by Roger Bax
Pamela was holding tightly to Geoffrey’s arm, drawing him down all the time. She said, “What about your alibi?”
“It was a fake. Pretty clever, too. It had you all taken in, didn’t it? I merely changed the name of the street with a little thing I invented, and chose my witnesses carefully. I’d have got away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for that woman.”
“How did she find out?”
“She was in the bombed house. And I wasn’t.”
“I see.” Pamela was fascinated by his utter detachment.
“It surprises you, doesn’t it? You didn’t think I was capable of it?”
“It doesn’t surprise me in the least,” said Pamela. “I always thought you were capable of it. I just couldn’t see how you could have done it. Now I begin to understand. It was – diabolically clever. You don’t mind telling us all this now?”
“It doesn’t matter any more, my dear. The police are after me for killing the woman. When you’re wanted for one murder, an extra two or three don’t mean a thing.”
“So that rigmarole you told me over the phone,” said Geoffrey, “was just a pack of lies, like everything else?”
“A full pack. I see the recollection rankles. You were a bit of a sucker, weren’t you?”
“I suppose that’s how it strikes you. I’m not really used to this gangster stuff. I hadn’t any reason not to believe you. Don’t worry – I’m getting adjusted pretty fast.”
“The sooner you know what I am, the better. Once you realize I’m a blackhearted devil, quite beyond redemption, you’ll be ready to play along with me.”
“Haven’t you any human feelings?” said Pamela.
“None – not a spark. It’s a matter of complete indifference to me whether you two are alive or dead by morning. All I’m concerned with is my own safety. The only reason I don’t shoot you now is that it doesn’t pay me. I need your help. If you get me safely to Holland, maybe I won’t kill you – maybe I’ll let you both go. It depends how you behave. The chance of life will be an incentive for you. You’ll be surprised how the smallest spark of hope can keep you going. Of course, if the carrot doesn’t attract you, there’s always a stick. I think I can make you co-operate, all right. I was in a German camp, you know. ...”
“You told me about it,” said Geoffrey. “I remember I was fool enough to feel sorry for you.”
“Yes, you were pretty soft – it was rather misplaced sympathy.”
“I suppose you were lying about that, too.”
“Not altogether. I was in a camp, all right, but I wasn’t a prisoner. I was working with the S.S. They had a special foreign detachment. I joined it.”
“You’ve got quite a record, haven’t you?” said Geoffrey. He was glad that his father had been spared that knowledge, at least.
“I didn’t fancy half a dozen years as a prisoner. Joining the S.S. seemed a much better proposition. On the whole, I still think it was. Free uniform, plenty of good food, status of a sort, companionship. I must say I had quite a good time in the camp. Mind you, I didn’t like it at first. The work, I mean. You remember what I was like, Geoffrey – a fairly normal sort of chap, with all the usual inhibitions and the conventional ideas of good behaviour. To start with, I thought the things I saw and heard were horrible. They turned my stomach. I was squeamish. My conscience troubled me.”
“That takes some believing,” said Geoffrey.
“It wouldn’t if you had any conception of what I’m talking about. The thing is that I had a conscience, but I also had a life to lose. When I was first caught I got into a pretty bad camp. That part of the story I told you was true enough. I saw how other people were being treated. It seemed very unlikely that I should survive such treatment. So I decided to save myself in the only way I could. Once you’ve done that it’s an easy slide downhill. At first you’re badly shaken by the brutality and the horror. You think you’ve got into the company of inhuman devils. You almost wish you were dead. You’re still sorry for people. Then you think that things might be worse – after all, you have plenty to eat, it isn’t you that’s getting hurt. And you’re not alone – you’re in the business with a lot of other men, quite good fellows off duty, all taking orders and carrying them out. It’s easy to shift the blame. After a while the horrors begin to lose their sharpness. The novelty goes. It’s only human nature, after all. Really, it’s amazing how you can get used to seeing men hanged and women raped and little kids beaten up. ‘Let them scream,’ you say, ‘I’m all right.’ There’s no sense of guilt any more, because you’ve done it all and seen it all so often. After a while you even get to like it. We’re all sadists at heart. But that stage doesn’t last very long. In the end you don’t even get a kick out of it. You can’t think of any new ways of inflicting pain. After that, killing becomes pure routine – a chore. Just like swatting flies. I’m not exaggerating.”
Pamela said: “You’re so anxious to talk about it that I should say it’s still very much on your mind. You know it was a hideous crime.”
“You’re getting the wrong angle on this,” said Cross. “I’m not trying to interest you in a psychopathic case. I’m just trying to convince you that you’d better not try any tricks when we get under way. I’ve known people who’d take a chance even against a gun. Geoffrey here is an impulsive sort of fellow. I want to persuade him that it wouldn’t be worth while. Let me tell you about my last night at Klooga – that was the name of the camp. It was the night before the Russians came. We could hear their guns, very close, and the Commandant had had orders to pack up and destroy everything before he left – every trace. That meant the prisoners, too. Do you know what we did? We made them cut down pine trees and lay them criss-cross on the ground. When there was a nice layer of wood, we made them lie down on it – neatly, in rows, like sardines in a tin – and then we shot them. Men, women and children – it was all the same to us. Then the next lot of logs went on top of the bodies, and so on. A layer of wood, a layer of flesh.” He grinned. “How do you like my bedtime story?”
“You devil!” breathed Geoffrey, the veins standing out on his forehead.
“Exactly. Hold fast to that idea. Of course, the prisoners weren’t all dead. There were so many of them – hundreds and hundreds – and we had to shoot them in a bit of a hurry. When the pyres were high enough we threw petrol over them and set them alight. You should have seen them burn – a most dramatic sight. Something to remember all your life. I stood with the other S.S. men around the blazing heaps of wood, and every now and again what had once been a human being would squeeze out of the edge of the pyre – the edges never burned quite so well, it must have been something to do with the draught. Anyway, these chaps would crawl out, screaming like fiends out of hell, sometimes with charred stumps of arms and legs, and they’d go twisting away into the grass, and then we’d go after them and pot them off.”
Once again, as he paused, a complete silence fell in the cabin. Pamela’s face was distorted with horror and loathing, but she made no sound.
“I see I have your attention. Well, that’s my background story. You’ll understand, Geoffrey, that killing your father seemed really a very small thing. And it wasn’t just that I could use a lot of money – I desperately needed it. I thought my past might catch up on me. It was a bit sticky when I finally came round in hospital – our security chaps asked a hell of a lot of awkward questions. But I’d thought up a story. I’m rather good at making stories sound reasonable – you know that, Geoffrey, don’t you? So I got through the net all right. But I knew that wasn’t the end of the trouble. We hadn’t been able to clean up at Klooga as thoroughly as we’d intended. A few of the prisoners didn’t turn up on bonfire night – there was a bit of a flap on, as you can imagine, and we couldn’t find them. They’ve probably talked their heads off to the Russians. There were some records, too, that didn’t get destroyed. A Russian tank broke through at an awkward moment. It always seemed pretty certain that sooner or later the Russians would t
urn over their material to our security people, and that when that happened I should probably be for the high jump. So I had to get a lot of money quickly and go to some country that didn’t bother much about war criminals. You’re sure I’m not boring you?”
“Go on,” said Geoffrey, “finish your piece. Just what are you leading up to?”
Cross opened the cabin door a trifle and listened. “I don’t think the wind’s going to be as bad as I thought,” he said. “And the tide’s rising nicely. Yes, as a matter of fact I am leading up to something. Just now, Geoffrey, you seemed rather reluctant about taking Truant to sea tonight. Well, obviously I’ve got to find a way of making you. Also, of seeing that you behave yourself. You may be thinking, for instance, that as we go down the river you’ll have an opportunity at some moment or other to catch me off my guard – to get your fingers round my throat, which I’m sure you’d like to do. You may think that you’ll be able to hail a police-launch or shout to a tug, or play tricks with the boat, or catch me off balance in a heavy sea. I’ve been in this game a long time – I’ve a fairly good idea how your mind’s working just at the moment. I’ve got to take precautions against any of those things happening.”
The confident taunting voice was maddening.
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” Cross went on. “I’m not going to worry about you, Geoffrey, at all. I’m going to keep close to Pamela. You’re in love with her, aren’t you? And she’s in love with you. You’re both full of wonderful plans for the future. You’d just hate to see her getting hurt – much more than you’d mind getting hurt yourself. You’d do everything you could to protect her. And quite right – she’s well worth it. So Pamela will be my hostage. At the first sign of any funny business by you – the first sign – I shall shoot her.” He looked at Pamela with narrow eyes. “But I shan’t shoot her dead. I shall do something I learned in the camp. I shall shoot her where it’ll hurt her most and longest. I know this sounds like cheap melodrama. I don’t particularly want to do it – but I shall have to if you make me. I do want you both to understand that I’m in deadly earnest. Now what about it?” He moved slightly, and turned the gun on Pamela.
“Don’t!” Geoffrey cried, and sweat stood out on his face.
Cross grinned. “There you are, you see – it works. I’ve seen it happen so often. There’s nothing so potent as evil. And, after all, why shouldn’t it work? You’d be pretty foolish to make me put a bullet in her stomach when all you’ve got to do to avoid it is to carry out instructions and get me to Holland. Now, shall we get busy? First of all, Geoffrey, I’ll have to ask you to tie her up. I can’t risk a war on two fronts. You know where the rope is. All right, you can stand up. Get the rope from the locker. Pamela, you sit on the other berth.” He waved the gun.
Geoffrey slowly got up, stooping for lack of head-room. He motioned to Pamela. “Better do as he says. We’ve no choice.” She tumbled over to the other berth and slumped down, her dark eyes wide with fear and horror.
Geoffrey looked at her, looked at Cross, looked at the table between them. He measured the distance with his eye. The gun was pointing at Pamela. If he hurled himself across the cabin, got into the line of fire ...
Cross said, “I shouldn’t, if I were you.”
“I think you’re bluffing,” said Geoffrey, watching the trigger-finger. “I’ll tell you why. You daren’t shoot her. If you did, you’d have no hostage, and then I should try to kill you. You’d have to shoot me too. Then where would you be? How would you make the passage?”
“You’re not very bright, Geoffrey. I’ve thought it all out, you know. I can’t be worse off than I am at present, without your help. I’ve nothing to lose if I can’t get that help. If you won’t co-operate, shooting Pamela won’t do me any harm. I shall be sunk anyway. But you’ve everything to lose – both of you. You’re a fool if you can’t see that. I’ll make you a promise – if you do land me safely on the Dutch coast, I’ll undertake to let you go. And you can both live happily ever after. Isn’t that worth a little inconvenience? Doesn’t that make you want to get under way at once?”
“How can we trust you?”
“Use a little common sense, my dear fellow. Once I get to Holland, what do I gain by shooting you? It isn’t as though you have secret knowledge which might put me in danger. The police here can hang me without your help. Still, have it your own way. We’ve talked enough. Are you going to tie her up or not? I’ll count three, and then ... One!”
“Stop!” cried Geoffrey. “... All right, you win!”
“I thought you’d be sensible. Now then, get to work. And see that you make a good job of it.”
Geoffrey went into the forepeak and dragged a coil of rope from the port locker. He came back and began to tie Pamela’s hands. She said, “Don’t worry – I’ll be all right.”
Geoffrey tied her feet. “I’ll think of some way out,” he said in an undertone.
“If you’re just whispering sweet nothings,” said Cross, “they’ll keep. If you’re cooking something up, you know the consequences. I hope those are good nautical knots you’re tying, Geoffrey. Better take two or three turns round her middle to keep her arms from moving. Tighter than that!”
“She won’t be able to breathe,” said Geoffrey thickly.
“Of course she will. What’s a little discomfort in a good cause? You and she will be laughing about this together in a day or two. Anyway, I’ll be looking after her from now on. She and I are going to be bosom companions.”
Geoffrey turned on him – menacingly large, but ten feet from the gun.
“Well,” said Cross mockingly, “what’s on your mind now? Don’t worry – I’ve no designs on her honour. Too much to think about. Now then, we’ve got to arrange ourselves. Geoffrey, you go round behind the table. Okay, hold it.” His eyes swept the cabin. “Now I’ll come over to Pamela. All right, Geoffrey, you can go into the cockpit. I’ve got the gun snugly up against her. Just the right spot. Now remember, this is my last warning. You’ve got the run of the boat, Geoffrey. Keep outside the cabin. If you want anything, shout. Your job is to get us to Holland. At the very first sign of trouble of any sort, the gun goes off, and you’ll have the pleasure of hearing your lovely lady screaming in agony. And I mean the first sign! Don’t think you can monkey with the fuel – I’ve checked it. If it runs out before we get to Holland, the gun goes off. Any accident, and the gun goes off. No excuses taken. Your one hope is to make a good landfall quickly. I’m desperate.”
“You’ve made yourself quite plain,” said Geoffrey. “You’re smart, Arthur, aren’t you? If anyone had told me that one day you’d make me rope Pamela up ...”
“That’s nothing to what we made some of the prisoners do. You must remind me to tell you about it some time.”
Geoffrey gave a last look through the cabin door. “All right, Pamela?”
“It’s a nightmare,” she said. “I’ve stopped thinking.”
“That’s right,” said Cross. “Come on, Geoffrey, let’s get started.”
Geoffrey switched on the navigation-lights and pressed the self-starters. The engines quickly sprang into life and he revved them gently. He made his own check of the fuel. There should be just about enough, he decided. They would use a lot getting out of the Estuary in the teeth of the gale, but they’d have the wind on the beam once they’d turned for Holland.
He snapped on the binnacle lamp while the engines were warming up. “I’ll have to lay off a course,” he called out. “If I don’t do it now, while we’re lying quietly, it may be impossible.”
Cross came to the cabin door. “How long will it take?”
“Twenty minutes, perhaps, if you move that gun of yours. How do you expect me to make calculations with you standing there trigger-happy?”
“I’m an old hand with a gun,” said Cross. “You play fair, and I will. But get a move on – it’s ten o’clock.”
Geoffrey bent over the little chart-table beside the wheel. It was goin
g to be difficult to concentrate anyway. First he had a look at the tide-table. High water at London Bridge would be just after midnight. They would be all right now for the half-tide lock. The wind was about force five. Outside, in the Estuary, it would be stronger. The leeway would be tremendous. They would reach the sea at about five or six in the morning. It would be almost slack water – the last of the ebb. They would have a foul tide for six hours after that – by which time, if they were going to make it at all, they should be well on their way. He examined the chart of the Estuary, though he knew its main features by heart. It had not been brought up to date – that was an extra risk. He’d have to stick closely to the deep channels – once he got off his course he’d be piled up on a bank in no time in such weather. He’d better go straight out through the dredged channel to the Nore Lightship and into the Oaze Deep. He’d change course at the Red Sand buoy, if he could find it – anyway, he’d be able to pick up the flash of the East Red Sand light. The channel south of the Girdler was too narrow – he might be set on to the Pan Sand or the Tongue. Better to go by the Shingles and through the South Edinburgh channel. Then he’d be all clear for the Kentish Knock and the open sea.
“Where do you want to make a landfall?” he called out.
“I leave it to you,” said Cross. “A quiet spot – preferably with sand-dunes on the coast. No villages, no towns. If we touch down where it’s inhabited, and get spotted, so much the worse for you.”
Geoffrey turned up the chart of the Dutch coast. “If a miracle happens,” he said, “and we don’t founder or run aground or hit a mine, we ought to be off the Dutch coast in the early hours of Saturday morning. Somewhere between Flushing and the Hook. ...”
Cross said: “I want the mainland, don’t forget. None of your islands!”