Send Superintendent West

by John Creasey

  There couldn’t be more than five minutes to go, but even when believing there was thirty-five, Gissing was nervous.

  ‘So you were that clever,’ Roger said heavily. ‘You snatched the son of a man whom Washington would fight like hell for, which would bring out the FBI in force. Brilliant reasoning. Why bring Ricky here? Why take that chance in getting him out of England? Why did you want him in the United States so badly?’

  Gissing said harshly: ‘Haven’t you got a mind? I wanted dollars. Shawn couldn’t pay in dollars in England. I wanted to come over here, things were hotting up for me in Europe. There was a chance to get myself a dollar fortune. I didn’t know how important Shawn was when I started, only that he was rich.’

  The story could answer most things, but it left something out; the spy in the Shawn household – one who would help Gissing but hadn’t told him how important Shawn was.

  An aeroplane droned, not far away, and was drawing nearer.

  Gissing snapped: ‘That’s all! Go and tell Marino about that half-million.’

  He didn’t expect to get it, of course, now he was just fighting for a chance to escape. He should have been satisfied with the money he’d got from Shawn, but greed had trapped him. He must have known he was finished but would not admit it.

  The aeroplane seemed directly overhead.

  There was another sound, of something coming down, a screeching, threatening whine which spanned the years, took Roger back to moments when he’d crouched or dived for cover. Gissing also knew the sound, and glanced upwards, mouth open. Jaybird looked puzzled. Roger braced himself.

  The screech ended in a thunderous roar, the house shook, glass splintered and stabbed across the room, two pieces stuck into Gissing’s face, a piece cut the tip of Jaybird’s nose. That was the moment when Roger sprang. Getting the gun was like taking a toy from a child. He put a bullet through the gunman’s knee and one into Gissing’s chest, too high to kill. Then all he had to do was shield Ricky’s body and watch the door, gun in hand. He kept talking to the boy, trying desperately to calm the tormented mind, and was still trying when Marino’s men came racing up the stairs.

  Marino did not miss a thing.

  Immediately after the raiding party came an ambulance with two nurses, and the child was taken by the nurses and whisked away, to the balm of sedation. Afterwards there could be peace for him and freedom from torment and reunion. Or there could be more distress.

  The news about Lissa was good; she was no longer in danger.

  Marino sat in the Lincoln, watching his men come out with their prisoners; three, as well as Gissing, Jaybird and McMahon. The bomb had landed twenty yards away from the house. One corner had been shattered by the blast, and there wasn’t a whole window left. A small fire had started from an oil-stove in the kitchen, but it was out already. The boy had gone, and Gissing was being carried on a stretcher towards a second ambulance. Marino looked away from the house towards the man, then up at Roger.

  He’d heard the story; he didn’t know about Roger’s idea – his guess, his theory.

  ‘And you believed Gissing,’ he said, thoughtfully.

  ‘It could be true,’ Roger said. ‘If Pullinger has a voice left, you can check with him. It would answer most things, wouldn’t it? You don’t want a spy angle, do you? You know where the leakage was in your department, and the only worry you have is about the leakage in the household, because that will matter to Shawn.’

  Marino fingered his chin; his knuckles were bruised. Gissing was in the ambulance and the engine started.

  ‘Meaning Carl Fischer? I’ve known Carl a long time.’

  ‘You’d known Pullinger a long time,’ argued Roger. ‘Don’t forget your big worry will be convincing David Shawn that it won’t happen again.’

  ‘We could convince David,’ Marino said, ‘but it won’t be so easy with Belle.’

  Roger looked at him levelly, and knew that they hadn’t been thinking along parallel lines; if his guess were right, it would take Marino completely by surprise. Was it a guess? It was all circumstantial evidence, but he’d begun many a successful murder hunt on less. He could think more clearly now, but he hadn’t much time.

  ‘Do we have to stay here?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I’ll come back and have a look later,’ said Marino. ‘We’ll go into Trenton. I’ve had a man call David, he and Belle will be at Trenton as fast as an aeroplane can bring them. Get in, Roger.’

  Roger got into the back of the car, and the driver, who seemed never to say a word, started off. Several men waved. A crowd had gathered near the creek, thirty or forty people whose ranks were swelling every minute. Marino seemed hardly to notice them, and did not speak until they were on the road and driving past the restaurant. Then he turned his head as far as he could turn it with comfort.

  ‘You don’t talk enough,’ he said. ‘I know how you feel about Lissa. I also know you for a man who won’t make a fool of himself. You suspected Lissa once, in spite of the way you felt, but you can’t suspect her now. We know there was someone besides Pullinger, we know it wasn’t Lissa, so we shall have to have a talk with Carl Fischer, and I’m not going to like it. You agree?’ He was almost aggressive. ‘You could talk with someone else.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Someone who knew about that damaged corner of the gold identity tag. Someone who once had a fortune and lost it. Someone who could torment a man she was supposed to love, who stayed married to him because of his money, and whom money would have set free. Someone who did her devilish best to make her husband turn against her, because if he gave her freedom he’d give her money to make it real. But he wanted her too much. Someone who could fly into a rage and shout and scream and claw at her husband’s face – and then calm down as if a tap had been turned off. Someone who could pick up that money and pass part of it on, keeping the rest for herself – to live on when she left her husband.’

  Marino strained his neck to look round, opened his mouth as if to cry: ‘No!’ but didn’t speak.

  ‘The one woman who could influence Shawn enough to make him turn his back on working for you and all it meant,’ Roger went on. “Who was already making life hell for him, and would listen to anyone else who would help her get free. Someone she didn’t love, but hated.’

  Marino said hoarsely: ‘No. Not the boy’s mother.’

  ‘Grant her that Gissing convinced her that Ricky would never be hurt, and what makes it impossible?’ Roger asked.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Reunion

  Belle looked younger. She had freed her hair, and it hung down in waves to her shoulders. She wore a pale-green linen dress trimmed with yellow, carried a green handbag, and wore attractive green shoes. In spite of the dress and the air of simplicity, she seemed to offer a particular kind of sensual ripeness. She greeted Roger as if he were a friend who made her heart beat faster, yet she clung to Shawn’s arm. He dwarfed her. He looked like a man at rest.

  They had come from the private room in the hospital, where Ricky lay sleeping. Marino and Roger were waiting at the hospital gates, Marino in and Roger by the side of the Lincoln. As Belle had walked towards them, Marino had said: ‘If you’re wrong, he’ll kill you.’

  ‘If I’m right, he’ll always be on bail from hell,’ Roger had answered.

  ‘It’s so wonderful,’ Belle greeted them brightly. ‘He looks so peaceful. And he hasn’t been hurt, you were right, they didn’t hurt him. His lips are red where that plaster was stuck on, but that will soon go, and the doctor says he’ll be fine. Roger, how can David and I ever thank you?’

  Shawn gulped. ‘I wish I could even try.’

  ‘We’re staying until we can take him away, of course, it’ll be two or three days. Do come and stay with us, Roger.’ Belle put a hand on his, squeezed and wouldn’t let go. ‘He must, David, mustn’t he?’

  ‘He couldn’t say no,’ said Shawn.

  Every minute that Shawn lived in this fool’s paradise would make the revelat
ion hurt more. They could wait in the hope that Gissing or Pullinger would talk, but Pullinger wouldn’t be able to do so for twenty-four hours or more. In twenty-four hours Roger hoped to be flying home, to the good things there. If it would have helped he would have stayed here for weeks, but this had to be done with the swift incision of a surgeon’s knife.

  ‘One thing stops me staying here,’ Roger said. The enormity of the accusation and the likely fury of Shawn’s reaction swept over him, and he paused. Marino’s eyes were on him. He put his hand into his pocket as if for cigarettes, and wished he had a gun. Shawn might be cataclysmic. ‘Only one thing, Mrs Shawn. I’ve two sons of my own. They mean a great deal to me.’ Her great eyes were fixed on his, and he thought that she had some inkling of what he was going to say; if he were right in that, then he was right about the rest. ‘That makes it hard for me to sit at the same table, even to breathe the same air as you.’ She didn’t speak.

  Shawn seemed too stunned to resent the insult, if he understood it.

  ‘Gissing didn’t think I would ever get away alive,’ Roger said. ‘So he told me. How you hated your husband’s job, worked on your husband’s nerves – that was nothing new – and agreed to help with the kidnapping. Gissing gave you the drug, and you used it. You told him how the dent in the identity tag had been caused, and he pointed it out so as to prove he had Ricky. You knew him for a devil, and you made it easy for him to kidnap the child. You believed him when he said Ricky wouldn’t be hurt. My God, how any woman could take a chance like that, any mother—’

  ‘But he wasn’t hurt, was he?’ she cried. ‘Gissing kept—’ she didn’t add ‘his word’. She spun round, and her gaze was on Shawn, who was staring at her while the truth seeped awfully into his mind. Roger had thought that Shawn would want to kill, but all he did was to keep looking at her, his features gradually stiffening, until he groaned as if in agony, and buried his face in his hands.

  Hours afterwards, Gissing answered all their questions, soon there was nothing left that they did not know. Belle was under a form of house arrest at the hotel, Shawn was waiting in another room. He was not the caged tiger Roger had expected but a stony-faced man who spoke and acted mechanically, and whose eyes were like the embers of a dying fire.

  Roger was glad that he would have no part in clearing things up, that the case was finished for him. Marino had not suggested that he should stay longer; it was as if the other man knew of his compelling reasons for wanting to get home.

  Roger was alone in his room at the hotel when the telephone bell rang. It was early evening.

  ‘Hallo.’

  ‘Come down and see me, Roger, will you?’ It was Marino, who had a room on the ground floor.

  ‘Yes, right away.’

  Marino, in the wheeled chair which couldn’t be disguised, sat alone, smoking, a drink by his side. He waved to whisky and a soda siphon. He looked more settled in his mind, no longer as if he were trying to work out an insoluble problem. Almost casually, he said: ‘I’ve just seen Lissa, she’s come round. The bullet was lodged just beneath her ribs, but they’ve got it out.’ He smiled almost drolly. ‘There was talk about prompt action saving her from bleeding to death.’

  ‘I couldn’t be more glad,’ Roger said warmly.

  ‘I knew you would want to know. I’ve seen Shawn, as well. It’s too early to be sure what will happen. I don’t know what we’ll do with Belle, or whether there will be a charge. I should think, no. She didn’t know about the murder, simply made a deal with Gissing, whom she knew slightly. She raged about being tied to Shawn in Gissing’s presence, and he told her how to get free. Fake a kidnapping, he said, and make Shawn pay up, then share the ransom. She probably passed on half of what Shawn paid, through Pullinger; we found it in her room. We could make a charge, you could make one in England, but I should still think no. Agree?’

  ‘Provided she can’t harm Ricky again.’

  ‘There’s no question of that. She and Shawn will part, of course – will part? They’ve parted. I think she had almost stifled his love for her, during the past few months he was clinging to it only because he thought it was the one way to keep Ricky. His folk will go to the Connecticut house and make it ready for the boy. He talks of making Belle an allowance, enough to live on. You never liked Shawn, did you?’ Marino’s lips puckered.

  ‘We could use more Shawns,’ said Roger.

  ‘I won’t even guess at the way it will work beyond that, Roger. Except that Shawn is going back to Europe. He’ll have a month or so here, and then start work again. He might take Ricky with him.

  ‘I’ve seen Gissing again,’ Marino went on. ‘I’ve talked to Pullinger, Jaybird and the others. It all adds up to the same thing – that Gissing didn’t lie to you. It began in a small way, but when Gissing realised how high we rated Shawn, he thought he could make it much bigger. Pullinger located him and asked what silence would be worth – that’s how they got together. Pullinger was always very clever. He had himself drugged at the same time as you, called another of our men, but didn’t expect to get on to the car you were taken off in. When the other man came upon it, Pullinger played it out, leading the way as if by chance to Webster’s old house. His colleague was kidnapped, he “escaped”. It sounded fine.’

  Marino paused.

  ‘No Red scare case, after all. You’ve guessed, I suppose, that we were as nervous of a Red scare in the Press as we were of anything, there’s trouble enough without that. If the Press had got hold of a Red angle – I needn’t tell you.’

  Roger laughed. ‘I’ve been looking through some of your newspapers. I see what you mean.’

  ‘It wouldn’t do to have the whole of the world’s Press as cold-blooded and austerity-ridden as yours,’ said Marino slyly. ‘Well, Roger, I guess that’s about all, except just one thing. As soon as you can fix it, I want you and your wife, and the boys as well if you’ll bring them, to come here for a vacation. A month, two months, as long as you like. You’ll be our guests. Will you do that?’

  ‘Even you wouldn’t dare try to stop Janet if she hears of it,’ Roger said softly.

  ‘I’ll write to her tonight,’ promised Marino. He sipped his drink. ‘Well, I guess that really is all.’

  Roger finished his drink and poured himself another, sat back and stretched his legs out. ‘How long will Lissa be in hospital?’

  ‘Two or three weeks, they say, and then twice as long convalescing at home. Then she’ll come back to work with me. Would you like to see her before you leave?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Roger. ‘Just give her my love, and tell her I’m looking forward to seeing her in London. If she’s interested, I’ll take her round the Yard one day.’

  He arrived at London Airport in the small hours, and as soon as he had passed through the Customs, there was Janet to meet him. There were fifty or more other people waiting with her, but he saw only Janet; and he saw her as if he were really looking at her clearly for the first time. She gasped when he hugged her, but the light in her eyes did him good. They didn’t say much.

  The Yard had sent a car and a driver, and they sat in the back and were driven through the dark streets of the suburbs and of London. The glare of the lights of New York seemed like a dream; and it wasn’t the only thing that had been a dream.

  There was nothing in it that he wanted to forget, now; just a little he didn’t want to share with Janet; he could share everything else. The swift onslaught of unwanted passion had caught but never conquered him, and he had no regrets.

  Marino’s letter arrived and brought its sensation to Bell Street. They wouldn’t be able to go for several months, but that didn’t stop Janet from planning or the boys from talking. It was still the chief topic of discussion at the turn of the year, when Roger left Bell Street one morning, knowing that it would not be long before he would have to set a date so that they could start counting the days. He had a curious reluctance to telephone Marino. He knew that Lissa was back in England, and had twice
had dinner with Shawn, who had brought Ricky with him in the charge of a middle-aged woman who had thawed most of the ice of fear out of the boy’s mind.

  At his office, the telephone rang.

  ‘West speaking.’

  ‘It’s a Mr Marino, Mr West, from the United States Embassy.’

  ‘Oh! Put him through.’

  ‘Is that you, Roger?’ Marino asked, and his voice was filled with warmth.

  ‘Hi, Tony!’

  ‘Hi yourself. When are you taking your family to see God’s own country?’

  ‘You’re going to have a shock soon,’ Roger said. ‘I can’t hold ’em back much longer.’

  ‘Make it as soon as you can. Spring is a wonderful time in the Adirondacks! Don’t keep putting it off, Roger. That invitation comes from Lissa, too.’

  ‘Just give me time to soften my chief up.’ He paused for Marino’s chuckle. ‘How is Lissa?’

  ‘She’s just fine,’ said Marino, ‘and she’d like to talk to you.’ Marino paused, as if he knew that Roger might want a moment to get used to that; but he needn’t have paused. ‘Before she does, I’ve some news for you. About Lissa. She can’t be sane, Roger, she surely can’t be sane. She’s going to marry me. How do you like that?’

  Lissa’s voice sounded in the background.

  ‘He’d better like it. Let me talk to him.’ A moment passed.

  ‘Hi, Roger,’ Lissa said. ‘Tell Tony it’s the sanest thing I’ve ever done, will you?’

  ‘Sanest?’ He stopped himself from saying ‘bravest. ‘Luckiest!’

  It was good to hear her laughter.

  Series Information

  Published or to be published by

  House of Stratus

  Dates given are those of first publication

  Alternative titles in brackets

  ‘The Baron’ (47 titles) (writing as Anthony Morton)