Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1

by Ian St. James

  I couldn't think of a thing to say. Edgar worshipped his daughter. Of course he had spoiled her rotten, but a good many fathers do that to an only child. It's thoroughly bad for all concerned, but it's not criminal.

  He positively grunted with embarrassment. "I don't want to pry, Sam. Not my style, you know that. You and I - well, we've always got on. But between you and Kay. What I mean is - well something's gone wrong, hasn't it?"

  "It's just the hours I work. The abnormal life I lead-"

  "You lead! You weren't the one racing round town last night, making a fool of yourself. You weren't offering bail for some damn fool idiot who's causing trouble for all of us-"

  "He was a friend. A guest here-"

  "For God's sake, Sam! That's enough. Friends, guests - spongers and troublemakers more like it. What I want to know is where the devil is she?"

  "I - she's out - she'll be back later-"

  "Then I'll wait. It's high bloody time I had a word with my daughter-"

  "There's no need-"

  "There's every damn need! Should have done it years ago. It's time-"

  "I'd rather you didn't. Wait I mean. Really. Best for me to-"

  "You don't want me hanging around because you've no idea when she'll turn up!" He banged his empty glass down onto a table. "You've no bloody idea where she is either. But I'll find out - by God I will! And I'll tan the backside off her when I get my hands on her. She's not too old for that you know-"

  "For Christ's sake, Edgar-"

  But he slammed the door shut as he went out. I could hear him stamping down the stairs. It was too late in the day for Edgar to play the heavy Victorian father bit, but he wasn't hanging around to hear it from me. I did a funny walk to the door and collapsed into a chair half way there. And by the time my legs worked Edgar's car was crunching ripples in the driveway. I swore aloud and went back to sit on the bed. That was all I needed - Edgar rushing round the West End brandishing a horsewhip.

  I wrapped myself into a dressing gown and went downstairs. I'm not sure why I did. Just that I was too agitated to get back into bed I think. Besides it was that bed and I knew I would never sleep in it again.

  Mrs Jones made me a pot of coffee and I sent her off to her flat at the other end of the house. I carried the coffee into the study and sat down. The study was my room - the only room in the house barred to visitors. I might have included my bedroom in that category before that night, but now that was enemy territory too. So I camped down in the study - with coffee and a bottle of scotch and a head full of worries. I collected a carton of two hundred cigarettes from the store cupboard and settled down to smoke them. It was going to be a long night, waiting for news of Kay - and wondering what the hell to do about her when I got it.

  Kaufman came down the room to where I was sitting. He picked up the photograph from the table and turned it over. I saw Kay again, on that bed with Brooks and Faberge. My face burned and I was about to reach for the photograph when Kaufman stopped me. He slid it back into the large brown envelope and handed it to me. "It's yours anyway, Sam. To destroy or do with what you want."

  It was such an unexpected gesture that it took me by surprise. But before I could say anything he returned to his chair at the other end of the room. "Faberge was a pusher, Sam," he said. "We know that now. He got out of his depth with his gambling losses and had to make a quick buck. Then he got hooked himself."

  Llewellyn said, "You haven't told us when this, er, this incident took place, but I imagine we can guess. Would I be right in saying that some hours later you were found in circumstances which eventually led to you being charged with murder?"

  I nodded.

  Lucia touched my arm. When I turned round she handed me one of those sachets they give you on airlines - the sort you wipe your face with when you are sweating.

  "I know this is painful," Hewit said, "but we really are all on the same side you know."

  "Yeah?" I growled at him, "Well you sit in this chair, Hewit, and we'll pump questions at you for a while."

  He smirked, "I haven't a past worth talking about."

  "You won't have a future either unless you wipe that look off your face."

  Surprisingly Kaufman grinned and said, "Attaboy, Sam, you tell him."

  Llewellyn cleared his throat. "Of course, you realise where this is all leading don't you, Mr Harris?"

  "I don't need a diagram if that's what you mean."

  "But this time we want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

  "Now where have I heard that before?"

  "Okay, Sam," Kaufman said soothingly, "But remember this. The man running the Pipeline ruined you. Indirectly he ruined your wife too, because the stuff Faberge was hawking was Pipeline material. Directly and indirectly the Pipeline cripples a thousand lives a day. And the man running it is a friend of yours."

  "But you're not going to tell me his name?"

  "Oh, Sam - but we are. That's why we're all here, remember? We tell you what we know, and you tell us what you know. Like, for example, all the things you forgot to tell the police."

  "I didn't forget anything."

  He smiled. "Well now that's just peachy, isn't it? We've not got a thing to worry about in that case, have we?"

  I drank some coffee and thought about it. Whether he knew it or not, Kaufman's remark about the supply of drugs to Faberge touched just the right nerve. The clock can never be put back - but if ever I laid hands on the man who put heroin within reach of an animal like Faberge!

  "You know him, Sam," Kaufman persisted with sly emphasis, "and we took that photograph from his safe."

  I knew then that I would tell them everything. But I still wanted reassurance about what I would get in return. "You promise to give me his name?"

  Kaufman raised his eyebrows. "The name of the Ferryman? That's what they call him. We'll give you his name all right. We'll do better than that. We'll prove he is the Ferryman. And remember this - we set this whole deal up so that he has to come to you. And when he does ..." Kaufman opened and closed his hand, "we'll put him away for the rest of his life."

  Lucia cleared her throat, "And Fiore Serracino with him."

  There was a long silence after that. I wiped my hands with the tissue - hating the thought of having to re-live old nightmares, not wanting to, but knowing I would - that I had to.

  Kaufman settled back in his chair. "Now where were we, Sam?" he asked softly, "Ah yes - you're sitting in that study that night at Ashley Grange, remember? You've had a crack on the head. You've sent the housekeeper back to her room - what happened then?" I took a deep breath and then told them the rest of the story.

  Chapter Six

  I sat in the study for hours. Or to be more accurate, I stayed in the study. Not all of the time was spent sitting down - I was on my feet as often as not, pacing up and down until I threatened to wear furrows in the carpet. My head throbbed from the crack it had taken and my nerves felt as raw as an open wound. I chain-smoked and drank a gallon of black coffee - and chased the coffee with a whisky or two.

  I didn't know what to do. I've always gone my own way, made my own decisions and built my own life. Rightly or wrongly I've never felt the need for advice. But I felt the need then - especially when Edgar telephoned.

  "She turned up yet?"

  I almost said yes. I nearly said she was at home and in bed asleep. But Edgar in his present mood would have demanded to speak to her. And failing that he would have arrived - breathing fire and brimstone.

  "No," I said, "not yet."

  "It's two o'clock! Two o'clock! Sam - where the devil is she?"

  "Two isn't late. She's probably on her way home - trouble with living in the country is it takes hours-"

  "Don't give me that. Something's happened. I don't know what but I know something has. We ought to call the police."

  "Edgar, nothing's happened. You're getting into a state for no-"

  "She's not at the Connaught. I tried there just now."

&
nbsp; "For God's sake-"

  "Listen, Sam - I may be an old fool, but I know my daughter. And I know you. I know when you're not telling the truth."

  "What's got into you? All this fuss-"

  "Over a burglary? Nonsense. I don't believe that story for a minute. I hope the police do, that's all - for your sake. Otherwise there'll be hell to pay-"

  "I don't know what you're talking about-"

  "Come off it. Something happened there earlier but I'll lay money no burglar was involved. More like those precious house guests-"

  "Rubbish-"

  "Who ever heard of a burglar overlooking a mink coat? I was there - remember - when what's her name, that woman of yours, Mrs Jones - was tidying up. Kay's coat was in the drawing room of all places. A mink for heaven's sake! Easiest thing to dispose of-" "Maybe they were interrupted-"

  "They? A gang now is it? They all forgot the mink? And you never got a look at one of them?" "Oh, for Christ's sake-"

  "It got out of hand and you know it. Can't you see that? Whatever's been going on with this crowd Kay's fallen in with came to some sort of head-" "Edgar-"

  "If you won't tell me, I'll have to tell you. Sam, I'm not blaming you. You're ambitious - always have been-" "Blaming me!"

  "Listen a minute. I know what you've been going through with Apex. Working every minute-" "Well-"

  "And don't think I'm not grateful - but you can't sacrifice everything for the business. Don't you see that? You had a good marriage once. The best. You and Kay - I used to think you were made for each other - dammit, I still do - but she's bored, been left alone too much, been neglected-" "Now hang on a minute-"

  "She's in with the wrong crowd. That's all, Sam. I don't know what happened earlier — don't want to know - I'm prepared to believe it was Kay's fault. But it's no good blaming her now."

  I very nearly told him what his daughter was doing earlier - but I shut my mouth in time. Besides he was talking twenty to the dozen - just getting the odd word in was difficult enough.

  "It's my fault," he said, "should have spoken out before. Wish to God I had now - but I didn't want to seem an interfering old busybody. Hoped the pair of you would sort it out between you-" "Edgar-"

  "But you're a fighter. By heavens you're that all right. I thought you'd take steps. Look - whatever Kay has done - you're still her husband. You're still my son-in-law and I've been damn proud of you, don't mind saying so. But this isn't you - letting people walk all over you-"

  "For Christ's sake! I can't be everywhere at once-" "Stop feeling sorry for yourself! That's not you either. I'm worried sick about my daughter and so should you be. She's still the girl you married - underneath, she still loves you - but she needs our help right now, both of us, and Sam, these people she's with, they frighten me to death and I don't mind admitting it."

  It took me a long time to get rid of him. At least twenty minutes. He kept going on about Kay still being in love with me, and how he should have interfered months ago. I had been fairly strung up to begin with, but after dealing with Edgar my nerves were completely wrecked. He was so convinced that Kay was in danger - positively convinced - as if some parent's intuition gave him the right to be certain about such a thing. I might have dismissed it in anyone but Edgar, but I had known him have a hunch before - and he was always right. Just as he had shrewdly seen through the burglary.

  So I sweated it out - driving myself sick with worry and fear. I even thought about calling the police. But the situation was already too complicated for that. What with the faked burglary and Edgar's lie about Kay's whereabouts - plus the possibility of the police finding them in possession of drugs...then they would all be charged. Kay in court ... more headlines ... more trouble and even more heartache.

  I got in a right bloody stew. Then, at three thirty, the telephone rang. I answered, half expecting it to be Edgar. But all I could hear was the sound of someone crying. It was an eerie, weird sound. Not just because of the late hour and the state I was in - but because of the quality of the sound itself. Not tears of grief, or fear or pain but of utter hopelessness. It wasn't even clear who was crying. It might have been a child or a girl or a woman. The sound just went on and on. Nothing I said seemed able to stop it. Endless sobbing, moans of despair.

  I kept shouting, "Kay - Kay, is that you?" But there was no answer. Nothing intelligible anyway. Just this crying. A relentless, forlorn, deserted sound - interrupted now and then by a split second pause, as if whoever it was was struggling to regain control, then the attempt was abandoned and after a sort of shuddering noise the sobbing was more hopeless than ever. It was unrecognisable as Kay. She had cried before, when we had fights, but she always sounded like her. It had always been her voice, pauses taken in accordance with her speech patterns, her temper had never been far from the surface. But this? This whipped dog sound, this whimpering, this sound of such utter despair and total defeat?

  My own nerves were shot to pieces. My hands were shaking badly - and, and I just put the phone down. I'm not sure if it was deliberate or accidental. Certainly I wasn't thinking straight. I reached for a fresh pack of cigarettes but my fingers couldn't even open the cellophane wrapping. I swore and hurled the pack to the floor. Then the phone rang again and when I answered - again, there was this terrible sound of crying.

  "Kay? Kay? For Christ's sake! Is that you?"

  "Don't...don't hang up ... please don't ..."

  It was Kay! Still sobbing, but making a desperate attempt to talk through her tears. It's hard to remember how I felt. I was so mixed, up. Part of me was angry, but part of me was so relieved that I nearly cried with her.

  "Kay, pull yourself together! Where the hell are you?"

  "Oh, Sam - you're all right! Thank God...you're all right ..." Her voice shook and tailed off, racked by sobs until the words became unintelligible whispers. She said my name over and over again - I recognised that much - but none of the rest made sense. Eventually my frustration overwhelmed every other emotion, and frustration made me angry. How could I help unless she told me where she was and what had happened?

  I shouted, "Kay - where are you for God's sake?"

  "Don't...don't shout ... don't hang up, Sam ... please ..."

  "Okay, okay - I am not hanging up. But you've got to tell me

  "Just...just talk ... talk to me, Sam ... please. Oh thank God you're all right. I thought ... I thought ..."

  "Kay, will you listen to me? It's four in the morning. I've got a splitting headache. I've had nine stitches sewn in the back of my skull. The local police are buzzing round like blue-arsed flies - your father thinks I'm a useless husband - my wife's turned into some kind of sex freak - and you're glad I'm all right!"

  "Just ... just don't hang up ... that's all ..."

  I was gripping the telephone so hard that I damn near crushed it.

  She said: "Sam, you're alive ..."

  Then the sobs subsided and she started to laugh - once started it seemed she would never stop. Hysterical, out of control, over the edge. It was even more horrible than before. I wanted to reach out, grab her shoulders, shake her, slap her face, put a hand over her mouth. I remember shouting at her, telling her to get a grip of herself, pull herself together, tell me where she was, what was happening. I felt so bloody impotent on the end of that phone! I think she tried to answer, but she was so incoherent that none of it made sense. One minute she was laughing hysterically, the next she was sobbing uncontrollably. I shouted - she screamed back - I shouted again, until eventually I was almost as hysterical as she was.

  Finally I calmed down. I don't say I was normal - I was trembling, bathed in sweat, my heart was pounding - but at least I stopped shouting. Maybe her tears got through to me. Some of the fog lifted from my brain. Nothing was solved by shouting. Blame, anger, outrage, jealousy - all were a waste of time. At least part of the responsibility for what had happened to our lives rested with me. Edgar was right. Kay was crying for help.

  My free hand groped for a cigarette. I c
ursed as I knocked my glass of whisky all over the desk. I tried to recover the pack of cigarettes from the floor. I was as jumpy as hell but at least I calmed down enough to talk in a level voice - and bit by bit I began to get through to her.

  "Kay, where are you?"

  "Sam ... I'm so frightened...and so ashamed...sick ..."

  I spoke slowly and carefully, trying hard not to raise my voice. "Just tell me where you are-"

  "God, I'm miserable, so miserable ... I could kill myself ... I will kill myself...now I know you're all right-"

  "Kay — where are you?"

  "I'm lost ... I'm lost forever ..."

  It was crazy talk, but at least it was talk. She cried occasionally but with a sniffing sound, not the body-racking sobs of earlier. As if her emotions had burned out and left her exhausted. But her voice sounded unnatural - flat sometimes, and tinged with fear at others - but the fear aspect made no sense - not until later. I was concentrating too hard at that moment - trying to find out where she was, and what had happened.

  Then the pips sounded on the line,

  I panicked. "Kay - quick - what's your number? I'll phone you back."

  "I ... I don't know...it's so dark ... I can't see ..."

  "Quick Kay, what's the number?"

  "It's too dark ..."

  Then the line went dead.

  Oh, sweet merciful Jesus Christ! I rattled the receiver, then slammed it down. What would she do? Suppose she had no more coins? What would she do then? Reverse the charges? Would she? Would an operator answer at this time of night? Please - come on Kay - please phone back.

  I retrieved the pack of cigarettes from the floor - tore the cellophane open with my teeth - and tried to stop trembling. Then I stood the glass upright, splashed in some scotch, topped it up with water - and almost choked when the telephone rang.