High Citadel / Landslide

by Desmond Bagley

I went up King Street and into Trinavant Park and saw that there had been a change, after all. The Greek place now had a name—a garish neon sign proclaimed it to be the Hellenic Café. Lieutenant Farrell was still the same, though; he hadn’t moved a muscle. I checked into the Matterson House Hotel and wondered how long I’d be staying there. Once I started lifting stones to see what nasty things lay underneath I could see that innkeeper Matterson might not want to have me around as part of his clientele. But this was for the future; now I might as well see how the land lay with Howard.

  I took the elevator up to his office. He had a new secretary and I asked her to tell the boss that Mr Boyd wanted to see him. I got into Howard’s office in the record-breaking time of two minutes. Howard must have been very curious to know why I was back in Fort Farrell.

  He hadn’t changed, either, although there was no real reason why he should. He was still the same bull-necked, beefy guy, running to fat, but I thought I detected a shade more fat this time. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘I’m certainly surprised to see you again.’

  ‘I don’t know why you should be,’ I said innocently. ‘Considering that you offered me a job.’

  He goggled at me incredulously. ‘What?’

  ‘You offered me a job. You said you wanted a geological survey of all the Matterson holdings, and you offered the job to me. Don’t you remember?’

  He remembered that his mouth was open after a while and snapped it shut. ‘By Christ, but you’ve got a nerve! Do you think that…’ He stopped and chuckled fatly. ‘No, Mr Boyd. I’m afraid we’ve changed our minds about that project.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ I said. ‘I find myself unable to go north this year.’

  He grinned maliciously. ‘What’s the matter? Couldn’t you find anyone to stake you?’

  ‘Something like that,’ I said, and let a worried look appear on my face.

  ‘It’s tough all round,’ he said, enjoying himself, ‘but I’m sorry to tell you that I don’t think there’s a job going anywhere in this territory for a man in your line. In fact, I’ll go further: I don’t think there’s any job around here that you could hold down. The employment situation is terrible in Fort Farrell this year.’ A thought struck him. ‘Of course, I might be able to find you a job as a bell-hop in the hotel. I have influence there, you understand. I hope you’re strong enough to carry bags?’

  I wasn’t worried about letting him have his fun. ‘I don’t think I’m down to that yet,’ I said, and stood up.

  That didn’t suit Howard; he wasn’t through with grinding my face in the mud. ‘Sit down,’ he said genially. ‘Let’s talk about old times.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, and sat down again. ‘Seen anything of Clare Trinavant lately?’

  That one really harpooned him. ‘We’ll keep her name out of this,’ he snapped.

  ‘I only wanted to know if she was around,’ I said reasonably. ‘She’s a real nice woman—I’d like to meet her again some time.’

  He looked like someone who’d just swallowed his gum. The idea had just sunk in that I was really interested in Clare Trinavant—and he wasn’t far wrong, at that. It looked as though my tenure of the hotel room would be even shorter than I thought. He recovered. ‘She’s out of town,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘She’s out of the country. In fact, she’s even out of the hemisphere, and she won’t be back for a long time. I’m sorry about that—really I am.’

  That was a pity; I’d been looking forward to exchanging insults with her again. Still, she wasn’t the main reason I was back in Fort Farrell, even though she was a possibly ally I had lost.

  I stood up again. ‘You’re right,’ I said regretfully. ‘It’s tough all round.’ This time he didn’t try to stop me; perhaps he didn’t like my brand of chatty conversation. I made for the door, and said, ‘I’ll be seeing you.’

  ‘Are you going to stick around here?’ he demanded.

  I laughed at him. ‘That depends if the employment situation is as bad as you say.’ I closed the door on him and grinned at his secretary. ‘A mighty fine boss you’ve got there. Yes, sir!’ She looked at me as though I were mad, so I winked at her and carried on.

  Baiting Howard Matterson was childish and pretty pointless, but I felt the better for it; it gave a boost to my flagging morale. I hadn’t had much to do with him personally, and beyond the comments of Clare Trinavant and McDougall, I knew nothing about him. But now I knew he was a brave boy indeed; nothing suited Howard better than to put the boot to a man who was down. His little exhibition of sadism made me feel better and gave added enjoyment to the task of cutting him down to size.

  As I walked along King Street I glanced at my watch and quickened my pace. If McDougall still kept to his usual schedule he’d be having his afternoon coffee at the Greek place—the Hellenic Café. Sure enough, there he was, brooding over an empty cup. I went to the counter and bought two cups of coffee which came to me via a chromium-plated monster which squirted steam from every joint and sounded like the first stage of an Atlas missile taking off.

  I took the coffee over to the table and dumped a cup in front of Mac. If he was surprised to see me he didn’t show it. His eyelids just flickered and he said, ‘What do you want?’

  I sat down next to him. ‘I had a change of heart, Mac.’

  He said nothing, but the droop of his shoulders altered to a new erectness. I indicated the Espresso machine. ‘When did that sign of prosperity come in?’

  ‘A couple of months ago—and the coffee’s godawful,’ he said sourly. ‘Glad to see you, son.’

  I said, ‘I’ll make this quick because I have an idea that it would be better all round if we aren’t seen together too often. Howard Matterson knows I’m in town and I suspect he’s mad at me.’

  ‘Why should he be?’

  ‘I had a barney with him just before I left—eighteen months ago.’ I told Mac what had happened between us and of my suspicions of young Jimmy Waystrand.

  Mac clicked his tongue. ‘The bastard!’ he exclaimed. ‘You know what Howard did? He told Clare you’d boasted to him about spending the night in her cabin. She went flaming wild and cursed you up hill and down dale. You’re not her favourite house guest any more.’

  ‘And she believed him?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she? Who else could have told Howard? No one thought of Jimmy.’ He grunted suddenly. ‘So that’s how he got a good job up at the dam. He’s working for the Matterson Corporation now.’

  ‘So they’re constructing the dam,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah. Public opinion was well moulded and Matterson rammed it through over Clare’s objections. They began building last summer and they’re working as though Matterson ordered it finished for yesterday. They couldn’t pour concrete in winter, of course, but they’re pouring it now in a round-the-clock operation. In three months there’ll be a ten-mile lake in that valley. They’ve already started to rip out the trees—but not Clare’s trees, though. She says she’d rather see her trees drowned than go to a Matterson mill.’

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ I said. ‘But it’s too long and complicated to go into here. I’ll come up to your apartment tonight.’

  His face crinkled into a smile. ‘Clare left some Islay Mist for me when she went. You know she’s not here?’

  ‘Howard took great pleasure in informing me,’ I said drily.

  ‘Um,’ he said, and suddenly drained his cup of coffee. ‘I’ve just remembered there’s something I have to do. I’ll see you to-night—about seven.’ He rose stiffly. ‘My bones are getting older,’ he said wryly, and headed for the street.

  I finished my coffee more leisurely and then went back to the hotel. My pace was quicker than that of McDougall and I’d almost caught up with him on High Street when he turned off and disappeared into the telegraph office. I carried on. There wasn’t any more I wanted to say to him that couldn’t wait until evening and, as I had told him, the less we were seen together the better. In a few days I wouldn’t be too popular ar
ound Fort Farrell and any Matterson employee who was seen to be too friendly with me wouldn’t be too safe in his job. I’d hate to get McDougall fired.

  I had not been evicted from my room yet—but that was a problem I had to bring up with Mac. Probably Howard didn’t think I’d have the brazen nerve to stay at the Matterson House and it wouldn’t have entered his mind to check—but as soon as I started to make a nuisance of myself he’d find out and I’d be out on my ear. I would ask Mac about alternative accommodation.

  I lounged about until just before seven and then went over to Mac’s apartment and found him taking his ease before a log fire. He pointed wordlessly to the bottle on the table and I poured myself a drink and joined him.

  For a while I looked at the dancing flames, then said, ‘What I’m going to tell you I’m not sure you’re going to believe, Mac.’

  ‘You can’t surprise a newspaperman my age,’ he said. ‘We’re like priests and doctors—we hear a lot of stories that we don’t tell. You’d be surprised at the amount of news that’s not fit to print, one way or another.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But I still think it’s going to surprise you—and it’s something I haven’t told another living soul—the only other people who know about it are a few doctors.’

  I launched forth on the story and told him everything—the waking up in hospital, Susskind’s treatment, the plastic surgery—everything, including the mysterious $36,000 and the investigation by the private detective. I finished up by saying, ‘That’s why I told you that I didn’t know anything that could help. I wasn’t lying, Mac.’

  ‘God, I feel sorry about that now,’ he mumbled. ‘I said things to you that no man should say to another.’

  ‘You weren’t to know,’ I said. ‘No apologies needed.’

  He got up and found the file he had shown me before and dug out the photograph of Robert Grant. He looked at me closely and then his eyes switched to the photograph and then back to me again. ‘It’s incredible,’ he breathed. ‘It’s goddam incredible. There’s no resemblance at all.’

  ‘I took Susskind’s advice,’ I said. ‘Roberts, the surgeon, had a copy of that and used it as an example of what not to do.’

  ‘Robert Grant—Robert B. Grant,’ he murmured. ‘Why in hell didn’t I have the sense to find out what that initial stood for? A fine reporter I am!’ He put the photograph back in the file. ‘I don’t know, Bob. You’ve put a lot of doubt in my mind. I don’t know whether we should go through with this thing now.’

  ‘Why not? Nothing has changed. The Trinavants are still dead and Matterson is still screwing the lid down. Why shouldn’t you want to go ahead?’

  ‘From what you’ve told me, you stand in some personal risk,’ he said slowly. ‘Once you start monkeying about with your mind anything could happen. You could go nuts.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t like it.’

  I stood up and paced the floor. ‘I’ve got to find out, Mac—no matter what Susskind said. While he was alive I was all right; I leaned on him a lot. But now I have to find out who I am. It’s killing me not to know.’ I halted behind his chair. ‘I’m not doing this for you, Mac; I’m doing it for me. I was in that car when it crashed, and it seems to me that this whole mystery stems from that crash.’

  ‘But what can you do?’ asked Mac helplessly. ‘You don’t remember anything.’

  I sat down again. ‘I’m going to stir things up. Matterson doesn’t want the Trinavants talked about. Well, I’m going to do a lot of talking in the next few days. Something will break sooner or later. But first I want to get some ammunition, and you can supply that.’

  ‘You’re really intent on going through with this?’ asked Mac.

  ‘I am.’

  He sighed. ‘All right, Bob. What do you want to know?’

  ‘One thing I’d give a lot to know is where old man Matterson was when the crash happened.’

  Mac grimaced wryly. ‘I got there ahead of you. I had that nasty suspicion, too. But there’s no joy there. Guess who’s his alibi?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Me, goddam it!’ said Mac disgustedly. ‘He was in the office of the Recorder for most of that day. I wish I couldn’t vouch for it, but I can.’

  ‘What time of day did the crash happen?’

  ‘It’s no good,’ said Mac. ‘I thought of that, too. I’ve juggled the time factors and there’s absolutely no way in which Bull Matterson can be placed at the scene of the accident.’

  ‘He stood to gain a lot,’ I said. ‘He was the only gainer—everyone else lost. I’m convinced he had something to do with it.’

  ‘For God’s sake, when did you hear of one millionaire killing another?’ Mac suddenly went very still. ‘Personally, that is,’ he said softly.

  ‘You mean he could have hired someone to do it?’

  Mac looked tired and old. ‘He could—and if he did we haven’t a hope in hell of proving it. The killer is probably living it up in Australia on a fat bank-roll. It’s nearly twelve years ago, Bob; how in hell can we prove anything now?’

  ‘We’ll find a way,’ I said stubbornly. ‘That partnership agreement—was it really on the level?’

  He nodded. ‘Seemed so. John Trinavant was a damn’ fool not to have revoked it when he got married and started a family.’

  ‘No possibility of forgery?’

  ‘There’s a thought,’ said Mac, but shook his head. ‘Not a chance. Old Bull dug up a living witness to the signatures.’ He got up to put another log on the fire, then turned and said despondently, ‘I don’t see a single thing we can do.’

  ‘Matterson has a weak point,’ I said. ‘He’s tried to lose the name of Trinavant and he must have had a good reason for it. Well, I’m going to get the name of Trinavant talked about in Fort Farrell. He must react to that in some way.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then we play it as the chips fall.’ I hesitated. ‘If necessary, I’ll come right into the open. I’ll announce that I’m Robert Grant, the guy who was in the Trinavants’ car. That should cause a tremor.’

  ‘If there was any jiggery-pokery about that car crash, and if Matterson had anything to do with it, the roof will fall in on your head,’ warned Mac. ‘If Matterson did kill the Trinavants you’ll be in trouble. A three-time murderer won’t hesitate at another.’

  ‘I can look after myself,’ I said—and hoped it was true. ‘That’s another thing. I won’t be able to stay at the Matterson House once I start stirring the mud. Can you recommend alternative accommodation?’

  ‘I’ve built a cabin on a piece of land just outside town,’ said Mac. ‘You can move in there.’

  ‘Hell, I can’t do that. Matterson will tie you in with me and your head will be on the block.’

  ‘It’s about time I retired,’ said Mac equably. ‘I was going to quit at the end of summer, anyway; and it doesn’t matter if it’s a mite sooner. I’m an old man, Bob—rising seventy-two; it’s about time I rested the old bones. I’ll be able to get in the fishing I’ve been promising myself.’

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘But batten down the hurricane hatches. Matterson will raise a big wind.’

  ‘I’m not scared of Matterson,’ he said. ‘I never have been and he knows it. He’ll just fire me and that will be that. Hell, I’m keeping a future Pulitzer prizewinner out of a job, anyway. It’s time I packed up. There’s just one story I want to write and it’ll hit headlines all over Canada. I’m depending on you to give it to me.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said.

  Lying in bed that evening, I had a thought that made my blood run cold. McDougall had suggested that Matterson could have hired someone to do his dirty work and the terrifying possibility came to me that the someone could have been an unscrupulous bastard called Robert Grant.

  Supposing Grant had boobed on the job and become involved in the accident himself by mischance. Supposing that Robert Boyd Grant was a triple murderer—what did that make me, Bob Boyd?

  I broke into
a cold sweat. Maybe Susskind had been right. Perhaps I’d discover in my past enough to drive me out of my mind.

  I tossed and turned for most of the night and tried to get a grip on myself. I thought about every angle in an attempt to prove Grant’s innocence. From what Susskind had told me, Grant had been on the run when the accident happened; the police were after him for an assault on a college student. Was it likely, then, that he would deliberately murder just because someone asked him?

  He might—if his total getaway could thereby be financed.

  But how would Bull Matterson know that Grant was the man he wanted? You don’t walk up to the average college student and say, ‘I’ve got a family of three I want knocked off—what about it?’ That would be ridiculous.

  I began to think that the whole structure McDougall and I had built up was nonsensical, plausible though it might appear. How could one accuse a respectable, if ruthless, millionaire of murder? It was laughable.

  Then I thought of my mysterious benefactor and the $36,000. Was this the pay-off to Grant? And what about that damned private detective? Where did he fit into the picture?

  I dropped into an uneasy sleep and had the Dream, slipping into the hot snow and watching my flesh blister and blacken. And there was something else this time. I heard noises—the sharp crackle of flames from somewhere, and there was a dancing red light on the snow which sizzled and melted into rivulets of blood.

  II

  I was in no good mood when I went down to the street next morning. I was tired and depressed and I ached all over as though I had been beaten. The bright sunshine didn’t help, either, because my eyes were gritty, and I felt as though there were many grains of sand under my eyelids. Altogether I wasn’t in any good shape.

  Over a cup of strong black coffee I began to feel better. You knew you were going to have a tough time, I argued with myself. Are you going to chicken out now? Hell, you haven’t even started yet—it’s going to get tougher than this.

  That’s what I’m afraid of, I told myself.

  Think what a wallop you’re going to give Matterson, I answered back. Forget yourself and think of that bastard.