by Jack Higgins
“Exactly the result he was hoping for, can’t you see that?” Miller said gently. “The biggest proof of how much he thinks of you is the way he’s just treated you.” He took her arm. “Let’s go back inside. You stay behind the screen and keep your mouth shut and I’ll prove it to you.”
The Gunner was aware of the click of the door opening, there was a soft footfall and he opened his eyes and looked up at Miller. “What do you want now, copper?”
“Congratulations,” Miller said. “You did a good job—on the girl, I mean. Stupid little tart like that deserves all she gets.”
It was all it took. The Gunner tried to sit up, actually tried to get at him. “You dirty bastard. She’s worth ten of you—any day of the week. In my book you aren’t fit to clean her shoes.”
“Neither are you.”
“The only difference between us is I know it. Now get to hell out of here and leave me alone.”
He closed his eyes as Miller turned on heel and limped out. The door clicked and there was only the silence. He heard no sound and yet something seemed to move and then there was the perfume very close.
He opened his eyes and found her bending over him. “Oh, Gunner,” she said. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”
Miller sat on the end of Mallory’s bed to make his report. The Chief Superintendent had a room to himself in the private wing as befitted his station. There were already flowers in the corner and his wife was due to arrive within the hour.
“So you’ve left them together?” Mallory said.
Miller nodded. “He isn’t going to run anywhere.”
“What about the leg? How bad is it?”
“Not too good, according to the consultant in charge. He’ll be lame for the rest of his life. It could have been worse, mind you.”
“No more second-storey work at any rate,” Mallory commented.
“Which could make this injury a blessing in disguise,” Miller pointed out.
Mallory shook his head. “I hardly think so. Once a thief always a thief and Doyle’s a good one—up there with the best. Clever, resourceful, hightly intelligent. When you think of it, he hasn’t done anything like the time he should have considering what he’s got away with in the past. He’ll find something else that’s just as crooked, mark my words.”
Which was probably true, but Miller wasn’t going down without a fight. “On the other hand if he hadn’t been around last night Jenny Crowther would have been number five on Faulkner’s list and we’d have been no further forward. I’d also like to point out that we’d have been in a damn bad way without him up there on the roof.”
“Which is exactly how the newspapers and the great British public will see it, Miller,” Mallory said. “You needn’t flog it to death. As a matter of interest I’ve already dictated a report for the Home Secretary in which I state that in my opinion Doyle had earned any break we can give him.”
Miller’s tiredness dropped away like an old cloak. “What do you think that could mean—a pardon?”
Mallory laughed out loud. “Good God, no. If he’s lucky, they’ll release him in ten months on probation as they would have done anyway if he hadn’t run for it.”
“Fair enough, sir.”
“No, it isn’t, Miller. He’ll be back. You’ll see.”
“I’m putting my money on Jenny Crowther.” Miller got to his feet. “I’d better go now, sir. You look as if you could do with some sleep.”
“And you look as if you might fall down at any moment.” Miller turned, a hand on the door and Mallory called, “Miller?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Regarding that little wager of ours. I was right about Phillips—he killed Grace Packard just as I said, but taking everything else into consideration I’ve decided to give you your pound back, and no arguments.”
He switched off the light with his good hand and Miller went out, closing the door softly behind him.
He took the lift down to the entrance hall and found Jack Brady standing outside the night sister’s small glass office talking to her. They turned as Miller came forward and the sister frowned.
“You look awful. You should be in your bed, really you should.”
“Is that an invitation, Sister?” Miller demanded and kissed her on the cheek.
Brady tapped out his pipe and slipped a hand under Miller’s arm. “Come on, Nick, let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“The nearest pub. I’d like to see what a large whisky does for you, then I’ll take you home.”
“You’re an Irish gentleman, Jack. God bless you for the kind thought.”
They went out through the glass doors. The rain had stopped and Miller took a deep breath of fresh, damp air. “Hell is always today, Jack, never tomorrow. Have you ever noticed that?”
“It’s all that keeps a good copper going,” Brady said and they went down the steps together.