Neal Divine’s private papers revealed little of interest except a large number of unpaid bills, IOUs and a number of letters, all of them menacing in varying degrees, from an assortment of different bankers—a form of correspondence that went well with Divine’s nervous, apprehensive and generally down-trodden mien. At the bottom of an old-fashioned Gladstone in the Count’s room I found a small black automatic, loaded, but as an envelope beside it contained a current London licence for a gun this discovery might or might not have significance: the number of law- abiding people in law-abiding Britain who for divers law-abiding reasons consider it prudent to own a gun are, in their total, quite remarkable. In the cubicle shared by Jungbeck and Heyter I found nothing incriminating. But I was intrigued by a small brown paper packet, sealed, that I found in Jungbeck’s case. I took this into the main cabin where Mary Stuart was moving from window to window—there were four of them—keeping watch.
‘Nothing?’ I said. She shook her head. ‘Put on a kettle, will you.’
‘There’s coffee there. And some food.’
‘I don’t want coffee. A kettle—water—half an inch will do.’ I handed her the packet. ‘Steam this open for me, will you?’
‘Steam—what’s in it?’
‘If I knew that I wouldn’t ask you to open it.’
I went into Lonnie’s cubicle but it held nothing but Lonnie’s dreams—an album full of faded photographs. With few exceptions, they were of his family—clearly Lonnie had taken them himself. The first few showed a dark attractive girl with a wavy shoulder-length thirties hair-do holding two babies who were obviously twins. Later photographs showed that the two babies were girls. As the years had passed Lonnie’s wife, changing hair-styles apart, had changed remarkably little while the girls had grown up from page to page, until eventually they had become two rather beautiful youngsters very closely resembling their mother. In the last photograph, about two-thirds of the way through the album, all three were shown in white summer dresses of an unconscionable length leaning against a dark open roadster: the two girls would then have been about eighteen. I closed the album with that guilty and uncomfortable feeling you have when you stumble, however inadvertently, across another man’s private dreams.
I was crossing the passage to Eddie’s room when Mary called me. She had the package open and was holding the contents in a white handkerchief. I said: ‘That’s clever.’
‘Two thousand pounds,’ she said wonderingly. ‘All in new five-pound notes.’
‘That’s a lot of money.’ They were not only new, they were in consecutive serial number order. I noted down the first and last numbers, tracing would be automatic and immediate: somebody was being very stupid indeed or very confident indeed. This was one item of what might be useful evidence that I did not appropriate but locked up again, re-sealed, in Jungbeck’s case. When a man has that much money around he’s apt to check on its continued presence pretty frequently.
Neither Eddie’s nor Hendriks’s cubicles revealed any item of interest, while the only thing I learned from a brief glance at Sandy’s room was that he was just that modicum less scrupulous in obtaining his illicit supplies than Lonnie: Sandy stocked up on Otto’s scotch by the bottleful. The Three Apostles’ quarters I passed up: a search in there would, I was convinced, yield nothing. It never occurred to me to check on Conrad.
It was just after three o’clock, with the light beginning to fade from the sky, when I returned to the main cabin. Lonnie and the other two should have contacted Otto and the others a long time ago, their return, I should have thought, was considerably overdue. Mary, who had eaten—or said she had—gave me steak and chips, both of the frozen and pre-cooked variety, and I could see that she was worried. Heaven knew she had enough reason to be worried about a great number of things, but I guessed that her present worry was due to one particular cause.
‘Where on earth can they all be?’ she said. ‘I’m sure something must have happened to them.’
‘He’ll be all right. They probably just went farther than they intended, that’s all.’
‘I hope so. It’s getting dark and the snow’s starting—’ She broke off and looked at me in embarrassed accusation. ‘You’re very clever, aren’t you?’
‘I wish to God I were,’ I said, and meant it. I pushed my almost uneaten meal away and rose. ‘Thank you. Sorry, and it’s nothing to do with your cooking, but I’m not hungry. I’ll be in my room.’
‘It’s getting dark,’ she repeated inconsequentially.
‘I won’t be long.’
I lay on my cot and looked at my haul from the various cabins. I didn’t have to look long and I didn’t have to be possessed of any outstanding deductive powers to realize the significance of what I had before me. The salary lists were very instructive but not half so enlightening as the correspondence between Otto’s cheque-books and Goin’s bank-book. But the map—more precisely the detailed inset of the Evjebukta—was perhaps the most interesting of all. I was gazing at the map and having long, long thoughts about Mary Stuart’s father when Mary Stuart herself came into my room.
‘There’s someone coming.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. It’s too dark and there’s snow falling.’
‘What direction?’
‘That way.’ She pointed south.
‘That’ll be Hendriks and the Three Apostles.’ I wrapped the papers up into a small towel and handed them to her. ‘Hide those in your room.’ I turned my medical bag upside down, brought a small coach-screwdriver from my pocket and began to unscrew the four metal studs that served as floor-rests.
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you mind telling me—’
‘There are shameless people around who wouldn’t think twice of searching through a man’s private possessions. Especially mine. If I’m not here, that’s to say.’ I’d removed the base and now started working free the flat black metal box that had fitted so snugly into the bottom.
‘You’re going out.’ She said it mechanically, like one who is beyond surprise. ‘Where?’
‘Well, I’m not dropping in at the local, and that’s for sure.’ I took out the black box and handed it to her. ‘Careful. Heavy. Hide that too—and hide it well.’
‘But what—’
‘Hurry up. I hear them at the door.’
She hurried up. I screwed the base of the bag back in position and went into the main cabin. Hendriks and the Three Apostles were there and from the way they clapped their arms together to restore circulation and in between sipped the hot coffee that Mary had left on the stove, they seemed to be more than happy to be back. Their happiness vanished abruptly when I told them briefly of Judith Haynes’s death, and although, like the rest of the company, none of them had any cause to cherish any tender feelings towards the dead woman, the simple fact of the death of a person they knew and that this fresh death, suicide though it had been, had come so cruelly swiftly after the preceding murders, had the immediate effect of reducing them to a state of speechless shock, a state from which they weren’t even beginning to recover when the door opened and Otto lurched in. He was gasping for air and seemed close to exhaustion, although such symptoms of physical distress, where Otto was concerned, were not in themselves necessarily indicative of recent and violent exertion: even the minor labour of tying his shoe-laces made Otto huff and puff in an alarming fashion. I looked at him with what I hoped was a proper concern.
‘Now, now, Mr Gerran, you must take it easy,’ I said solicitously. ‘I know this has been a terrible shock to you—’
‘Where is she?’ he said hoarsely. ‘Where’s my daughter? How in God’s name—’
‘In her cubicle.’ He made to brush by me but I barred his way. ‘In a moment, Mr Gerran. But I must see first that—well, you understand?’
He stared at me under lowered brows, then nodded impatiently to show that he understood, which was more than I did, and said: ‘Be quick, please.’
‘Seconds
only.’ I looked at Mary Stuart. ‘Some brandy for Mr Gerran.’
What I had to do in Judith Haynes’s cubicle took only ten seconds. I didn’t want Otto asking awkward questions about why I’d so lovingly wrapped up the gin and barbiturate bottles, so, holding them gingerly by the tops of the necks, I unwrapped them, placed them in reasonably conspicuous positions and summoned Otto. He hung around for a bit, looking suitably stricken and making desolate sounds, but offered no resistance when I took his arm, suggested that he was achieving nothing by remaining there and led him outside.
In the passage he said: ‘Suicide, of course?’
‘No doubt about that.’
He sighed. ‘God, how I reproach myself for—’
‘You’ve nothing to reproach yourself with, Mr Gerran. You saw how completely broken she was at the news of her husband’s death. Just plain, old-fashioned grief.’
‘It’s good to have a man like you around in times like these,’ Otto murmured. I met this in modest silence, led him back to his brandy and said: ‘Where are the others?’
‘Just a few minutes behind. I ran on ahead.’
‘How come Lonnie and the other two took so long to find you?’
‘It was a marvellous day for shooting. All background. We just kept moving on, every shot better than the last one. And then, of course, we had this damned rescue job. My God, if ever a location unit has been plagued with such ill luck—’
‘Rescue job?’ I hoped I sounded puzzled, that my tone didn’t reflect my sudden chill.
‘Heyter. Hurt himself.’ Otto lowered some brandy and shook his head to show the burden of woes he was carrying. ‘He and Smith were climbing when he fell. Ankle sprained or broken, I don’t know. They could see us coming along Lerner’s Way, heading more or less the way they’d gone, though they were much higher, of course. Seems Heyter persuaded Smith to carry on, said he’d be all right, he’d attract our attention.’ Otto shook his head and drained his brandy. ‘Fool!’
‘I don’t understand,’ I said. I could hear the engine of the approaching Sno-Cat.
‘Instead of just lying there till we came within shouting distance he tried to hobble down the hill towards us. Of course his blasted ankle gave way—he fell into a gully and knocked himself about pretty badly. God knows how long he was lying there unconscious, it was early afternoon before we heard his shouts for help. A most damnable job getting him down that hill, just damnable. Is that the Sno-Cat out there?’
I nodded. Otto heaved himself to his feet and we went towards the front door together. I said: ‘Smithy? Did you see him?’
‘Smith?’ Otto looked at me in faint surprise. ‘No, of course not. I told you, he’d gone on ahead.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I’d forgotten.’
The door opened from the outside just as we reached it. Conrad and the Count entered, half- carrying a Heyter who could only hop on one leg. His head hung exhaustedly, his chin on his chest, and his pale face was heavily bruised on both the right cheek and temple.
We got him on to a couch and I eased off his right boot. The ankle was swollen and badly discoloured and bleeding slightly where the skin had been broken in several places. While Mary Stuart was heating some water, I propped him up, gave him some brandy, smiled at him in my most encouraging physician’s fashion, commiserated with him on his ill luck and marked him down for death.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Otto’s stocks of liquid cheer were taking a severe beating. It is a medical commonplace that there are those who, under severe stress, resort to the consumption of large quantities of food. Olympus Productions Ltd harboured none of those. The demand for food was non-existent, but, in a correspondingly inverse proportion, alcoholic solace was being eagerly sought, and the atmosphere in the cabin was powerfully redolent of that of a Glasgow public house when a Scottish soccer team has resoundingly defeated its ancient enemies from across the border. The sixteen people scattered around the cabin—the injured Heyter apart—showed no desire to repair to their cubicles, there was an unacknowledged and wholly illogical tacit assumption that if Judith Haynes could die in her cubicle anyone could. Instead, they sat scattered around in twos and threes, drinking silently or conversing in murmurs, furtive eyes forever moving around the others present, all deepening a cheerless and doom-laden air which stemmed not from Judith Haynes’s death but from what might or might not be yet another impending disaster: although it was close on seven now, with the darkness total and the snow falling steadily out of the north, Heissman, Goin and Jungbeck had not yet returned.
Otto, unusually, sat by himself, chewing on a cigar but not drinking: he gave the impression of a man who is wondering what fearsome blow fate now has in store for him. I had talked to him briefly some little time previously and he had given it as his morose and unshakable opinion that all three of them had been drowned: none of them, as he had pointed out, knew the first thing about handling a boat. Even if they managed to survive more than a few minutes in those icy waters, what hope lay for them if they did swim to shore? If they reached a cliff-face, their fingers would only scrabble uselessly against the smoothly vertical rock until their strength gave out and they slid under: if they managed to scramble ashore at some more accessible point, the icy air would reach through their soaked clothes to their soaked bodies and freeze them to death almost instantly. If they didn’t turn up, he said, and now he was sure they wouldn’t, he was going to abandon the entire venture and wait for Smithy to bring help, and if that didn’t come soon he would propose that the entire company strike out for the safety of Tunheim.
The entire company had momentarily fallen silent and Otto, looking across the cabin to where I was standing, gave a painful smile and said, as if in a desperate attempt to lighten the atmosphere: ‘Come, come, Dr Marlowe, I see you haven’t got a glass.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it’s wise.’
Otto looked around the cabin. If he was being harrowed by the contemplation of his rapidly dwindling stocks he was concealing his grief well. ‘The others seem to think it’s wise.’
‘The others don’t have to take into account the danger of exposing opened pores to zero temperatures.’
‘What?’ He peered at me. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means that if Heissman, Jungbeck and Goin aren’t back here in a very few minutes I intend to take the fourteen-footer and go to look for them.’
‘What!’ This in a very different tone of voice. Otto hauled himself painfully to his feet as he always did when he was preparing to appear impressive. ‘Go to look for them? Are you mad, sir? Look for them, indeed. On a night like this, pitch dark, can’t see a hand in front of your nose. No, by God, I’ve already lost too many people, far too many. I absolutely forbid it.’
‘Have you taken into account that their engine may have just failed? That they’re just drifting helplessly around, freezing to death by the minute while we sit here doing nothing?’
‘I have and I don’t believe it possible. The boat engines were overhauled completely before our departure and I know that Jungbeck is a very competent mechanic. The matter is not to be contemplated.’
‘I’m going anyway.’
‘I would remind you that that boat is company property.’
‘Who’s going to stop me taking it?’
Otto spluttered ineffectually, then said: ‘You realize—’
‘I realize.’ I was tired of Otto. ‘I’m fired.’
‘You’d better fire me too then,’ Conrad said. We all turned to look at him. ‘I’m going along with him.’
I’d have expected no less from Conrad, he, after all, had been the one to initiate the search for Smithy soon after our landing. I didn’t try to argue with him. I could see Mary Stuart with her hand on his arm, looking at him in dismay: if she couldn’t dissuade him, I wasn’t going to bother to try.
‘Charles!’ Otto was bringing the full weight of his authority to bear. ‘I would remind you that y
ou have a contract—’
‘——the contract,’ Conrad said.
Otto stared at him in disbelief, clamped his lips quite shut, wheeled and headed for his cubicle. With his departure everybody, it seemed, started to speak at the same time. I crossed to where the Count was moodily drinking the inevitable brandy. He looked up and gave me a cheerless smile.
‘If you want a third suicidal volunteer, my dear boy—’
‘How long have you known Otto Gerran?’
‘What’s that?’ He seemed momentarily at a loss, then quaffed some more brandy. ‘Thirty-odd years. It’s no secret. I knew him well in pre-war Vienna. Why do you—’
‘You were in the film business then?’
‘Yes and no.’ He smiled in an oddly quizzical fashion. ‘Again it’s on the record. In the halcyon days, my dear fellow, when Count Tadeusz Leszczynski—that’s me—was, if not exactly a name to be conjured with, at least a man of considerable means. I was Otto’s angel, his first backer.’ Again a smile, this time amused. ‘Why do you think I’m a member of the board?’
‘What do you know of the circumstances of Heissman’s sudden disappearance from Vienna in 1938?’
The Count stopped being amused. I said: ‘So that’s not on the record.’ I paused to see if he would say anything and when he didn’t I went on: ‘Watch your back, Count.’
‘My—my back?’
‘That part of the anatomy that’s so subject to being pierced by sharp objects or rapidly moving blunt ones. Or has it not occurred to you that the board of Olympus are falling off their lofty perches like so many stricken birds? One lying dead outside, another lying dead inside, and two more at peril or perhaps even perished on the high seas. What makes you think you should be so lucky? Beware the slings and arrows, Tadeusz. And you might tell Neal Divine and Lonnie to beware of the same things, at least while I’m gone. Especially Lonnie—I’d be glad if you made sure he doesn’t step outside this cabin in my absence. Very vulnerable things, backs.’
Bear Island Page 30