I was still thinking about Corrao when the doorbell rang. Lucia had said to give her an hour or so and a quick look at my watch said it was about her time. I turned my notes face down on the desk and hurried to greet her. But I faced a man when I opened the door.
"Mr Harris, Mr Sam Harris?"
A cab was parked at the kerbside, empty of passengers and driver.
"Yes."
"Letter for you, Mr Harris." He thrust a slim manilla envelope into my hand and turned to go. I noticed my name and address typewritten on the envelope, and when I looked up he was already climbing back behind the wheel of the cab.
I followed him across the pavement. "Who sent this?"
"Search me, guv. I took a fare to Paddington and when I dropped him he asked me to deliver it. He paid, I delivered, you got your letter." He twisted the ignition key and the cab shook itself like a black shaggy dog.
"What was he like? Your fare?"
"Business type. Black coat and rolled umbrella. Solicitor perhaps?"
"Is that all? Can you remember anything else about him?"
Fifty yards away a man stood on the corner of Mount Street and waved a rolled umbrella above his head to attract attention. An electric milk float whined to a halt nearby. The milkman jumped down and walked to the back of the float, whistling in the manner of milkmen everywhere. He gave the cabbie a quick look and then began to restack a crate of empty bottles. I repeated my question, but the cabbie's attention had already shifted to the man waving on the corner. "I told you, solicitor-looking type. It's your letter. Open it and see."
The man on the corner turned to go and the cabbie eased quickly away from the kerb. "Perhaps you've won the pools," he shouted, then his head jerked forward and he chugged down the road in pursuit of his fare.
I was still staring after him when a flame red mini turned into Rex Place. It paused to negotiate the cab, dodged the milk float, and scampered towards me like a playful puppy. The driver's window was down and Lucia smiled up at me as she drew alongside. I opened the door and she unwound onto the pavement - five foot eight of curves knitted into a black sweater and ski pants. The casual brush of her lips on mine suggested a relationship established months instead of hours. She ducked back into the car and collected a wicker basket from the back seat. "Dinner," she announced, slipping an arm through mine and turning towards the front door.
"Where did the car come from?" I asked.
"Rented. Who cares if that gets blown up? Avis have got thousands."
The joke jangled my nerves. I had been so busy remembering the past that I had almost forgotten the present. A picture of jack's car flashed through my mind. I shuddered as I imagined Lucia's broken body in the debris. Then I closed the door and watched her carry the basket into the kitchen.
"Important letter?" she asked, when she came back.
"It must be. Someone paid a cabbie to deliver it."
I stared at the manilla envelope in my hand. Suddenly I was afraid to open it. Anyone capable of blowing a car to smithereens would have no difficulty with a letter bomb. Especially one delivered without being mangled by GPO sorting machines.
From the look on her face I guessed Lucia thought the same. She stared at the envelope, then back at me. "Steam it open, Sam. Just in case."
I would never have thought of that. God knows what I would have done, but once she said 'steam it open' it seemed such a logical thing to do. In the kitchen I set a saucepan on to boil and Lucia arranged a toast rack across the brim. Then she slipped the envelope into one of the slots, took my hand and led me back to the sitting room, closing the door behind us.
"What do we do now? Sit under the table?" I said it too sharply but I was confused. Part of me was scared stiff but another part said we were behaving stupidly - too damned melodramatic by half. Besides, the way she had taken over touched a nerve. I still cast myself as the dynamic leader and for a pretty girl to take charge was bad for my ego. Male chauvinistic piggery - but so what? Then she made amends by shuddering and saying, "You could comfort me. Things like this may be everyday occurrences for you, but they scare me stiff."
I drew her down onto the sofa and if her kiss lacked passion it was at least warm with friendship. I was reminded of our dinner talk at Oliver's. She had been responsive to a point - but had shied away from some of my more personal questions. As if she wanted friendship to ripen before committing herself - prepared to go so far at a time. Don't rush it - take your time - que sera sera.
She drew away, holding one of my hands between both of hers. "Sorry - that was silly of me. Last night must have shaken me more than I thought."
"Last night shook everyone."
"Have you heard any more about it?"
"Not directly. Old Tomlinson got all uptight this morning. Said me being attacked would prejudice the magistrates against me."
"But that's absurd. It wasn't your fault."
It was nice when she defended me. I thought about taking her to see Hastings; her big grey eyes would convince anyone. I said, "Tomlinson thinks I'm a walking disaster area. Putting me back into a casino would be like putting a bull in a china shop."
She frowned at that and I wondered if they put bulls in china shops in Italy. But then she said, "That man Davis said something like that this morning."
"You've seen Davis! This morning?"
She nodded. "He wanted me to sign a statement. More or less what I said last night but all typed up on police forms." She saw the flash of concern in my eyes because she squeezed my hand. "Don't worry - Jack read it and took a copy before letting me sign."
"Bloody Davis," I said softly.
"He had another man with him. Please don't fret, Sam - Jack was with me all the time, standing guard like a bulldog."
I nodded. Poor old Jack. Looking after my interests was turning into a full-time job for him. Then I remembered the saucepan boiling in the kitchen. The wall hadn't blown in so I guessed it was safe to go back. I opened the door to a two inch crack while Lucia told me to be careful. The kitchen was full of steam but through it I could see the envelope with its mouth wide open. Lucia had positioned it at exactly the right angle which was clever of her. I turned the stove off and carried the letter back to the sitting room like a fisherman handling a slippery catch.
Three pieces of paper were in the envelope. If you count an airline ticket as a piece of paper. British Airways, first class to Sydney. One way. The other two were press cuttings, one from the Telegraph and the second from Sydney's Morning Star. All the papers were limp and damp, and the biro entries on the airline ticket had smudged slightly. The story from the Telegraph was eight months old and carried the headline: 'London Club Owner dies in river accident.' Eric Blockley smiled up at me, next to a photograph of his wrecked cabin cruiser. The Sydney story was more recent. 'Gambling booms down under' it said, and along the bottom had been typed 'Go Winner - before your luck runs out.'
Lucia and I each smoked most of a cigarette before we spoke. Then she buried her head in her hands and whispered, "Mary Mother of Christ, please help us."
I was on the telephone to Tomlinson a minute later: "Can you get over here? I've got some -" I struggled for the right expression. "I've got some new material which you ought to see." I expected him to protest, claim other appointments or pressing engagements, but he agreed to come with barely a moment's hesitation. He checked my address and promised to leave within ten minutes.
Lucia asked, "Sam, aren't you frightened?" The tan had faded from her face and I could hear the strain in her voice.
"Thirsty," I said. "Can you make coffee?"
She tossed her head as she went towards the door, "I am Italian," she said, which explained everything.
I telephoned British Airways. "Some friends of mine promised to book me a flight to Sydney. On-" I examined the ticket. "On the second." The second was Saturday! They really were in a hurry! The girl repeated 'Sydney' and 'the second', and I said, "That's right. Look, I'm sorry to be a pest but they've proba
bly forgotten all about it and it's vital I catch that flight. I would book myself, but now I'm worried about causing a duplication."
They employ bright girls at BA because she said, "May I have your name, sir, and I'll check with reservations."
I told her and waited. A minute later she said, "Mr Sam Harris? You have a reservation on our flight KL629, Mr Harris. Departure 0900 from Heathrow on Saturday the second."
I sighed with mock relief and then said, "Look, I must pay them for the ticket. Can you tell me how much it cost - and where it was booked?"
"Hold the line please, sir." The telephone clicked and the cool voice vanished. It was back a moment later: "First class single to Sydney costs eight hundred and forty pounds, Mr Harris."
"Eight forty. And do you know where it was booked?"
"Our tickets are the same price at all outlets, Mr Harris." Her voice was cooler now. I was becoming a nuisance.
"But if I knew where the ticket was booked I would know who to thank," I persisted. "I mean, it would be one guy in Manchester, but a different one in Birmingham."
"Hold the line." She was irritated. Perhaps it was the end of her shift? My hand was sweating and I tightened my grip on the telephone until she returned, "Your reservation was made at our office in Victoria this morning."
"Victoria? Victoria, London? This morning?"
"Right on all counts," she said wearily.
"Did they - did he - pay by cheque? You see, if I had his name-"
"Your ticket was bought for cash, Mr Harris."
"Cash? Isn't that unusual? I mean, eight hundred and forty pounds-"
"You must have some very rich friends - who think a lot of you."
"You can say that again," I said, but she didn't. Instead she said, "Goodbye, Mr Harris," and hung up.
I was about to go into the kitchen to tell Lucia about my detective work, when the doorbell rang. It was Chief Inspector Davis - with a friend.
"Come in," I said, "I was just about to send for you."
"An invitation from Winner Harris," Davis murmured, "that is an honour."
Lucia came in with the coffeepot just as they were about to sit down. They bobbed up and Davis said, "Good afternoon, Miss Serracino-Torregianni." His accent was pretty good. He even pronounced Serracino with a 'ch' sound as in china - instead of 'seeno' the way I did.
Lucia put the coffeepot on a low table and seemed uncertain about what to do next. "I'll fetch some more cups," she said, and fled to the kitchen.
"Keep her out of this, Davis," I said with a hard edge to my voice.
"Out of what?" he enquired mildly.
The other man said, "We've already taken her statement. We have no further business with the lady."
He was taller than Davis. Not so wide across the shoulders but he looked just as strong. Like Davis he was dressed in an expensive dark suit, with a silk tie and handmade shoes. What with index-linked pensions and all the other perks, a policeman's lot has changed a bit since Gilbert wrote The Pirates of Penzance. We were still staring at each other when Lucia returned with the cups. She must have heard what was said because she said, "Sam, if you don't need me perhaps I could start typing the notes?" she turned to the desk. "Are these them?"
I flushed. I had intended to edit some of the things I had written especially about Kay. But Lucia was already collecting the sheets of paper and I could feel Davis watching me. The little Olivetti was in its case next to the desk. Lucia picked it up. "Okay to work upstairs? It will be more comfortable than the kitchen."
We watched her go and Davis asked, "Writing a book, Mr Harris?"
"Rogues I have known. You've got the star part."
The other man said, "That could be construed as an offensive remark. We could arrest you for that."
"What's your name?" I asked coldly.
"Evans - Detective Sergeant Evans."
"Listen, Evans. Someone took a swipe at me yesterday. The car I was using got blown to pieces. Now I'm getting threatening letters - and all you talk about is arresting me for offensive remarks. You get your priorities into the right bloody order or I shall be shouting offensive remarks at the Chief Commissioner. Understand that?"
They understood. They swayed back on the sofa as if I had halitosis. Davis blinked. "Threatening letters?"
The envelope and press cuttings were still on the coffee table. "Read them yourself," I said, and went across to the telephone to retrieve the airline ticket. "And this came with them."
They were still huddled over the press cuttings when Tomlinson arrived. I relieved him of his coat and took him in to make the introductions. "The police go around in pairs in this town," I explained. "Battersea gets constables but we get the top brass."
The effect of the introductions was quite startling. Tomlinson looked downright angry and Davis and Evans seemed vaguely apprehensive, as if they had been caught in the act. Certainly Davis moderated his attitude towards me. He would never invite me home to meet the wife, but his normal hostility diminished. Mind, we had a good old flare up before he left, but Tomlinson blamed me for that afterwards. In fact Tomlinson blamed me for a good deal.
The flare up started when Davis asked, "Have you any idea who might have sent this?"
"How about you?"
When he just stared I added, "You're always telling me to get out of town."
He flushed and cast an anxious glance at Tomlinson. "My attitude about licences does not include the condoning of threats."
I said, "That's very commendable - if it's true."
Tomlinson broke it up by asking Evans, "The question is what are you doing about it? My client has suffered three threats to his safety within twenty-four hours. I cannot stress too strongly-"
"Are you asking for police protection?" Evans interrupted, looking at me.
Hell, what was I asking for? I certainly could live without the law on my doorstep. I said, "I want you to find the source of this intimidation-"
Davis snorted. "Intimidation! We've nothing to go on, have we? You could have fabricated this stuff yourself-"
"You're crazy! Dammit Davis, I even had a witness. Lucia was-"
"Not here when the letter arrived. You said that yourself. You said she came just afterwards-"
"For Christ's sake!"
"You never even took the number of the cab. Did you?"
"No, but at the time-"
"You didn't think? But you thought enough to steam the letter open. Destroying any clues there might have been-"
"You're mad, Davis. Stark, staring bloody mad!"
"You've even got a typewriter in the house. You could have typed that message yourself."
I threw my hands into the air and looked at Tomlinson for support. He was furious. He sat bolt upright, his face even whiter than usual and his expression very, very angry. I almost expected to see frost on his breath when he spoke, "May I ask why you called here today, Inspector?"
"To get a statement signed about last night," Davis snapped, then he remembered he was speaking to Tomlinson so he moderated his tone. "But if it's inconvenient I suppose we could make an appointment."
"Mr Harris's written statement will be with you tomorrow," Tomlinson said crisply. "I shall attend to that. Now unless you have any other query?"
Davis and Evans swapped glances, but they knew they were beaten. I was sure it was bluff but Tomlinson gave the impression they either had to arrest me or play it his way. So they contented themselves by making a few notes and asking additional questions. Then they asked to take the press cuttings and the airline ticket, plus the envelope of course - and after collecting a receipt Tomlinson showed them out. When he came back he was blazing angry.
"Being your solicitor means I represent you at law. At law, Mr Harris! Which includes the police. If I ever find you talking to that man Davis again without me being present I shall resign at once."
"What if they call-"
"You refuse to answer any questions without me being present. That's your right and
by Heavens you are going to insist on it."
It took him ten minutes to cool down. What he said was fair enough, which is why I took it, but a couple of things struck me. The first was that working with Tomlinson was going to be a damn sight different from working with Lewis Collins. And the second was that meeting Davis had been a good thing for Tomlinson. It brought him into the fight somehow - pushed him into my corner.
When we finished working on my statement, Tomlinson asked me to call at his office in the morning to sign it. Then he said, "I think I might try for an earlier meeting with Hastings. If he can spare the time, could you make Monday at eleven?"
"Yes, I think so."
"What about the notes you are working on - will they be ready?"
I thought of Lucia upstairs. We were supposed to be working on them now! I calculated quickly. If we did a couple of hours work this evening, and some more tomorrow? "I'll have them ready by Friday morning - just about."
"Good," he nodded. "Get them round to me on Friday then, will you? I'll have a look at them before sending them round to Hastings. He can read them over the weekend."
At the front door, he said, "These Tusker people? You asked for a company search. They are restaurateurs, aren't they?"
"Among other things. They bought the wreckage of Apex from the receiver."
"Is your enquiry urgent?"
I stood there, trying to decide what the hell was urgent and what was not. Then he explained. "I happened to have a clerk in Cardiff today on another matter, so I asked him to call at Companies House to look up the files. We'll have the information you asked for by tomorrow."
I thanked him and after letting him out I went upstairs. Lucia was standing at the window, looking out into Rex Place. It was dusk outside and the room was grey with shadow, but I saw the typewriter on the dressing table beside a neat pile of paper.
Lucia turned as I entered the room. "Everyone gone?"
I nodded.
"I've been reading the life and times of Sam Harris. It's very impressive."
"Yes," I said stupidly.
"Larger than life. Glamorous - like your wife. Maria says she was quite beautiful."
Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1 Page 46