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Murder, London--Australia

Page 16

by John Creasey


  Solomon stopped, moistened his lips, and shifted his feet. Doreen was still sitting on the bed, but twisted round, staring at Solomon. Roger stretched out for an upright chair, and pushed it near Solomon.

  “I’m all right,” Solomon said roughly. He squared his shoulders and stood to his full height. “I heard from a friend in Sydney that they’d got these jobs on the Kookaburra, and I didn’t like the sound of it. I always had a sneaking fear that they’d had something to do with the loss of the Koala. They were running a launch service to Heyman Island at the time, and were less than fifty miles from the spot where she foundered. They wouldn’t talk about their reasons for sailing with the Kookaburra, so I booked a passage. I borrowed Ben Limm’s passport – just stuck my photograph in place of his. Ben is prospecting for uranium up near Cape York, and didn’t need it. The issue stamping was about right, and no one ever noticed it. I didn’t want Paul and Marcus to know in advance. They didn’t know I was on board until we’d been at sea the better part of a day.”

  “What did they do?” Roger asked.

  “They told me I was wrong to be suspicious, and they were going to work for Blue Flag in future. They said they’d got over their thirst for revenge.”

  “Did you believe them?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see any evidence of what they were planning?”

  “I don’t really know,” Solomon said, heavily. He looked round at Doreen, as if the way she was now staring at him had made him sensitive. The expression in his eyes grew brighter and his voice became stronger. “At the end of the voyage Paul was seen entering passengers’ cabins, and he had a passenger’s wallet in his own berth. The passenger wouldn’t make a charge, and Paul had to leave the ship at Southampton. Marcus went with him. They’d talked big to Denise and Doreen on the ship, and I tried to discourage the girls, but they wouldn’t listen. When I saw Denise’s photograph in the newspaper, I just had to know what had happened to Doreen, so I came and saw you. I couldn’t tell all the truth but I told as much of it as I could. I didn’t believe Paul was a murderer. I can hardly believe it even now.”

  Doreen stood up from the bed, very slowly.

  “You said you didn’t really know if you saw any evidence against your brothers,” Roger said.

  “I thought possibly they’d decided to steal from the passengers, making things as unpleasant for the line as possible,” Solomon said. “Now it’s obvious there was more to it than that, and entering cabins and stealing that wallet may have had something to do with it. As for why they killed Denise and tried to kill Doreen, and why they killed Sheldon – I simply don’t know. In London . . .”

  He hesitated again, and glanced round; Doreen was within arm’s reach. He stretched out, and she took his hand.

  “In London I simply didn’t know what to do. I told you who—who Denise was. I hoped – I prayed – that my brothers had nothing to do with her murder, but now I know they had. The one thing I could do was try to help Doreen. I felt sure she must know why it had happened even if she didn’t realise it. You”—he looked at Roger—“you asked me to try to make her talk, but I didn’t need any persuasion. She can’t remember anything that might help, that’s the hell of it. Can you, Dorry?”

  “If only I could,” she said. Her voice was stronger and her manner had a new self-assurance. “I’ve racked my brains but I can’t think of a thing anyone told me about those two. Ben”—he did not seem to realise that she used his false name—“why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would you really have believed me?” Solomon asked. “Would it really have been better to know who I was? I wanted to make you remember, because it seemed the only way I could save you from harm.”

  His manner, his eyes, his voice, all added, ‘Because I love you so much.’

  “Just one more question,” Roger said. “Do you know why your brothers didn’t attack you?”

  After a long silence, Solomon Barring answered, “They wouldn’t kill me. That’s the last thing they’d do. The family mattered so much to them. They wouldn’t kill me in any circumstances. They’d take it for granted I wouldn’t harm them, either.” He squared his shoulders. “You’ll make sure Doreen is safe while I’m away, won’t you?”

  “Where are you planning to go?” asked Luke Shaw.

  “Aren’t you going to take me with you?”

  “We’re going to watch you closely, and we want you to stay here until we’ve cleared up some points,” Luke said. “So far we may have suspicion but we haven’t any case against you.”

  “The best thing you can do is to try to jog Doreen’s memory,” Roger said emphatically. “Even a word or two might be enough to help us. One question, now.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know where we might find your brother Marcus?”

  “If I did I’d take you to him,” Solomon Barring declared. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  It was some time before either Shaw or Roger spoke, when they had left the room. Roger felt strangely affected both by the story and by the reconciliation between the man and Doreen. There was some quality about their obvious love for each other which had a humbling effect on him.

  “I think he was telling the truth,” said Shaw abruptly, when they were in the hotel hall.

  “It would surprise me if he wasn’t,” Roger admitted. “How soon can you check with the real Limm?”

  “Shouldn’t take long,” Shaw said. “I’ll get it started as soon as I’m back in the office. You any ideas?”

  “My only idea is to speed up the answers from those ships,” Roger said.

  “Should be coming in by now.” Shaw stepped on to the pavement of Liverpool Street and saw the mass of home-going traffic between them and the park, screwed up his nose and remarked, “Be quicker to walk than take the car.”

  “Suits me,” said Roger. “Do you know what we haven’t had time to do?”

  “Digest the developments of the conference with the Flags,” answered Shaw, with a nod. “We’ll have to see what the old subconscious has done for us. When you called their bluff they caved in pretty quick.”

  “Too quick?” wondered Roger.

  “Don’t be cryptic. Tell you what,” went on Shaw, “let’s shut up until we’re back in the office. We can’t talk here.”

  He was right. The pavements were thicker with people than the roads with cars. There was the constant hum of engines, clatter of footsteps, medley of other noises. Shaw kept just ahead, and Roger had difficulty in keeping pace, so many people got in their path. It was relaxing in a way – physical exertion and stimulation yet a rest for his mind. They seemed to be walking past shops for a long time until they came to the narrow street which led to the police headquarters. This was almost empty, a temporary backwater. They turned into the crowded parking place of the building and went up in a lift which crawled. Shaw drummed his fingers on the back of his hand, betraying his impatience. They got out at the third floor, and walked straight to his office. It was empty. The papers on the desk were tidy, and on top of one file was a pencilled note, much as Kebble would have left it in Roger’s office. Almost indifferently Shaw picked it up and read it. The change in his manner was astounding.

  “The bloody swine,” he rasped. “Marcus Barring rang up, and sent a message to you and me.”

  Roger streaked across the room, and read as Shaw went on, “He says the Kookaburra will never tie up again. And if I know Barring, he means it.”

  19

  Messages From Ships At Sea

  As Roger read, and Luke Shaw talked, a man appeared at the doorway. Roger noticed him first. He was a stranger, tall and well dressed, Raymond Flag in build and appearance but in a less unctuous way. He looked very alert as he came in, iron-grey hair brushed straight back from a broad forehead. His eyes were deep-set, very brilliant blue.

 
Luke Shaw snapped almost to attention.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  “Hallo, Luke.” The newcomer advanced towards Roger, hands outstretched; a remembered photograph and Luke’s manner told Roger this was Hugh Petherell, the Commissioner of Police for New South Wales. “Sorry I couldn’t meet you earlier, Superintendent.”

  His handclasp was very firm.

  “You’ve talked to Marcus Barring, I understand. Do you think this is a genuine message or a hoax?”

  “I think he thinks that what he says is true,” answered Roger.

  “Thinks?”

  “He believes the Kookaburra will sink before she ties up again.”

  “Wouldn’t he know for certain?”

  “I don’t see how we can be sure that he does,” reasoned Roger. “I’d take it very seriously indeed.”

  “My God, so would I,” Luke breathed.

  The Commissioner was looking at Roger, now unsmiling.

  “I’m told you persuaded the Flags to make a decision they had no liking for,” he said. “So if there is trouble on board the Kookaburra, a search should reveal it. If it doesn’t, the Flags will say the whole thing is a hoax aimed at their good name and their goodwill.”

  “Do they know about this message?”

  “No,” Petherell said. “I telephoned Raymond Flag to tell him that I had reason to believe there was danger, that is all. How widespread is your search for Marcus Barring, Luke?”

  “As wide as I can make it.”

  “Statewide, do you mean?”

  “Nationwide.”

  “We must find him,” Petherell said. “The search must have absolute priority.”

  Obviously he was deeply worried.

  “What have you new for me?”

  He sat on a corner of the desk, expectantly. Shaw reported the interview with the Flags and the development with Solomon Barring. Petherell frowned in concentration throughout that story.

  “And you left Solomon Barring at the hotel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get him here,” Petherell demanded. “There’s no way of being sure that he’s telling the truth.” There was an edge of reprimand in his voice. “One of his brothers sacrificed his life, so did Lancelot Smith. Solomon might murder this girl knowing he can’t get away with it. Bring him in at once and hold him for questioning.”

  Luke looked at Roger, in a kind of sardonic appeal.

  “What do you think, Handsome?”

  “It can’t do any harm even if I don’t think it will do any good,” Roger conceded.

  “It will make sure that we don’t lose Doreen Morrison by our own neglect,” Petherell said decisively. “That’s a chance I’m not going to take.”

  Luke Shaw’s hand was already on the telephone.

  “I quite understand why you have to do this,” Solomon Barring said. “It doesn’t alter the fact that I have told you the whole truth.”

  “Haven’t you any idea at all where we might find your brother?” Roger demanded.

  “None at all.”

  “No old haunts or familiar places?”

  “None that aren’t known to anybody. The Surf Club, the Sydney Yacht Club, the Skin Divers Club – but he couldn’t hide out in any of these.”

  “Any girlfriends? Women friends?”

  “No steadies. Marcus always took his pleasures where he could find them,” Solomon Barring said bitterly. “If I could help you I would. You can’t want to see this thing through more than I do.”

  “Did your brother have many friends?”

  “He hasn’t been in Sydney much for the past ten years. I doubt if he’s seen any of his old friends since we had to sell out. Not that he ever had many friends. He always had to do everything better than anyone else, which didn’t exactly make him popular.”

  “All the same we’d better question as many as we can,” Luke said. He was smarting under Petherell’s implied rebuke. “Make out a list, will you?”

  “If I must,” Solomon said. “Superintendent . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t let anything happen to Doreen.”

  “She’s under full protection.”

  “She’d better be.”

  “Barring, hasn’t she recollected anything to give a clue?” Roger asked.

  “Nothing – absolutely nothing,” Solomon assured him with obvious conviction. “I don’t think she will, now. I’m beginning to wonder whether there was anything for her to remember.”

  “So am I,” Roger said softly. “There may be a way to find out. We missed it earlier. Can you call on a good psychiatrist to probe into her mind?” he added to Shaw.

  “Can do,” Shaw answered at once. “We may have missed it but we haven’t had much time. I’ll fix it. If Doreen hasn’t got anything to remember it would make nonsense of the whole affair.” After a moment’s hesitation he turned away. “I must get cracking. Don’t miss anyone off that list of old-time friends of your brother, Barring.”

  “They won’t do anything to Ben, will they?” Doreen Morrison hadn’t yet fully accepted her lover’s new identity. “He told you the truth, I’m sure he did.”

  “I think so too,” Roger reassured her. “And if he did, he’s in no danger from the police. Doreen, do you realise what might be at stake?”

  “The Kookaburra, and everyone on it.”

  “Or an even bigger ship,” Roger said. “We’re going to get a psychiatrist to try to help you. Co-operate in every possible way, won’t you? It will not only help the ship, it might help to prove that Ben is telling the truth.”

  Jack and Jill Parrish stood on the deck of the Kookaburra, early next morning, Saturday, arms about each other as if the moon, not the rising sun, was spreading light over them. Near by, three sailors were checking the provisions in a lifeboat.

  “Three more days and three more nights,” Jack Parrish said. He was looking at his young wife’s profile. “Then a week in Sydney and a last shopping spree, before life among the bananas!”

  “Don’t make me eat too many,” Jill said. “Darling, did you notice anything strange yesterday?”

  “No. Did you?”

  “There seemed such a bustle among the crew – and our cabin hasn’t been cleaned so thoroughly since we came aboard.”

  “Spring cleaning, because the VIPs might come aboard for an inspection,” Jack said. “They’re even going over the lifeboats again, although they checked them just out of Hong Kong. Just as well they’re thorough.”

  Marcus Barring, unaware of the fact that over the years his hatred of the Blue Flag Line had become an obsession, swam from the little beach near Sydney Heads with the long, deliberate strokes of the swimmer who was absolutely at home in the water. Near by were some rocks, popular with goggle- fishers and underwater swimmers, and used by beginners in skin-diving. Today he wore goggles, with the breathing tube inches above the water, and flippers. If every policeman in Sydney had seen him then they would not have recognised him, he felt absolutely confident of that, confident enough to boast about what he was going to do. He had to boast, had to talk on the telephone at the very least; bottling everything up inside him was impossible. He could still remember how shocked the policeman he had talked to had sounded. He felt absolutely secure.

  The Water Police in the launch carrying out their part in the great search for the wanted man, did not give this skin-diver a second thought. After all, there were eight or nine others within sight.

  Marcus Barring was making quite sure he knew the effect of the currents and of the swell just inside the Heads.

  The first radio telegram from a Blue Flag Line ship reached Police HQ at a quarter past three that Saturday morning. It said:

  Search completed, nothing found. Master, Nesia.

  By the time Roger
reached the office, at a quarter to eight, eleven ‘all clear’ messages were in, but none from the Kookaburra. A sergeant brought in two more. The Reef, in dock at Hong Kong was clear; so was The Tasman, now sailing between Bombay and Colombo.

  At half past eight, Luke Shaw arrived.

  “Don’t look so smug, I’ve been down to the harbour and had a talk with the Water Branch,” he said. “They’ve searched every small ship, every possible hiding place along the shore line, and they’ve found no sign of Barring. The devil can’t have disappeared into thin air.” As he spoke the sergeant came in again. “Anything from the Kookaburra yet?”

  “No. The Adela’s clear, in Saigon.”

  “How many does that make?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Over halfway. Any word from that psychiatrist, Handsome?”

  “I saw him at ten o’clock last night,” Roger answered. “Nothing doing yet.”

  “Does he think she’s got anything tucked away in her mind?”

  “He thinks she might have.”

  “Fat lot of help that is,” Shaw gloomed. “Well, he’s got the weekend to work in, and so have we. It’s a good job we know the Kookaburra’s been warned, if we didn’t I’d fly up to her myself.”

  “Where is she?”

  “About two hundred miles north of Brisbane,” Shaw answered. “She’s due to berth on Tuesday, early afternoon. We can’t do a thing except work over all we know, check with Hong Kong, and make sure we’re all set to act on Monday morning.”

  “We can cable the Yard to go over everything at Smith’s office with a fine-toothed comb,” Roger said. “And we can get them to check whether there’s any sign of Communist influence at the Blue Flag Line office there. Fred Hodges will have more time to work on Wu Hong, too. Where shall we work from?”

 

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