Blame The Dead

by Gavin Lyall

  For a moment I think he was really offended. Then he chuckled.

  'In the Lancers we never called anybody "sir" except our wine merchants.'

  Thirty-nine

  It took us just over an hour, including a dog-leg around another small island, so probably Kari was right about that five knots. As we came up to Saevarstad itself, she asked, 'Where do we land now?'

  'There's a small harbour just south of the house itself. Quiet the engine and go for that.'

  'You chose this place already, then?'

  'Let's say it had crossed my mind. Will Rasmussen or the sanatorium own a boat?'

  'They are sure to, yes. It is like a car for those on an island.'

  That's what I'd thought.

  The sanatorium was easy enough to identify; it was the only three-storey house in sight and the only one I remembered seeing on the island anyway. But a hundred yards out from the land, the little inlet still hadn't showed itself clear. And there were sharp black rocks silhouetted against the starlight glitter of the water.

  Kari said doubtfully, 'I do not think I can-'

  'We need a light,' Willie snapped.

  David said, 'There's a big signalling lamp in the cabin.'

  'Get it, please."

  He dived inside and came out again with an aged Aldis lamp on a long tarry flex. Willie took it, looked at the plug, said, 'God knows what this does to the batteries, but…" He plugged it into a socket on the little instrument board beside the engine, and pulled the trigger.

  A solid beam of light snapped out across the water and splashed silently on a small concrete quay dead ahead.

  Kari kicked the throttle forward and we surged in, Willie standing up by the mast and fanning the light gently from side to side to show up any rocks.

  David whispered, 'D'you think they'll see the light, sir?'

  'Why should they be looking?' The big house was almost out of sight behind a hump of land. 'And why are you whispering?'

  In the glow of reflected light, I caught his sudden grin and nod.

  There were a couple of other boats tied up there, but one was a fishing-boat and the other just an open lifeboat with an engine stuck in the middle and smelling of fertiliser. Nothing to belong to a posh boozing-home; they'd keep their boat down at the main harbour, as I'd hoped.

  David objected at being left with the boat – and out of what he hoped would be action – until Willie gave him a genuine military snarl, and he sat down abruptly on the cabin top. The three of us walked up a short wide path to the coast road, and the sanatorium was about two hundred yards ahead.

  Kari asked, 'What are you going to do now?'

  'Ask a few questions, maybe tell a few little lies. Be careful how you get in front of me, as well.'

  'There is another car now.'

  A white old-model Cortina stood alongside the Saab and the Microbus ambulance. I tried the door and it opened, but the key wasn't in. House rule, I expect, about not leaving keys in cars, just in case somebody tried to break for it. I looked up at the house, but nobody had heard us yet, and the ground-floor rooms were all heavily curtained.

  I bent and unscrewed one of the tyre valves. 'You fix the Saab,' I said to Willie.

  He just nodded and didn't ask why. Probably he'd been quite a good soldier.

  We walked quietly up on to the porch and rang the bell.

  After a while there was the same clicking and clacking of locks and bolts and a light directly overhead flared on just as the door opened and Rasmussen himself frowned out at us.

  No white coat this time, just a natty dove-grey suit stretched tight across his barrel chest, a white shirt, and a club tie. Or medical society.

  'You?' he asked incredulously.

  'Us,' I agreed and held up a hand against his tendency to push the door shut in our faces. 'Couple of things I didn't quite get clear. You did say that you'd started treatment on Herr Nygaard?'

  'Two days since. Now-'

  'But you didn't say whether he'd signed an agreement to treatment.'

  He frowned heavily, but the bright brown eyes weren't quite steady beneath it. 'I told you there was no commitment-'

  'No, so there has to be an agreement giving you the right to keep him here for up to a year. The State doesn't want patients changing their minds and going back on the sauce halfway through. And every admission has to be registered with the national Director for Treatment of Alcoholics."

  'You have been reading a book again,' he said contemptuously.

  'No, I just asked a good doctor. You could always do the same if you're in any doubt.'

  He flushed, glanced quickly at the girl and Willie. 'Well, what do you want?'

  'I want to see the paperwork that proves Nygaard's here legally – or Nygaard himself.'

  'Tonight it is impossible.'

  'Now, Doctor, now.' And I leaned against the door harder.

  'I will call the police.'

  'Fine, we'll wait for them. Either he's properly signed in or he isn't. And if you got him to sign something when he was smashed, then we'll get Doctor Moe up from the village to run a blood or urine test. If he's been dry for two days he shouldn't show any alcohol. If he's registering four hundred, as I expect, then you can use your licence to light your next cigar. The paper or the patient, Doctor. There's no third way.'

  But he tried one. He threw the door wide and yelled, 'Trond!'

  I looked at Kari. 'Are you convinced?'

  I didn't need the nod; her wide cold eyes and set Viking expression were enough.

  'Then go and get him.' I stepped into the house behind them.

  They'd just reached the stairs when big Trond galloped out from some passage behind them. He was still wearing the short-sleeved white coat and a hopeful expression.

  I took the derringer out and aimed it loosely. 'Keep the Reichsmarschall out of this or you'll be treating a different sort of liver trouble.'

  Rasmussen glanced down at the little gun.

  I said, 'They're thirty-eight Special wadcutters but you don't have to believe that, either. Just ask him afterwards.'

  He said something quickly and Trond stopped near the foot of the stairs, slow disappointment spreading across his face.

  Kari had just about reached Nygaard's room now, almost out of sight unless I kept well back towards the door. Willie just behind her.

  Rasmussen said something else and Trond smiled and turned away.

  I snapped the gun around at the doctor himself. 'Stop him. Keep him here!' He looked down the two stubby barrels, shrugged very slightly, and called again. Trond stopped.

  Rasmussen said, 'You will have much trouble with the police, I think.'

  'There's trouble all over, Doctor. I think it's something going around. How did Mrs Smith-Bang swing you into taking up this ploy?'

  The name jolted him. Not much, but enough to keep him busy for a moment. And moments were what I wanted. I just hoped Willie and Kari weren't playing dressing-up-dolls games with Nygaard.

  I chattered on, 'I wonder if you know how much all this involves, Doctor? Did you hear of a man called Martin Fen-wick? Shot dead in Arras two weeks ago. Steen, Jonas Steen -murdered in Bergen, last week. Henrick Lie, fake suicide, same place. Did you know all about them, Doctor? And a man called Pat Kavanagh?'

  By Christ, hehad heard of Kavanagh. But just then, Kari and Willie hauled Nygaard out of his room and started for the stairs. He had an old uniform greatcoat on, with three stripes at the epaulettes, and I couldn't see what else. But Willie was carrying a bunch of clothing.

  The girl was carrying a bottle. "They left this in his room, even!' she called, and threw it over the bannisters. It exploded in a silver-and-brown spray and Trond shied away.

  I said conversationally, 'New form of treatment, eh, Doctor? If they can't stand the cure they can go back to the disease without waking you up.'

  'You should know it is dangerous to treat a man of that age. The withdrawal symptoms can kill as quickly as the drinking.'
r />   'I'm not questioning your professional knowledge, Doctor, just your financial ethics.'

  They were at the bottom of the stairs now, and I could see Nygaard had got some shoes on. I stepped farther into the house, pushing Rasmussen ahead of me, to let them pass behind.

  I said, 'Keep him going.' As they reached the door, Nygaard lifted his flabby, sweat-stained face, focused near me, and half smiled. Then they were gone.

  The doctor said, 'You were very stupid. How can you escape with him?'

  I said, 'If you've got any sense, you'll forget him and us both. Because if we get caught, we talk. You spend your time doing over his room and don't forget to scrub it down for fingerprints, and then you've never heard of him. Make your own peace with Mrs Smith-Bang somehow.'

  They'd be on the road by now. If I could give them a minute more, I'd reach the boat at the same time.

  Then Kavanagh stepped quietly from behind the stairs and said, 'Hello there, Card. You get around, don't you?' Without the stocking mask, I didn't recognise the square face with strong cheekbones, thin lips, and a sharp widow's peak of very black hair. But the voice, the bandaged right hand – and the big automatic in the left…

  Rasmussen had a tight little smile on his face and was edging back out of the Une. Trond was grinning broadly.

  Was he any good with his left hand? But it hardly mattered, not at less than ten yards. He had at least seven shots to scatter at me and no professional could miss as badly as I needed him to.

  I fired both shots at him and stepped out of the front door. I didn't think I'd hit him, but I'd surprised the hell out of him. He shied instinctively, throwing up the gun hand across his face, and his one shot went somewhere up the stairwell.

  The door slammed behind me, shaking the whole porch. I bounced off a rocking-chair, ran to the end, and vaulted down into the doctor's best daffodils. Then across the drive and into the bushes. And there I could stop and reload.

  Behind me, the garden reached another twenty yards, all nice thick cover. But beyond that there was a dry-stone wall and then open pasture stretching down to the road one way and up the hillside the other. Using the wall, which stood about hip-high, I could reach the road in complete cover from fire-by breakfast time, maybe.

  The lights on the porch and in the hall suddenly went out. I lifted the derringer – then changed my mind. They'd come out cautiously enough anyway; why tell them where I was? I backed off as quietly as I could, weaving among the bushes to the wall; climbed it without knocking anything down – and then went diagonally across the pasture like a frightened rocket. I was practically at the road when I heard the first car start behind me – but it didn't seem to be making much ground.

  When I reached the quay, Kari was already down in the boat making urging noises at Nygaard; he was sitting on the edge looking cold, apprehensive, and rather permanent.

  Willie was just standing by. 'What was the shooting?'

  'An old friend cropped up unexpectedly. Nobody got hurt. Get himin.' I panted.

  Kari said, 'I am trying…'

  I said, 'Oh, hell,' and grabbed Nygaard by the shoulder of his greatcoat and heaved. He weighed the world, but he shifted. There was a startled squawk and he tumbled down almost on top of David. Willie jerked one rope loose, I took the other, and we swung aboard. Behind us, I heard a second car start – then it was wiped out by the clattering roar of our diesel.

  Kari put the tiller hard over and pointed us at the starlit water beyond the dark rocks.

  I said, 'Now try for those eight bloody knots.'

  Forty

  When we were clear of the harbour I told her to swing south and keep following the shoreline – trying to keep us out of sight of the house and the road between it and the main harbour. About then, I remembered to switch off the navigation lights, and that bothered her more than anything else that evening. A bit of kidnapping, a few gunshots, yes, but driving a boat without lights…!

  The lights stayed off until we were a good mile from the island and ready to swing round on a new course. This ran about directly south-west into the mouth of the Hogsfjorden and then fifteen miles or more up it to where the car was parked at a small quay where they loaded gravel from a quarry. Nothing else happened there, so past midnight there wouldn't be anybody to ask what we were doing, humping Nygaard ashore.

  And it looked as if we were going to be humping him. He'd spent the first busy five minutes lolling about on the deck beside the engine, more than half asleep again already. Then Willie and I had forced him into a pair of socks and put a sweater on under his overcoat – they'd got his trousers on over his pyjamas, back at the sanatorium – and suggested he try the bunk in the cabin. Me, I'd've rather lain down in a bucket of fish heads, which was what it smelt like, but he took it calmly enough. Just patted the diesel's wooden box, grunted, 'Not very good,' and crawled away out of sight.

  About then, we turned south-east, lit our lights again, and slowed down. They caught us just before eleven.

  We had a little time to prepare for it. Probably there wasn't anything else they could do but rush about the bay in a big motor-cruiser, coming to a grinding halt beside each small boat still around and shining a small searchlight on it, but it didn't exactly make them invisible.

  Willie said, 'What do we do now, then?'

  Kari said hopefully, 'Shall we put out the lights again?'

  'Christ, no. They'll have seen us already; that'd be as good as a signpost.' They were investigating a lobster-boat about a quarter of a mile back. 'No, we just keep going. And let David steer; they've seen all the rest of us.'

  'For God's sake, old boy-'

  'That or surrender.'

  David said, 'I could steer this boat, all right.'

  'But you can't answer questions in Norwegian,' Willie pointed out.

  I said, 'Let Kari prompt him. They won't expect us to have a boy his age along, anyway, and they won't hear much of his accent above the engines.'

  Willie raked a hand anxiously through his hair. 'But I say-'

  'We don't really have a choice. There're some rough boys out in that boat and they won't observe the Geneva Convention if wedo surrender. Now let's get organised.'

  He went into the cabin first, me next because I had a gun. Kari stayed at the half-open door with a bit of engine tarpaulin draped artistically over her. David was sitting across the tiller in the proper negligently professional style and – a last bright idea of his own – chewing a sandwich from our provisions. He reckoned it would help his Harrow accent along a bit and he was probably right.

  We waited in the darkness that was as thick as fish soup, with Nygaard snoring and bubbling louder than the diesel, and Willie said, 'I really don't see why that doctor's chasing us at all – if all you said about his breaking the rules was true.'

  'Not his decision any more. He sold out long ago,'

  'To Mrs Smith-Bang?'

  'Must be – God knows why. Maybe she owns his mortgage, maybe she caught him pushing drugs on the side – or maybe he just likes the crooked life. He's leading it now, anyway.'

  The cracks in the bulkhead suddenly glowed with light. David called, 'They're coming.'

  There were a couple of thick, dirty port-holes but angled forwards, and I couldn't hear the cruiser's engines over the racket of our own. But over Kari's shoulder I could see the searchlight's glow getting brighter and brighter, silhouetting David's slim figure. He turned and waved his sandwich angrily – a nice touch.

  Then the light sparkled direct into my eyes and I yanked my head back. Through a crack in the bulkhead I could just see the white shape slide up alongside on our right and match speeds a few feet away.

  The light raked the open deck of our boat and settled back on David. A voice yelled,'Hvilket skip?'

  Kari's voice was half-whisper, half-shout,'Stavanger Smaragd!'

  'Stavanger Smaragd/' David's shout was nicely scrambled by sandwich.

  'Hvorskal De?'

  'Idsal,'Kari called.
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  'Basali'

  So far – I guessed – we'd had the name of the boat and where we were supposed to be heading. But now they called something Kari didn't catch. She hesitated. I pulled the derringer back to full cock – and then David took over. He simply held his sandwich up in an ear-cupping gesture, leant his head towards them, and yelled a completely international 'Ay?'

  'Hvor er faren den?' the voice bellowed. Trond, I think.

  'Hansover,'Kari answered.

  'Han sover!'

  Then she added,'Dra til helvete.'

  'Dra til helvete!'

  After that, nothing. I rammed my ear against the bulkhead -and got it filled with diesel vibrations. Had we missed something?

  Then the light died; the big white boat swung away. From the port-hole I could see the white wake suddenly thicken in the starlight as she piled on speed.

  After a few moments, I asked Kari, 'What did they say at the end?'

  'They asked where is his father.'

  'And you said?'

  ' "He sleeps." ' She paused and said hesitantly, 'And also – "Go to hell." I thought a fisherman's boy might say that, but do you think I should tell David what I made him say?'

  Willie's warm chuckle of relief flowed over my right ear.

  I said, 'I think maybe he's old enough to know.' I slipped the derringer's hammer off cock and put it back in the arm clip. Behind us, Nygaard snored on.

  The lights of the towns and villages vanished behind us, switched off or blanked out by islands and headlands. Ahead, the land rose up above us; closed in around and finally behind us. We were a beetle of noise crawling along between silent black cliffs, the dim path of water ahead matching the narrow path of sky above. Maybe we threw an echo, 0r maybe it was the loneliness that made us sound so loud and feel so bright. When Willie snapped his lighter beside me, it was like a gunshot.

  'What does this tell us about Ellie Smith-Bang?' he asked carefully.

  'After you'd left the sanatorium, the bloke I shot at back there – and missed – is Pat Kavanagh. He killed Steen in Bergen; he's been working for Dave Tanner, the private detective in London who got the log off me. Between them, Kavanagh and Tanner sound like the two boys in Arras."