Murder, London--Australia

by John Creasey

  “Better spend the weekend at my place,” Luke said. “At least we’ll have some comforts between telephone calls.”

  Fifi Shaw could not have made Roger more welcome; they even found time, on the Sunday afternoon, to drive up to Palm Beach and look in at the surfing at all the beaches on the way. Word came from more and more ships that no explosives had been found after a thorough search.

  They were in the office early on the Monday morning, edgy because the only word from the Kookaburra was that the search was proceeding. There were piles of papers on Luke Shaw’s desk, almost as many on Roger’s. Most were routine reports, details of the ships’ searches. Roger made hardly any notes as he read on.

  Shaw looked up, a file under his hand.

  “We’ve questioned twenty-nine of Barring’s old buddies, and none of them have seen him for five years or more.” He studied another report. “The real Benjamin Limm confirms Solomon’s story about the passport, the police up at Broome have interviewed him. Damned fool.”

  Shaw put those papers aside and picked up another file. Roger saw his body stiffen.

  “Here’s a queer one.”

  Roger went across to him, heart leaping.

  “Good or bad?”

  “Remember Percival Sheldon?”

  “He was in insurance in Adelaide, and murdered at London Airport,” Roger said.

  “Good on you.” Shaw looked up, frowning, but a hint of excitement showed in his eyes. “He was a friend of Mortimer Flag. How about that?”

  He squatted on the corner of his desk.

  “I wonder if those baskets know more than we realise. How would you like a chance to put Mortimer through a nice fine screen, the fat son-and-so.”

  “Don’t you want it?” asked Roger. “Where’s that list of members of the Sydney Yacht Club?”

  As Shaw handed it to him he flipped over the pages to the F's.

  “I’ve got to see the Commissioner at nine-thirty, and I ought to be around until all the reports are in from the ships. Go and see Mortimer, Handsome. If there’s any news, I’ll call you.”

  Roger said softly, “I’ll gladly go. Mortimer Flag is about Marcus Barring’s age, which is thirty-nine. Percival Sheldon was thirty-eight. All three were members of the Yacht Club, as well as in the same age group. Did they have anything else in common, I wonder.”

  Mortimer Flag was in his own office, which was large, shiny, almost flashy. A big portrait of Raymond Flag, the silvery hair showing that it had been painted recently, hung on the wall behind the desk. There was a huge slab of plate glass over it. To call him fat would be unjust, but he would soon become fat if he went on as he was doing. His fair hair was slicked down, his pale face had the smoothness of a woman’s – almost as if he did not need to shave.

  “Yes, I knew Sheldon as a club member,” he said to Roger. “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”

  That was a poor attempt at sarcasm.

  “I also knew Marcus Barring.”

  “Was there any association except in the club?” asked Roger.

  “We were known to play cards together.”

  “You mean you gambled?”

  “With modest stakes, yes. I really cannot see the relevance of these questions. All of this is old history. We haven’t met for over ten years.”

  “When you broke up the Barrings’ business—”

  “Let me make one thing crystal clear,” interrupted Mortimer. He acquired a kind of dignity which Roger had not seen in him before. “We did not break up the Barring Line. It was an old-fashioned, badly managed company, seriously undercapitalised. In order to meet increasing competition, the Line borrowed too heavily and incurred a number of debts it could not pay. When we acquired it, we paid off all debts, gave old Barring generous compensation, and later even made room for the sons in this company, when they were in need. There is no guilty conscience among the directors of this company, Superintendent.”

  Roger said mildly, “That’s good, sir. It’s always easier to work with all the cards on the table. You were friendly with Marcus Barring before the take-over, then. Were you afterwards?”

  “No. He took the take-over as a personal affront and behaved like a fool.”

  “Whose side was Sheldon on?”

  “As far as I know he took a completely rational view. He moved to Adelaide soon afterwards, and continued to do considerable business for the Line. That is no secret. We met perhaps twice a year.”

  “Did you ever notice any change in his attitude towards you?”

  “None at all.”

  “Why did he travel on the Kookaburra?”

  “He had a serious operation for lung cancer last year, was advised to take a long sea trip, and was able to go on the Blue Flag Line at a nominal cost.” Mortimer Flag’s little, feminine mouth was pressed so tightly that the lips seems to disappear. “Where is all this leading to?”

  “I want to know what other interests you, Sheldon, and Marcus Barring had in common, what friends you had, whether there was any reason other than the take-over for Barring’s deep-rooted enmity.”

  “We had no other interests – except a love of swimming, surfing, and sailing. We were members of the same surf, swimming, and yachting clubs. If you get lists of the members of the clubs twelve years ago you will find all the information I can give you. Now you must excuse me, Superintendent. I have an important board meeting in twenty minutes’ time.”

  “I won’t keep you long,” Roger said. “One more question.”

  “Very well.”

  “Are you considering any offer for a take-over, Mr Flag?”

  Flag snapped, “No, we are not.”

  “Hasn’t it been on the agenda?”

  “No!”

  “Then what made you think that the whole purpose of the Kookaburra murders might be an attempt to weaken your standing? Your cousin Gregory was most concerned as to what would happen if the stories got around – too concerned, some might think. So were you. A company in good standing can weather a temporary recession, but a company which wants to preserve itself and its assets including goodwill could suffer from rumours very seriously. Why are you so nervous, Mr Flag?”

  Mortimer Flag stood up, very slowly, moistened his lips, held his right lapel tighter, showing how plump and pale his hand was, and spoke with unexpected dignity.

  “I am not nervous. Nor are my fellow directors. We are jealous, extremely jealous, of our good name. We do not believe there is anything for us to fear. We believe that if you, the police, did your job properly you would find that these murders are not associated with the Blue Flag Line. If you wish to see me in the future, Superintendent, I must ask you to make a formal appointment. Now I must ask you to—”

  His telephone bell rang. He hesitated, then leaned forward, and picked up the instrument.

  “I told you I wanted no interruptions . . . I see . . . yes, in those circumstances you were quite right.” He held out the telephone. “The call is for you.”

  “Thanks.” Roger took the receiver, and in doing so touched Mortimer Flag’s hand; it was warm and moist. He gave that a passing thought as he said, “West speaking.”

  “Handsome, it looks as if we’re coming unstuck,” Luke Shaw said in a voice which betrayed real anxiety. “We’ve had all the radio reports in now, and every ship is clear – including the Kookaburra, which is due in on Monday, a day early.”

  It was now Monday morning, time was running so very short.

  20

  Jubilation to Despair

  Mortimer Flag, still standing at the desk, stared intently at Roger. Roger had the impression that the director already knew the result of the searches, and was now looking for signs of defeat; was beginning to gloat.

  Roger swallowed his pride, and said, “Every ship completely cle
ar. Is that it?”

  “That’s it. Almost wish one would blow up,” Shaw said lugubriously. “Thought I’d better let you know in case the Flags know already. You’ll realise it won’t be any use trying to ride roughshod over them. Sorry I got you into this spot, Handsome.”

  Roger laughed, honestly amused.

  “If that’s the worst that ever happens to me, I’ll be lucky. I’ll be seeing you.”

  He replaced the receiver, and smiled at Mortimer Flag.

  “All your ships report clear,” he said.

  Mortimer’s eyes were glowing.

  “That’s wonderful!” So he hadn’t known. “I told you you were making a mares’ nest.”

  He lifted a telephone, but before he spoke the door behind Roger opened and Raymond Flag appeared. Roger, looking over his shoulder, saw the Chairman’s eyes glowing, and the look of triumph on his face. Just behind him Gregory Flag was grinning with delight.

  “All absolutely clear,” Raymond crowed.

  “God, what a relief!” exclaimed Gregory.

  Roger moved so that his back wasn’t to any of them. He had expected to find gloating; in fact, he found what seemed to be unfeigned relief, remarkable in men who had appeared so confident that there could not possibly have been trouble on any of the Blue Flag Line ships.

  “Surprised, Superintendent?” asked Raymond. “I suppose that’s natural. We believed you were wrong, but when you were so insistent you really had us worried. This is a great relief.”

  “Even if it disappoints Superintendent West,” Mortimer put in waspishly.

  “If I’ve given you the impression that I wanted one of your ships to vanish with all hands, I did a bad job,” Roger said. “This may remove your main anxiety, but it doesn’t remove mine. I want to catch a killer. I need men with money who are behind the killer, and I need to know why the murders were committed, why Lancelot Smith warned me that any of your ships might go down, and—”

  “I’ve told you, Smith was obsessed with delusions,” Raymond interrupted.

  “Do you think that’s why Marcus Barring telephoned Superintendent Shaw and told him that the Kookaburra would never tie up in Sydney Harbour again?” asked Roger.

  “I don’t believe . . .” Gregory began, but his voice trailed off.

  “What?” gasped Mortimer.

  “When was this?” demanded Raymond Flag.

  All their jubilation vanished; in an instant their mood changed completely, alarm if not consternation was in their manner. They had moved so that they were lined up on one side of Mortimer’s desk and Roger was on the other, his back to the door.

  “It was immediately after I made an issue of the searches,” Roger said. None of the others spoke, and into the tense silence he dropped a question he had been wanting to ask ever since he had known these men. “There are rumours that Chinese interests in Pekin would like to acquire the Blue Flag Line, and are attempting to force you to sell just as you forced the Barrings to sell. Have you been under any such pressures?”

  When none of them answered, he went on, “The kind of sacrifices made by Lancelot Smith and Paul Barring square with fanatical political faith. Have you any reason to believe that Smith was a Communist?”

  Gregory Flag said, “My God!”

  Mortimer moved across to an easy-chair in the window, and dropped down into it.

  Raymond stood at the desk, very pale, very still. It seemed a long time before he spoke, a long time before he could make up his mind what to say. When the words did come they were low-pitched and uttered in a voice empty of emotion.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Roger, touched by the tension, made himself speak harshly.

  “Are you sure he was?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know he was involved in some conspiracy against the company?”

  Raymond answered, “We feared it.”

  “Why?”

  “We know he wanted us to sell a majority of our holdings to Chinese nominees. We refused. When these crimes were perpetrated, we feared that an attempt was being made to force our hands.”

  “When did this pressure begin?”

  “Six months ago.”

  “After the SS Koala sank?” asked Roger.

  “Yes,” Raymond said. “In fact that—”

  “Raymond, there’s no need for this,” Mortimer said. He jumped up from the chair looking pale, but as if he were ready to put up a fight. “There is no need for any further admissions or statements. There have been enough. We’ve done everything humanly possible to make sure nothing goes wrong. Let matters rest as they are.”

  “You didn’t do much about warning your ships’ masters, although you must have feared danger to one or another of them,” Roger said harshly.

  “We knew perfectly well that if you wanted the warnings sent out you would send them out, it was immaterial whether we liked it or not,” Mortimer said coldly. “Your way it was a police enquiry. Had it been sent out by us it would have implied our belief that there was some danger. No such admission was necessary. We are not fools, Mr West.”

  “I wonder.”

  “What the hell do you mean?” Gregory Flag roared.

  “You must be fools if you really doubt whether I know that severe pressures made you keep silent, refusing to admit there was any danger. Obviously the pressure first made itself felt six months ago, nearly eighteen months after the loss of the Koala. They must have been very severe to affect you so badly. I’d say you were blackmailed.”

  “I won’t listen to this nonsense!” cried Mortimer. He jumped up and came forward, podgy hands clenched. “You have no right to slander—”

  “Oh, shut up,” Roger said angrily. “I can say what I like to the three of you, there’s no question of slander. If it ever came to a court of law you’d be three to one against me, so I couldn’t bring it to court. The Koala’s sinking was an insurance fraud, wasn’t it?”

  “Don’t say a word!” cried Mortimer. “Deny it.”

  Neither of the others spoke, but Raymond slowly turned away. After a moment, he asked, “Who else suspects this?”

  “Never mind that,” Roger rasped. “The Kookaburra is under threat. She’s been reported all clear and yet she’s still under threat. You know it. You expected something to be found aboard, that was why you were so elated when you had the all clear. Was the Kookaburra your second insurance swindle? Was she to go down with all passengers and all hands to make some more filthy money for you?”

  When no one responded he raised his voice and shouted, “Is that the truth? Answer, damn you, answer me!”

  “Don’t—don’t say a word,” Mortimer almost choked.

  After another long pause, Raymond Flag turned round, faced Roger squarely, and said, “There is nothing we can do to stop it, West. We don’t know what Marcus Barring plans, we have no idea how he meant to carry his plans out. There is nothing at all we can do.”

  “We didn’t know what he planned!” Mortimer said gaspingly. “Greg – make Ray stop. He mustn’t say another word. Make him stop.”

  The Flag brothers now stared at each other, as if in fear.

  Roger said savagely, “I don’t know what you’ve got on your conscience. But if another man dies, if another man is injured, my God you’ll pay for it.”

  “I tell you we don’t know where to find Barring!” That was Raymond.

  “Was he to blow up the Kookaburra for you?”

  “Don’t say a word!” screeched Mortimer.

  “You must know what he planned. How was he going to do it?” Anger, half simulated, half real, made Roger’s voice hoarse. Recollection of the positive relief these men had shown when told nothing had been found on any ship made one thing obvious. They had expected a time-bomb or some such device inside t
he ship before it reached Sydney, but did not necessarily know anything more. If he could frighten them enough they might yet tell him what Marcus Barring planned.

  A telephone bell rang, a jarring, unwanted sound from outside. Gregory Flag moved and plucked up the instrument, snatching at any release from tension. Mortimer moved towards his elder cousin, hands stretched out as if in supplication. There would be no doubt of the awful guilt of these three men, but that hardly seemed important; retribution could come later, rescue from that unknown danger was desperately needed first.

  “Yes?” Gregory Flag’s voice rose high. “Who? . . . yes, hold on.”

  He lowered the receiver and handed it towards Roger. “It’s Shaw, for you.”

  Roger took the telephone, and said as mildly as he could, “Yes, Luke?”

  “We’ve had a break,” Shaw said with suppressed excitement. “That psychiatrist made something click in Doreen Morrison’s memory. She remembers a quarrel between Perce Sheldon, the Adelaide insurance man and Paul Barring. She doesn’t know what it was about, but she remembers some of the words. Your psychiatrist thinks some are probably key words. Ready for ‘em?”

  “Yes,” Roger said.

  “Sheldon shouted the words: ‘Yes, all of them, damn you, all of them. You’ll never get away with it.’”

  Roger had a pencil out and wrote swiftly in a kind of private shorthand.

  “Next?”

  “Paul Barring responded calmly: ‘Nothing you or anyone else can do will stop us. You’d better not try.’”

  “Go on,” Roger said tensely. He was aware of the others drawing nearer, as if in an effort to see what he was writing.

  “Sheldon replied, wildly: ‘You can’t scare me. Too many people know. Don’t open your bloody mouth, understand?’”

  “Yes,” Roger said.

  “That’s it.” Shaw seemed almost reluctant to finish. “Someone else came along – the Captain or first mate, Doreen thinks, and the shouting stopped. Next time Sheldon and Paul Barring met they were drinking together, and seemed on friendly terms. Doreen says she forgot everything about this until the psychiatrist questioned her about conversations she had heard between other people. Then it came back to her. See the significance, don’t you? Sheldon’s ‘all of them’ could have meant the people who afterwards died. Paul Barring’s ‘you’d better not try to stop us,’ could be the threat to kill. Sheldon or any of the people he was supposed to have informed could have become a danger to the Barrings.”