by John Creasey
David pursed his lips, then moved and put a hand on Henrietta’s shoulders; she felt its warmth and knew that he meant to comfort her, almost, it seemed, to protect her.
“She might know the whereabouts of the person I suspect,” he said quietly. He gestured towards the briefcase. “It’s all in there; everything. I have been searching for several months to find out who was doing such harm to Yolande, who has worked on her mental weakness, who had taken advantage of her madness so that she longed to kill me. Everything is there, West, a copy of my will, of Yolande’s, the result of all my enquiries. The only surviving members of the family who would benefit my death and Yolande’s, are Chloe, her married daughter and the daughter’s husband. Chloe I trust absolutely, absolutely,” repeated David firmly. “But the daughter married a bit of a rogue, so I understand, and . . .” He broke off.
Henrietta, staring out of the window at Chloe and the group now much closer to her, heard West say, “Have you talked to her about this?”
“No. I wanted the documents first.”
“Yet you left them behind?” West’s voice was disbelieving. “An issue of such importance? When are you going to tell the truth, Sir David?”
It was almost impossible to believe that he would actually call David a liar, thought Henrietta, yet he had.
Lieutenant Thompson turned from the window. There were mutterings which sounded like protests in the hall but no interruption.
“I left them behind deliberately,” David said. “That is the truth.”
“And why should you do that, sir?” West sounded even more sceptical.
“To bring Henrietta – Miss Lyle – out here,” David said with quiet emphasis. “I wanted to spend some time with her outside the atmosphere of my work. I knew that nothing would make her come unless it was really important. And I knew that I couldn’t pretend something was important if it wasn’t – I couldn’t deceive her, it would have spoiled everything. So I had to have a genuine reason for needing her – apart, of course, from the fact that I love her. That’s not a crime, is it, Superintendent?”
Henrietta thought, almost in anguish, ‘I made him do this, I was no help at all.’ She could not look away from David. He smiled at her in a strange, haunted way, then turned back to West.
“No, no crime, sir, but . . .” West paused, went to the window, and looked down at the patio. Then suddenly he swung round.
“If Mrs Renati does know anything, then she might be in danger, too. How soon can you get her up here, Ivor?”
“My God!” breathed Thompson. “I’ll go get her, right now.”
19
THE TELEPHONE CALL
West was alone with Marshall and the girl.
Policemen, photographers and newspapermen were at the door, as Thompson strode towards the elevators, but no one tried to get in to the room. West could not keep his gaze off the hostess by the pool. She was laughing again but she could be attacked as easily as Yolande had been attacked.
David and Henrietta, touched by the same tension, were also staring down.
Making a conscious effort, West made himself turn away from the window. Without a word he picked up the briefcase again, and took out the package. Slitting it open with his thumb, he drew out three envelopes, each marked ‘Family.’ Marshall’s explanation was just plausible, he thought, but he could well have lied.
The first envelope contained reports from the Minerva Inquiry Agency – a reputable firm, Roger knew – on their endeavours to trace all surviving members of the Marshall family. Skimming swiftly through them, he found as Marshall had said, that there appeared to be only Chloe and her daughter, who, it seemed, had vanished five years earlier. In the second envelope was a copy of Marshall’s will, and, attached to it, a copy of Lady Marshall’s.
Still holding the documents in his hand, West walked back to the window.
Everything was going on in the same way down in the patio. At one end of the pool five youths were standing as if ready to dive in. By the side a man was standing with a starter’s pistol in his hand.
Pistol!
‘My God,’ thought West, ‘he’s pointing at Chloe Renati!’
“Look out!” he bellowed.
The next instant the starter pointed the gun into the air and fired. There was the crack of the shot, a puff of smoke, and the five youths dived into the pool. Almost at once, Lieutenant Thompson appeared with two of his men. Obviously he called out to the hostess, who turned to look at him. Even from this distance, Roger could see the sudden consternation on her face.
The next moment, she turned and ran.
And as she did so, scattering spectators right and left, the telephone bell rang.
Henrietta, David, Roger, remained motionless at the window; and the bell kept ringing.
Chloe Renati reached a doorway of the hotel building; she was still clearly visible to Roger from his vantage point at the window, but not to the police below, he thought; the crowd will hide her.
“Shall I answer that?” called a man from outside the bedroom door.
“No, I’ll get it,” Roger called back tautly. The police had broken through the crowd and were now at the door where Chloe had disappeared; perhaps Thompson could see more than he thought. He stepped to the telephone, which was at the bedside table, and lifted the receiver. “This is Sir David Marshall’s room.”
It would be for Marshall, of course, and—
“Is Superintendent West with you?” the operator asked.
“This is West speaking.”
“There is a telephone call for you from London, England, sir. Will you take it?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Hold on,” the operator told him.
There was a moment of silence, and Marshall and the girl turned away from the window. Marshall’s arm was round Henrietta Lyle’s shoulders.
Then voices sounded on the telephone, followed by one which West recognised.
“That you, West?” It was Coppell.
“West speaking, sir.”
“I’ve been having a hell of a job to get you,” growled Coppell. “I’ve had a call from Milan. Somehow or other Ward got wind that we wanted to have a talk with him, and by the time Sloan got there he’d left.”
“H’mm. Looks a bit odd, doesn’t it, sir?” West frowned.
“You’ll think it odder still when I tell you where he’s gone.” Coppell paused.
“Back to England, sir?” Roger hazarded. If Coppell had something important to say, why the devil didn’t he say it, he thought irritably.
“No, West, not England.” Coppell sounded perturbed. “He’s on his way to Miami Beach.”
Miami Beach! The words rang in Roger’s ears as he replaced the receiver. Ward was coming to Miami Beach! Was he coming after the Lyle girl? Or could it be . . .?
Roger sprang towards the door, but before he could reach it footsteps came stamping along the passage, and Ivor Thompson came in, looking hot and angry.
“Get her?” demanded Roger, but he knew the answer before Thompson spoke.
“We will. This place is like a maze on the shopping concourse, she dodged through one of the shops to the street, and got away. But we’ll pick her up soon. I’ve sent two men to her apartment and two are watching her car.”
“What about the airport?” demanded Roger.
“We’ve covered that, too – but she won’t fly out.”
“I don’t expect her to,” Roger said. “But she may be meeting someone. Are there direct flights from Milan, Italy, to Miami Beach?”
“Only by charter planes, sir. Though there are plenty of direct flights from Frankfurt, which isn’t so far from Milan. But where does Milan come in?”
Henrietta Lyle was turning round, now, tense with new interest.
“The
murderer may not rely on his accomplices here to kill Sir David,” Roger said. “He may come himself. Sir David – you know that your cousin, Chloe Renati, and her daughter and son-in-law are obvious suspects. Did you come here, not, as you said, to ask for Mrs Renati’s help, but to force the issue?”
Marshall shrugged his shoulders.
“You know so much, Superintendent, you might as well know that as well,” he said wearily. “Yes.”
‘He has been lying,’ Henrietta thought wildly. ‘He’s lied all along, what else has he lied about?’
“You meant to force the issue once and for all?” West demanded.
“Yes, I did.”
“Have you told Mrs Renati this?”
“Yes.”
“Has she admitted any part in the crimes?”
“No. She swears she doesn’t know where her daughter is.”
“Do you believe her?”
“No.”
“Do you know where the daughter is?”
“No, I do not.”
“Sir David, did you expect to meet danger here?”
“Possibly.”
“Danger of murder?”
“Yes.”
“Then if you knew the situation was so dangerous, and if you have such a deep regard for Miss Lyle, why did you lure her to Miami?” West demanded. “Do you really love her? Or did you want to get all possible suspects down here and try and set them one against the other. So that you could discover the truth?”
20
THE TRUTH
Henrietta thought, appalled and yet believing, ‘He suspected me! He still suspects me! Oh, God, where is it going to end?’
“Did you, sir?” barked Roger. “The truth, remember.”
Slowly and painfully Marshall answered, looking at Henrietta as he did so, not at West.
“Yes, that is exactly what I planned to do.”
“What chance did you think you had of succeeding?” demanded Roger. “One against three or four or five, for all you knew.”
“There was no other way,” Marshall said.
“You could have come to us.”
“I had no faith in you,” said Marshall. “I didn’t see how you could solve a problem partly centred here in Miami, and in any case I wanted no . . . publicity.”
“What chance do you think you had?”
“Have you opened all the envelopes?” asked Marshall.
“No. What does that matter?”
“In one there is a statement which I proposed to give to everyone here,” said Marshall. “It shows whom I suspect, and why. A copy is with my bank in London, to be opened on my death. I typed this myself, no one else knows what is in it. I believed that would frighten them all.”
“Even Miss Lyle?”
“If she was involved, yes.”
Henrietta gave a little sigh, hardly a sound at all. How could he possibly think she was involved? Marshall stretched out his hand towards her, but she did not stir to take it.
“Why did you suspect her?” Roger demanded.
Marshall hesitated, then moved so that he could look down on Henrietta, and spoke as if she were the only one in the room.
“I suspected you, Henrietta, partly because you were so often aloof. Sometimes it was as if you could hardly stand my presence – yet at other times you were warm and understanding and able to make me confide in you. I talked to you about everything except my deeper fears. I was absolutely sure of you whenever we were talking, but when you became aloof again – when you pushed me away, as you so often did – I wondered whether you were simply playing cat and mouse with me, almost seducing me to talk and tell you something you needed to know.”
Henrietta was looking at him as if she could not believe that such a suspicion was even possible. There was no colour at all in her cheeks.
“But most important of all,” went on Marshall, “I suspected you because—because you were so friendly with Gerald Ward. No, Henrietta, not just because I was jealous – though God knows, I was – but because”—Marshall paused, looking intently into Henrietta’s eyes—“because he was the man whom I believed sent those letters to Yolande – the man I believed to be plotting not only my death but hers. Hetty darling”—he bent towards her—“Ward may love you now, I couldn’t understand the fellow if he didn’t, but at first he was only using you to keep a track on my movements.”
‘Ward,’ thought Henrietta. ‘Gerry Ward.’
It was as if David were talking about someone she barely knew. A stranger.
“Then on Monday night I went to the nursing home,” Marshall continued. “I wanted to see Dr Courtways – and I saw Ward, in her car. I came away without letting them see me – and I knew then that it was possible that he was working in collusion with Dr Courtways. When he came to fetch you the next evening I could have killed him. It wasn’t only jealousy, Henrietta – it was fear that you were working with him.”
Lieutenant Thompson touched Roger’s arm and drew him away.
“Roger.”
“Yes?”
“There’s a flight from Frankfurt due in forty-five minutes.”
“Can we get there?”
‘Surely.”
“Is Mrs Renati at the airport?”
“She hasn’t been seen yet. You coming?”
“Yes. Can you get that body out of here?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve fixed another room for Sir David. Okay to leave them with a guard?”
“I shouldn’t – there might be other hired assassins.”
“I guess so. I’ve talked to the manager, he’ll see to them.” Thompson took Roger’s arm. “Let’s go.” Outside in the passage he said to his men, “When these two go to another room, stay with them at the door.”
“Sure,” a short, dark man said.
“Think you’ve got the truth at last?” Thompson went on, as he and West walked to the elevators.
“I think so,” Roger said.
An elevator opened almost at their bidding. In a moment they walked through the cool marble hall, stood for a second in the oven-heat of the driveway, stepped into an air-conditioned police car which drew up immediately, and were off along Collins towards the causeway. In twenty minutes they were at the airport; in thirty the announcement came for the arrival of the flight from Frankfurt; and five minutes later they moved towards the bay where the aircraft would unload.
Standing near it was a group of people, waiting to meet passengers. Hovering unobtrusively on the fringe of the group was a big woman dressed in a pink candy-striped dress and wearing a floppy hat, the limp brim of which hid her forehead and the upper part of her face.
“There she is,” Thompson whispered. “We going to wait to see if your man comes off?”
Roger nodded.
More people arrived to meet the aircraft, and now the group was joined by airline company officials and porters. Suddenly there was bustle, and tired-looking passengers began to disembark.
Roger counted thirty-one. More were coming but he was beginning to wonder if he were right, when Gerald Ward appeared. One arm was in a plaster and he carried only a lightweight briefcase. He glanced round quickly, but did not seem to recognise Chloe Renati. He started forward – and she moved quickly and barred his path.
He stopped and backed away. It was the alarm in his eyes which first warned Roger, and warned Thompson at the same moment. Thompson roared and jumped forward, Chloe Renati snatched a pistol from the folds of her dress, two policemen closed on Ward as he dodged, Thompson struck Chloe Renati’s hand to one side, and the pistol clattered on the ground.
“That’s right,” Chloe Renati said. “He is my son-in-law, and I hate his guts. He’s treated my daughter so badly he’s nearly driven her crazy. Sure, he told her what he was planning, that he
’d get rid of David and Yolande and then we’d all be in the money – but we never believed him. He’s always been a small-time crook, always talked big, but never been involved in anything but petty theft. And women, of course. Gee, how those women fell for him – he seemed to mesmerise them into doing anything he wanted. When I heard about poor Yolande – I never liked the woman, but that doesn’t mean I want to see her murdered, or my daughter married to a murderer – I just saw red, I guess. Something seemed to crack. Why did you have to stop me?” she demanded bitterly. “That man’s so bad he oughtn’t to be allowed to live.”
In police headquarters on Miami Beach, Gerald Ward said, “She’s a crazy woman. The whole family’s crazy. You’re not going to take any notice of her, surely.”
“Not much. I’d rather rely on the testimony of Dr Courtways,” bluffed Roger.
Ward started. “Damn the woman. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut! I told her—” He broke off. But he had said enough to confirm Marshall’s suspicions, and Roger now knew that it would only be a matter of time before the case against both him and Dr Courtways was proved.
“I’m going back to England tonight,” Roger told Marshall later. “There’s no reason at all why you and Miss Lyle shouldn’t stay here if you wish. I may have to ask you to fly back to help with enquiries, but I won’t, if it’s avoidable.”
“You’re very good,” said Marshall. “Just one question, Superintendent. Was my cousin a party to the plot?”
“She wasn’t, sir,” Roger said. “Like you, sir, she had a single-minded intention of settling her own debts. Ward had treated her daughter so badly that she could think only of killing him.”
“If I hadn’t come to Miami, do you think this would have been cleared up so soon?” asked Marshall.
“Very possibly, sir,” said Roger. “And possibly without bloodshed out here. The two who attacked you and came for the briefcase were paid by Mrs Renati, who swears that she had no thought of violence; they were simply to get the briefcase and find out what was in it. You had told her the papers were coming, hadn’t you?”