by Jack Higgins
There was no time for words. Two more came boring in, one of them wielding a bone-handled razor, the blade gleaming dully in the rain. Nick reached for the wrist, turning his head to avoid a blow from the other and was aware of Jean Fleming’s face beyond the man’s shoulder, contorted with anger, teeth bared.
She hooked her fingers into long, greasy hair, dragging the man’s head back and Nick concentrated on the other. He swung in, pushing the razor away from him and applied a wrist lock. The man screamed, dropping the razor, and Nick delivered an elbow strike at close quarters that produced a cry of agony.
The man fell backwards, got to his feet and stumbled away. Nick turned and found Lazer rolling in the flooded gutter, grappling with a man in an old trenchcoat. Jean was against the wall, struggling furiously.
Nick moved in fast, grabbed the man by the collar with both hands and sent him staggering into the fog. At the same moment, Lazer’s assailant rolled on top, got to his feet and went after his comrades fast.
There was silence. Only the rain hissing down, Jean struggling to catch her breath, a slight moan from the one who had carried the iron bar.
Lazer, sitting in the gutter, got to his feet with a queer, choking laugh. ‘What brought that little lot on?’
‘I think I must have hurt somebody’s feelings.’ Nick turned to Jean. ‘You all right?’
She laughed shakily. ‘You’re damned right I am. What on earth was it all about?’
‘I don’t know, Jean.’ He shook his head. ‘There’s more to this whole business than meets the eye. Much more.’
There was a slight noise behind them and as he swung round, the man who was lying face down on the pavement beside the car, reached for the iron bar and started to his feet. Lazer moved across quickly, pulled it easily from his grasp and slammed the man hard against the car.
‘Another move like that and I’ll bend this across your skull.’
The man hung there, hands clawing across the roof for support, head down and Nick took Jean by the arm and led her to the gate. ‘Mix yourself a stiff drink, you’ve earned it. Then go to bed.’
She looked up at him anxiously, her face pale in the lamplight. ‘What about you?’
‘I’ll take this character down to Central with me, not that I expect to get very much out of him. On the other hand we should be able to put him away for a couple of years, which is something.’
‘Can you get back later on?’
‘I’ll try, I really will.’ He took her hand and held it tightly for a moment. ‘You looked good in there.’
‘The Khyber Street brand goes clear to the bone,’ she said. ‘You can never quite get rid of it.’ She took a handkerchief from her pocket and reached up to dab the blood on his right cheek. ‘That’s a nasty cut. It needs looking at.’
He caught her wrist gently, pulled her close in his arms and kissed her and it was like nothing he had ever experienced before, touching something deep inside him, fierce yet gentle.
She stared up at him, an expression of wonder in her eyes, and then she smiled and it was as if a lamp had been turned on inside. She reached up and touched his face once, then ran through the rain across the yard to the porch.
Chapter 17
The pale green walls of the Interrogation Room seemed to swim out of the shadows caused by the strong central light hanging above the table at which sat Charles Edward Foster, head in hands, his entire body one great ache.
Nick stood at the window and looked into the deserted rainswept street outside. His cheek throbbed painfully and he gingerly prodded the broad strip of sticking plaster with a finger end.
It was a little after two-fifteen. He yawned, took out a crumpled packet of cigarettes and extracted the last one. He was in the act of lighting it when the Duty Inspector entered.
‘I’ve filled in the charge sheet for you.’
‘I’ll remember you in my will.’
‘I think your next move should be to the Infirmary. That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there. Probably needs a stitch or two.’
Foster raised his head. ‘Never mind that bastard. What about me? I need a doctor if anyone does after what he did. Just wait till my solicitor gets here.’
‘And just what did he do to you, Charlie?’ Superintendent Grant said from the doorway.
Foster contrived an expression that was a mixture of innocent mystification and hurt dignity. ‘Kicked me in the crutch, he did, Mr Grant. You’ve got a right one here, I can tell you.’
The Inspector handed the charge sheet to Grant without a word.
‘Presumably this little lot has got nothing to do with the case at all?’
Grant walked across to a side table on which were laid neatly the iron bar, bone-handled razor and length of bicycle chain which had been left on the scene of battle by Foster’s friends.
Foster lapsed into sullen silence and Grant looked enquiringly at Nick. ‘All right, are you?’
‘He needs a few stitches in that face, if you ask me, sir,’ the Duty Inspector put in.
Grant nodded. ‘Have somebody take this cowboy downstairs will you, Jack? I’ll have a word with him later.’
The Inspector nodded, took Foster by the arm and led him out. Grant sat on the edge of the table and lit his pipe.
‘You’ve heard about Brady?’
‘When I brought Foster in. What happened exactly?’
‘Looks like a hit and run. We had an anonymous 999 call, but that doesn’t mean anything. Probably some good citizen who didn’t want to dirty his hands by getting mixed up in police business.’ He sighed. ‘What a night. A factory break-in at Maske Lane that’ll push the crime figures up by £7,000 at least. God knows how many smash and grabs in the fog, three robberies with assault, obviously the same artist, and one attempted rape. On top of that, this Brady business.’
‘How is he?’
‘There’s the preliminary report if you’re interested.’
‘It doesn’t look too good, does it?’ Nick said, handing the casualty report back to Grant.
‘They turned out a Consultant and I had a word with him after his examination. Apparently the skull fracture’s the only really serious part. The rest is just trimmings. As things are at the moment, he doesn’t see why Jack shouldn’t pull through.’ He sighed and applied another match to his pipe. ‘I’d like to know what he was doing in Canal Street, though.’
Nick crushed his cigarette into the ashtray. ‘Did you know that after leaving here, he went looking for Ben Garvald?’
Grant stared at him blankly, a look of genuine amazement on his face. ‘What in the hell are you talking about? Ben Garvald is your pigeon.’
‘Which didn’t stop Brady visiting the Flamingo before me to ask Fred Manton if Garvald had been around.’
‘You’re sure about this?’
‘Manton told me himself.’ Nick shrugged. ‘I can’t see any reason for him to lie.’
Grant frowned heavily, his teeth clamped hard on the stem of his pipe. ‘I wonder what Jack was playing at?’
‘I think it’s simple enough,’ Nick said. ‘He finds me pretty hard to take. Perhaps he thought he’d be proving something if he got to Garvald first.’
Grant sighed heavily. ‘You could be right. In any case, we won’t know anything for sure until he regains consciousness.’
‘What about the car that hit him?’
‘A needle in a haystack on a night like this, but we’ll find it, never fear.’ Grant applied yet another match to the bowl of his pipe. ‘You’d better fill me in on what you’ve been up to. You’ve certainly stamped good and hard on somebody’s toes when they go to the expense of putting Charlie Foster and his gallant band on to you.’
Nick filled in the details quickly, leaving nothing out. When he was finished, Grant sat there, a frown on his weatherbeaten face.
‘What do you think?’ Nick asked after a while.
‘I think it stinks,’ Grant said, ‘to high heaven. When you get cautious birds like Fred Man
ton and Harry Faulkner allowing themselves to be dragged down, there must be a reason.’ He stood up abruptly. ‘Find Ben Garvald, Miller. He’s the key.’
Nick picked up his cap and coat from a chair and grinned tightly. ‘It’s a great life if you don’t weaken.’
‘Not at half past bloody two in the morning with the sodding Asian flu seeping into your bones it isn’t,’ Grant said. ‘I’ll have Aspro coming out of my ears if I take any more. Keep in touch. I’ll be at that factory in Maske Lane if you need me.’
He walked away along the corridor to his office and Nick pulled on his coat and cap and went downstairs to the main entrance. Chuck Lazer leaned in a corner, eyes closed.
Nick nodded to the desk sergeant and touched Lazer on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go, America.’
He moved out through the glass doors and paused at the top of the main steps beside a tall pillar, pulling up his collar against the rain.
‘What happens now?’ Lazer demanded as he joined him.
Nick grinned. ‘For you, bed. I’ll drop you off at your place. I’m still on duty till six and a lot later than that if I don’t find Garvald.’
‘It’s that important, is it?’
Chuck Lazer hesitated. ‘Look, you meant what you said earlier, didn’t you? About only wanting a chat with Ben? I mean, he hasn’t done anything, has he?’
‘Not that I know of, but he could certainly clear a few things up for us,’ Nick frowned. ‘Don’t tell me you know where he is?’
Lazer made his decision and sighed. ‘He said something about the Regent Hotel, General. It’s not far from City Square. That doesn’t mean he’ll be in, mind you.’
‘Maybe not, but it’s something to go on,’ Nick said and together they hurried down the steps to the Mini-Cooper.
When they went into the foyer of the Regent Hotel, it was deserted. Nick rang the bell and after a while, the door to the office opened and the Irish girl came out, sleep in her eyes. She straightened the skirt of her nylon overall and yawned.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘Police,’ Nick said. ‘I’m looking for a man called Garvald – Ben Garvald. I understand he’s staying here. Probably booked in this evening.’
Something moved in her eyes, but it was quickly gone and she managed a puzzled frown. ‘There’s been some mistake. We don’t have any Mr Garvald staying here.’
‘He could be using another name. A big, toughlooking Irishman. Aged about forty.’
‘No. We’ve nobody like that.’ She shook her head positively. ‘As a matter of fact, we’ve only had two new guests in the last three days and they were a couple of Indian gentlemen.’
‘Can I see the register?’
She produced it from beneath the counter without a flicker and he opened it. The last signatures halfway down a page were two days old – the Indians she had mentioned. If the book was any guide, she was certainly telling the truth.
‘Satisfied, Sergeant?’ she said brightly.
Nick smiled and closed the register. ‘Sorry you’ve been troubled. Must be some other hotel.’
Lazer had said nothing throughout the interview, but when they got outside into the street, he grabbed Nick by the sleeve. ‘The Regent Hotel, Gloyne Street. That’s what the man said, General.’
‘I know, I know,’ Nick said. ‘She’s lying. It stuck out a mile. Give it a couple of minutes and we’ll go back in.’
He lit a cigarette and stood there on the bottom step just inside the porch, staring into the rain, feeling suddenly tired. He hadn’t got his second wind yet, that was the trouble. He flicked the cigarette through the darkness in a gleaming curve, nodded to Lazer and pushed the glass door open softly.
The foyer was deserted again, but the office door stood ajar. He moved forward quietly and gently raised the flap of the reception desk.
The Irish girl was standing at the office desk, a handbag open in front of her. She took a wad of notes from it quickly, put one foot on a chair, slid back her skirt and pushed the notes into her stocking top.
Lazer clapped his hands together gently. ‘Now that’s what I really call a show.’
The Irish girl swung round, straightening her skirt, alarm on her face. For a moment, she seemed shaken and uncertain and then obviously decided to brazen it out.
‘Hey, is that nice, sneaking up on a girl like that?’
‘Oh, we didn’t think you’d mind.’ Nick took her hands. ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’
‘Aren’t you the one?’ As he pushed her back against the desk, she put her arms around his neck. ‘And what would the Chief Constable say to this, I wonder?’
‘He likes us to have our fun. After all, that’s what keeps us going.’
He leaned down to kiss her and at the same moment, slid his right hand quickly up a warm leg. She started to struggle, but he found what he was looking for and grinned as he held up the wad of notes.
‘Give me that, damn you,’ she said, striking out at him, trying to grab his hand. ‘What in the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
He shoved her away and counted the money quickly. ‘Twenty quid and all in oncers.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve never had this much together at any one time in your life before.’
‘You give me my money,’ she spat, tears of rage in her eyes.
He flung it in her face and as she staggered back with a cry, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her viciously. ‘Ten seconds, that’s all I’m going to give you. Garvald was here, wasn’t he?’
She cracked wide open, terror in her eyes, arms up before her face to block the blow she expected to follow. ‘Don’t hit me for God’s sake. I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!’
Nick stood back and waited and after a moment or two, the words came tumbling out. ‘He came in this evening, about nine o’clock. He didn’t sign the book because I forgot to ask him to.’
‘Did he go out?’
‘Not as far as I know. He was in at one o’clock when the men came for him.’
‘Who were they?’ She hesitated and he took a quick step towards her, his voice grating. ‘I said who were they?’
‘One of them was a bloke I met at a party a few weeks ago. A Greek or a Cypriot or something. They called him Jango. I don’t know who the other was. He had a wall eye, that’s all I can tell you.’
‘Max Donner,’ Lazer put in quickly. ‘He and Jango are a couple of heavies. Manton keeps them around to handle the rough stuff.’
Nick nodded and turned back to the girl. ‘So they gave you twenty quid. What for?’
‘I had to take Mr Garvald a cup of tea. Jango put something in it. Knock-out drops I suppose. I think they were afraid of him.’
‘And it worked?’
She nodded. ‘They took him away in a car. I don’t know where to.’
Nick turned to Lazer and the American shrugged. ‘Maybe the Flamingo?’
‘I shouldn’t think it’s very likely,’ Nick said. ‘But we can try.’
They turned to the door and the Irish girl grabbed his sleeve. ‘I didn’t mean any harm. They said they were friends of his, that they were just playing a joke on him.’
‘Do I look as if I came over on a banana boat?’ Nick tapped her gently on the side of the face with his open hand. ‘You’ve got twenty quid and there’s a boat train leaving for Liverpool around 6 a.m. Be on it.’
He turned and walked out leaving her standing in the middle of the room. She stood there gazing at the open doorway for a while, a dazed expression on her face, then got down on her hands and knees wearily and started to pick up the money.
There was plenty of activity outside the Flamingo, mainly cars driving away, and Nick stood in a doorway opposite the Mini-Cooper and smoked a cigarette as he waited for Chuck Lazer.
The plot was thickening with a vengeance, so much was evident, but the reasons were still far from clear. One thing was certain. Whoever wanted Ben Garvald out of the way, must have a pretty good reason.
The A
merican came round the corner from the alley and joined him in the doorway. ‘No sign of them. Manton isn’t there either.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely. I even went upstairs and searched his private apartment. Let myself out of the side door.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s in the river already – Ben, I mean.’
‘Is there anywhere else they could take him? Somewhere secluded or out of the way, perhaps.’
Lazer frowned and then suddenly his face lit up. ‘Why didn’t I think of it before? There’s an old Georgian house on the edge of town near Ryescroft. They call it The Grange locally. Stands on its own in a couple of acres.’
‘Is it Manton’s?’
Lazer shook his head. ‘Another of Faulkner’s buys. He’s going to turn it into a swish country club, but Manton’s in charge out there. At the moment, there’s only a caretaker. Weird old boy called Bluey Squires. Used to be on the door at the Flamingo till he broke a leg.’
Ryescroft. That was half a mile beyond the city boundary which strictly speaking brought it within the jurisdiction of the county constabulary. Nick considered that along with several other important facts and made his decision.
‘Let’s get moving,’ he said and went down the steps to the Mini-Cooper.
Chapter 18
The Grange was the sort of place that had been built in grey Yorkshire stone on the high tide of Victorian prosperity by some self-made megalomaniac. Vast Gothic chimneys lifted into the night from the pointed roof and the grounds were surrounded by a ten-foot wall.
Nick parked in a narrow lane some thirty or forty yards from the main gate, opened a door and got out. ‘It looks like a bad set for Wuthering Heights.’
Lazer slid behind the wheel and grinned. ‘Wish me luck, General. Maybe they’ll give me a medal or something.’
‘Play it by ear,’ Nick told him. ‘If Manton is there, you know what to say. I’ll wait for you here.’
The American slammed the door and drove away rapidly. The iron gates stood open and he followed the drive between a double line of poplar trees leading up to the great dark pile of the house. No light showed anywhere and he took