously. “And I don’t mind telling you the Royalty is the most beautiful hotel in Miami Beach. It’s the newest, it’s the biggest, it’s the best!”

  “What do you do there?” asked Henrietta, trying not to think about being booked in for a week.

  “I’m the Social Hostess,” answered Cousin Chloe. “You got problems, folk?” she chanted, in exaggerated over-familiarity. “Come and see Chloe, she’ll fix them for you.” Her voice changed back to normal. “And honey, do they have problems!”

  Henrietta felt a surge of sympathy, not for the folk with problems, but for Cousin Chloe. What an appalling job, she thought. She was, in fact, astonished to learn that Cousin Chloe had a job – she had known she lived in a hotel, but had always assumed it was as a guest.

  “As soon as we’re back I’ll be busy,” Cousin Chloe went on. “So I want to talk to you as much as I can now. David’s tired. He is so tensed up it isn’t true. I want him to take a course of massage up in the solarium – the Royalty’s solarium is the greatest! And he needs therapy, honey, he needs you around. Help him relax, you understand.”

  They were turning off the main road, a causeway across the water between Miami and Miami Beach, and Cousin Chloe slowed down.

  “We’ll be at the Royalty in five minutes,” she said as they paused at a traffic signal. “David will be waiting for you and maybe he’ll be mad at me. But you want to know something, honey? If I can persuade David to invest some of that money he’s just come into, I’m going to quit the hotel business and buy myself a consortium apartment north of Miami and do nothing. Just precisely nothing! I’m sixty-one, Henrietta, and don’t tell me I don’t look it. Yes, sir, I certainly look it! I nursed a sick husband, I saw my only daughter ruin her life with a no good Englishman – no offence, honey, but did she marry a heel! And one of these days I’m going to sit back and do what I’m always telling others to do – I’m going to relax!”

  Henrietta looked through the car window seeing the white palaces at close quarters now, the driveways that led up to each, the palms, the hibiscus, the bougainvillea, and all she could feel was a tremendous pity for this woman.

  Then they took a curve in the road.

  Just ahead of them was an enormous modern building, dazzling white, with pale-blue facings at the windows. It was approached by a palm-lined drive, which ran through rich lawns, dotted with fountains and marble statues of ancient Greek gods and goddesses.

  “That’s the Royalty,” Chloe said, and swung into the drive.

  Henrietta felt like Alice in Wonderland.

  Cousin Chloe took her through swing doors opened by uniformed doormen into a vast hall, two walls of which were lined with mirrors, giving an illusion of even greater spaciousness. The colourings of the huge couches and chairs were green and gold and pale-blue, the tables beside them were gilt and marble-topped. In the centre of the room was another fountain, beside it, two more statues. Apart from the ripple of the water, there was a strange hush, as if in fact only the statues lived here.

  “I’m going to send you up to David. I have to go to the pool patio and make sure no one’s got problems.”

  Cousin Chloe beckoned a uniformed bellboy, a handsome Spanish looking youth with thick dark hair.

  “Pedro,” she said, “take the lady up to eleven-o-one. You understand that? Eleven-o-one.”

  “Sure do, ma’am,” said Pedro.

  Chloe patted Henrietta’s arm, and went striding away across the hall.

  The bellboy flashed a row of glistening white teeth at Henrietta and led her to a row of elevators, one of which stood open. He ushered her inside, pressed a button and the doors closed without a sound; almost before she realised they had started, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. They stepped out into soft-lit luxury in rose pink.

  “Turn right, Miss.”

  The passage stretched an illimitable distance, they seemed to walk for a mile, until at last they reached a door marked 1101. As they reached it, it opened – and David stood there.

  He held out his arms.

  Pedro turned and walked softly away.

  Henrietta had never known her heart beat so furiously, never realised how much it meant to look on David’s face.

  “Come in,” he said huskily, taking her case and leading her into the room. He closed the door, put the case down, then took her in his arms. After a moment he drew away a little, looked down on her, and lifting his arm, tipped her face up with a finger on her chin.

  “My God, how I love you!” he said, and slowly, very slowly, lowered his face towards hers.

  Everything, everything else was forgotten. Henrietta knew the answer then, knew how much he mattered. She had never felt like this, her head was swimming, her body seemed to melt against his. Then suddenly, rudely, the ecstasy of the moment was shattered by a sharp rap at the door. David’s body stiffened.

  “Who’s there?” he called harshly.

  The words came clearly through the closed door.

  “Chief Superintendent West, sir. I would like a word with you.”

  17

  THE CONFRONTATION

  “West!” gasped Henrietta.

  “The Yard – here!” muttered David, his hands falling helplessly to his side.

  Before he could speak again, before Henrietta had even started to recover from the shock, the door opened and Roger West appeared.

  Roger saw how closely they were standing together, and he could still hear
the echo of Sir David Marshall’s vibrant voice as he had said, “My God, how I love you.” Slowly, Marshall stepped back, and awkwardly, perhaps with some embarrassment, Henrietta moved slightly to one side.

  “I will see you later, West. Not now.” Marshall spoke with some curtness.

  “Now, sir, if you please.” The gentleness of Roger’s voice did nothing to dispel its unmistakable note of authority.

  “No. Later. You have no authority.”

  West’s expression was as bland as ever, his voice as gentle.

  “I have the co-operation of the police of Miami and of Miami Beach, sir. I’ve no desire to call on them, and I hope there will be no need to do so.”

  Henrietta thought with sickening anxiety, ‘He wouldn’t behave like this unless he knew something against David. He wouldn’t dare.’ And she thought, ‘The Miami police wouldn’t co-operate unless they were sure, too.’

  She looked at David, only at David.

  She saw the tension on his face, the drawn, near haggard expression, the set intensity of his eyes which seemed to be looking into some secret hell.

  She thought, ‘David, oh David, what have you done?’

  And she thought, ‘David, David, how can I help you?’

  Roger West, still standing in the doorway, studied the face of the man inside the room. The bruises no longer disfigured him, although one eye and one side of the mouth were still slightly discoloured. There might be tension in his expression, even pain; but fear? If there were fear, Marshall concealed it with remarkable success. West looked from him to Henrietta Lyle, piquant-faced, her beautiful eyes shadowed with dismay. There was something between these two which he did not quite understand, and the natural thing for a policeman to assume was – conspiracy.

  “Well, sir?” he asked at last, looking back to Marshall.

  David drew in a long, deep breath, then picked up the briefcase. “You’d better come inside,” he said flatly.