High Citadel / Landslide

by Desmond Bagley

  ‘You keep out of this, you old fool,’ commanded Howard. ‘And you too, Summerskill. You’re both going to regret being mixed up with this man. I’ll see you regret it—personally.’

  ‘Howard, lay off McDougall,’ I said. ‘Or I’ll break your back.’

  Clarry Summerskill spat expertly and befouled Howard’s boot. ‘You don’t scare me none, Matterson.’

  Howard took a step forward and raised his fist. I said quickly, ‘Hold it! Your reinforcements are coming, Howard.’ I nodded across the hillside to where two men were coming across the rough ground—one a chauffeur in trim uniform supporting the other by the arm.

  Bull Matterson had come out of his castle at last.

  Clarry’s jaw dropped as he stared at the old man and at the big black Bentley parked on the road. ‘Well, I’m damned!’ he said softly. ‘I haven’t seen old Bull in years.’

  ‘Maybe he’s come out to defend his bull-calf,’ said Mac sardonically.

  Howard went to help the old man, the very picture of filial devotion, but Bull angrily shook away the offered hand. From the look of him, he was quite spry and able to get on by himself. Mac chuckled. ‘Why, the old guy is in better shape than I am.’

  I said, ‘I have a feeling that this is going to be the moment of truth.’

  Mac glanced at me slyly. ‘Don’t they say that about bullfighting when the matador poises his sword to kill the bull? You’ll have to have a sharp sword to kill this one.’

  The old man finally reached us and looked around with a hard eye. To his chauffeur he said curtly, ‘Get back to the car.’ He cast an eye on the drilling-rig, then swung on Jimmy Waystrand. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Waystrand. I work down on the power plant.’

  Matterson lifted his eyebrows. ‘Do you? Then get back on your job.’

  Waystrand looked uncertainly at Howard, who gave a short nod.

  Matterson stared at Clarry. ‘I don’t think we need you, either,’ he said harshly. ‘Or you, McDougall.’

  I said quietly, ‘Go and wait by the jeep, Clarry,’ and then stared down the old man. ‘McDougall stays.’

  ‘That’s up to him,’ said Matterson. ‘Well, McDougall?’

  ‘I’d like to see a fair fight,’ said Mac cheerfully. ‘Two against two.’ He laughed. ‘Bob can take Howard and I reckon you and me are fairly matched for the Old Age Championship.’ He felt the top of the gasoline engine to see if it was still hot, then nonchalantly leaned his rump against it.

  Matterson swivelled his head. ‘Very well. I don’t mind a witness for what I’m going to say.’ He fixed me with a cold blue eye and I must have been nuts ever to think he had the faded eyes of age. ‘I gave you a warning, Grant, and you have chosen to ignore it.’

  Howard said, ‘Do you really think this guy is Grant—that he was in the crash?’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Matterson icily and without turning his head. ‘I’ll handle this. You’ve made enough mistakes already—you and your fool sister.’ He hadn’t taken his eye off me. ‘Have you anything to say, Grant?’

  ‘I’ve got a lot to say—but not about anything that might have happened to John Trinavant and his family. What I want to say is of more immediate impor—’

  ‘I’m not interested in anything else,’ Matterson cut in flatly. ‘Now put up or shut up. Do you have anything to say? If not, you can get to hell out of here, and I’ll see that you do it.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said deliberately. ‘I might have one or two things to say. But you won’t like it.’

  ‘There have been a lot of things in my life I haven’t liked,’ said Matterson stonily. ‘A few more won’t make any difference.’ He bent forward a little and his chin jutted out. ‘But be very careful about any accusations you may make—they may backfire on you.’

  I saw Howard moving nervously. ‘Christ!’ he said, looking at Mac. ‘Don’t push things.’

  ‘I told you to shut up,’ said the old man. ‘I won’t tell you again. All right, Grant: say your piece, but bear this in mind. My name is Matterson and I own this piece of country. I own it and everyone who lives in it. Those I don’t own I can lean on—and they know it.’ A grim smile touched his lips. ‘I don’t usually go about talking this way because it’s not good politics—people don’t like hearing that kind of truth. But it is the truth and you know it.’

  He squared his shoulders. ‘Now, do you think anyone is going to take your word against mine? Especially when I bring your record out. The word of a drug-pusher and a drug-addict against mine? Now, say your piece and be damned to you, Grant.’

  I looked at him thoughtfully. He evidently believed I had uncovered something and was openly challenging me to reveal it, depending upon Grant’s police record to discredit me. It was a hell of a good manoeuvre if I did know something, which I didn’t—and if I were Grant.

  I said, ‘You keep calling me Grant. I wonder why.’

  The planes of his iron face altered fractionally. ‘What do you mean by that?’ he said harshly.

  ‘You ought to know,’ I said. ‘You identified the bodies.’ I smiled grimly. ‘What if I’m Frank Trinavant?’

  He didn’t move but his face went a dirty grey. Then he swayed a little and tried to speak, and an indescribable choking sound burst from his lips. Before anyone could catch him he crashed to the ground like one of his own felled trees.

  Howard rushed forward and stooped over him and I looked over his shoulder. The old man was still alive and breathing stertorously. Mac pulled at my sleeve and drew me away. ‘Heart-attack,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen it before. That’s why he never moved from home much.’

  In the moment of truth my sword had been sharp enough—perhaps too sharp. But was it the moment of truth? I still didn’t know. I still didn’t know if I were Grant or Frank Trinavant. I was still a lost soul groping blindly in the past.

  NINE

  It was touch and go.

  Howard and I had a yelling match over Matterson’s prostrate body. Howard did most of the yelling—I was trying to cool him off. The chauffeur came across from the Bentley at a dead run, and Mac pulled me away. He jerked his thumb at Howard. ‘He’ll be too busy with his father to attend to you—but Jimmy Waystrand won’t, if he comes up here. Howard will sick his boys on to you like dogs on to a rabbit. We’d better get out of here.’

  I hesitated. The old man looked bad and I wanted to stay to see that he was all right; but I saw the force of Mac’s argument—this was no place to linger any more. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s move.’

  Clarry Summerskill met us and said, ‘What happened—did you hit the old guy?’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ said Mac disgustedly. ‘He had a heartattack. Get into the jeep.’

  ‘What about the rig?’ asked Clarry.

  ‘We leave it,’ I said. ‘We’ve done all we can here.’ I stared across the hillside at the small group below the dam. ‘Maybe we’ve done too much.’

  I drove the jeep down the hill prepared for trouble, but nothing happened as we passed the powerhouse and when we were on the road out I relaxed. Mac said speculatively, ‘It knocked the old bastard for six, didn’t it? I wonder why?’

  ‘I’m beginning to wonder about Bull Matterson,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t seem too bad to me.’

  ‘After what he said to you?’ Mac was outraged.

  ‘Oh, sure; he’s tough, and he’s not too particular about his methods as long as they work—but I think he’s essentially an honest man. If he had deliberately confused the identification in the auto crash he’d have known who I was. It wouldn’t have come as such a surprise as to give him a heart-attack. He’s just had a hell of a shock, Mac.’

  ‘That’s true.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Clarry. ‘Will someone tell me what’s going on?’

  I said, ‘You can do something for me, Clarry. Take a trip to the licensing office and check if Bull Matterson registered a new Buick round about the middle of September, 1956. I h
eard he did.’

  ‘So what?’ said Mac.

  ‘So what happened to the old one? Matthew Waystrand told me it was only three months old. You are in the used auto business, Clarry. Is it possible to find out what happened to that car?’

  His voice rose. ‘After twelve years? I should say it was impossible.’ He scratched his head. ‘But I’ll try.’

  We pulled up at Mac’s cabin and Clarry went into Fort Farrell in his own car. Mac and I told Clare what had happened and she became gloomy. ‘I used to call him Uncle Bull,’ she said. Her head came up. ‘He wasn’t a bad man, you know. It was only when that man Donner came into the business that the Matterson Corporation became really tight-fisted.’

  Mac was sceptical. ‘Donner isn’t the man at the top; he’s only a paid hand. It’s Bull Matterson who is reaping the profits from the finagling that was done with the Trinavant Trust.’

  She smiled wanly. ‘I don’t think he considered it to be cheating. I think Bull just thought of it as a smart business deal—nothing dishonest.’

  ‘But goddam immoral,’ observed Mac.

  ‘I don’t think considerations like that ever enter his head,’ she said. ‘He’s just become a machine for making money. Is he really ill, Bob?’

  ‘He didn’t look too bright when I saw him last,’ I said. ‘Mac, what do we do now?’

  ‘What about—the Trinavant business or the dam?’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t think it’s up to you this time, Bob. The ball’s in Howard’s court and he might come after you.’

  ‘We must do something about the dam. Perhaps I can talk to Donner.’

  ‘You’d never get in to see him—Howard will prime him with a suitable story. All you can do is to sit tight and wait for the breaks—or you can leave town.’

  I said, ‘I wish to God I’d never heard of Fort Farrell.’ I looked up. ‘Sorry, Clare.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ said Mac. ‘Are you turning soft just because an old man has a heart-attack? Hell, I didn’t think he had a heart in the first place. Keep fighting, Bob. Try to give them another slug while they’re off balance.’

  I said slowly, ‘I could get out of town. I could go to Fort St John and try to stir up some interest there. Someone, somewhere, might be intrigued at the idea of a dam collapsing.’

  ‘Might as well go there as anywhere else,’ said Mac. ‘Because one thing is certain—the Mattersons are mad as hornets right now, and no one in Fort Farrell is going to lift a finger to help you with Howard breathing down his neck. Old Bull was right—the Mattersons own this country and everyone knows it. Nobody will listen to you now, Bob. As for going into Fort St John, you’ll have to go through Fort Farrell to do it. My advice to you is to wait until after dark.’

  I stared at him. ‘Are you crazy? I’m no fugitive.’ His face was serious. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Now that Bull is out of the way there’ll be no one to hold Howard down. Donner can’t do it, that’s for certain. And Jimmy Waystrand and some of Howard’s goons could make an awful mess of you. Remember what happened a couple of years ago to Charley Burns, Clare? A broken leg, a broken arm, four busted ribs and his face kicked in. Those boys play rough—and I’ll bet they’re looking for you now, so don’t go into Fort Farrell just yet.’

  Clare stood up. ‘There’s nothing to stop me going into Fort Farrell.’

  Mac cocked an eye at her. ‘For what?’

  ‘To see Gibbons,’ she said. ‘It’s about time the police were brought into this.’

  He shrugged. ‘What can Gibbons do? One sergeant of the RCMP can’t do a hell of a lot—not in this set-up.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘I’m going to see him.’ She marched from the cabin and I heard her car start up. I said to Mac sardonically, ‘What was that you were saying a little earlier about giving them another slug while they’re off balance?’

  ‘Don’t be nippy,’ said Mac. ‘I spoke a little too fast, that’s all. I just hadn’t got everything digested.’

  ‘Who was this guy, Burns?’

  ‘Someone who got on the wrong side of Howard. He was beaten up—everyone knows why, but no one could pin anything on Howard. Burns left town and never came back. I’d forgotten about him—and he hadn’t got in Howard’s hair half as much as you have. I’ve never seen him so mad as I did this morning.’ He got up and looked into the stove. ‘I want some tea. I’m just going out to the woodpile.’

  He walked out and I just sat there thinking about what to do next. The trouble was that I had still got no further on the Trinavant mystery, and the man who could tell me about it was probably in hospital at that moment. I felt inclined to go into Fort Farrell, walk into the Matterson Building and bust Howard one in the snoot, which might not solve anything but it would do me a lot of good.

  The door slammed open and I knew I wouldn’t have to go into Fort Farrell. Howard stood on the threshold with a rifle in his hands, and the round hole in the muzzle looked as big as the bottomless pit. ‘Now, you sonofabitch,’ he said, breathing hard. ‘What’s this about Frank Trinavant?’

  He took two steps forward and the rifle didn’t waver. Behind him Lucy Atherton slipped into the cabin and smiled maliciously at me. I started to get out of the chair and he said in a hard voice, ‘Sit down, buster; you’re not going anywhere.’

  I flopped back. ‘Why are you interested in Frank Trinavant?’ I asked. ‘Hasn’t he been dead a long time?’ It was hard to keep my voice level. Facing a gun has a curious effect on the vocal cords.

  ‘Scared, Boyd?’ asked Lucy Atherton.

  ‘Keep quiet,’ said Howard. He moistened his lips and came forward slowly and stared at me. ‘Are you Frank Trinavant?’

  I laughed at him. I had to work at it, but I laughed.

  ‘Damn you, answer me!’ he shouted, and his voice cracked. He took a step forward and his face worked convulsively. I kept a wary eye on his right hand and hoped the rifle didn’t have too light a trigger. I was hoping that he would come one step closer so I would have a fighting chance of knocking the barrel aside, but he stopped short. ‘Now you listen to me,’ he said in a trembling voice. ‘You’re going to answer me and you’re going to tell me the truth. Are you Frank Trinavant?’

  ‘What does it matter?’ I said. ‘I might be Grant—I might be Trinavant. Either way, I was in the car, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ he said. ‘You were in the car.’ He went dangerously calm and studied my face. ‘I knew Frank, and I’ve seen pictures of Grant. You look like neither. You had a lot of surgery, I see. It must have hurt a lot—I hope.’

  Lucy Atherton giggled.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You were in the car. It’s only if you look real close you can see the scars, Lucy. They’re just fine hairlines.’

  I said, ‘You seem interested, Howard.’

  ‘I wondered about that—you calling me Howard all the time. Frank used to do it. Are you Frank?’

  ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘Sure,’ he agreed. ‘What’s the difference? What did you see in the car? Now you can tell me, or you’re going to have to get some more surgery done on that pretty face.’

  ‘You tell me what I saw—and I’ll tell you if you’re right.’

  His face tightened in anger and he made a slight move, but not enough to bring him within range of my hands. It was awkward sitting down; it’s not a position from which you can move quickly.

  ‘Let’s have no games,’ he said harshly. ‘Talk!’

  A voice from the door said, ‘Lay that gun down, Howard, or I’ll blow your spine out.’

  I flicked my eyes to the door and saw Mac holding a double-barrelled shotgun on Howard. Howard froze and turned slowly, pivoting on his hips. Mac said sharply, ‘The gun, Howard—lay it down. I won’t tell you again.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Lucy quickly. ‘He’s got a shotgun.’

  Howard lowered the rifle and I stood and took it as it slipped from his hands; if it dropped on the floor it might have gone
off. I stepped back and looked at Mac, who smiled grimly. ‘I put the shotgun into the jeep this morning in case we needed it,’ he said. ‘Lucky I did. All right, Howard: walk over to that wall. You too, sister Lucy.’

  I examined Howard’s rifle. The safety-catch was off, and as I worked the action, a round flew out of the breech. I hadn’t been very far from having my head blown off. ‘Thanks, Mac,’ I said.

  ‘No time for formalities,’ he said. ‘Howard, sit on the floor with your back to the wall. And you, Lucy. Don’t be shy.’

  Howard’s face was filled with hate. He said, ‘You’re not going to get far with this kind of thing. My boys will nail you, Boyd.’

  ‘Boyd?’ I said. ‘I thought it was Grant—or Trinavant. The thing that’s eating you, Howard, is that you don’t know, do you? You’re not sure.’

  I turned to Mac. ‘What do we do now?’

  He grinned. ‘You go and follow Clare. Make sure she brings Gibbons on the run. We can nail this sonofabitch for armed hold-up. I’ll keep him here.’

  I looked at Howard dubiously. ‘Don’t let him jump you.’

  ‘He’d be too scared.’ Mac patted the shotgun. ‘I’ve got buckshot in this baby; at this range it would blow him clean in two. Hear that, Howard?’

  Matterson said nothing, and Mac added, ‘That goes for sister Lucy, too. You just sit there, Mrs Atherton.’

  ‘Okay, Mac,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you within the half-hour.’ I picked up Howard’s rifle and unloaded it, tossing the bullets into a corner. As I ran for the jeep I threw the rifle into the undergrowth and within a minute I was on my way.

  But not for long. There was a corner just before the turnoff to Fort Farrell and, as I spun the wheel and the jeep swung round, I saw a tree felled right across the track. There was hardly time to jam on the brakes and the jeep rammed it head-on. Fortunately I’d slowed for the corner but the impact didn’t do the front end of the jeep any good, and I nearly rammed my head through the windshield.

  The next thing I knew was that someone was trying to haul me out of the cab. There was a shrill whistle and a shout—‘Here he is!’