Final Witness

by J F Straker

  David gave him a beer and started to tidy the flat, returning evasive answers to the West Indian’s questions or ignoring them altogether. He was annoyed at the man’s visit. The time when Winstone could have helped him was past. Now the man was only a hindrance.

  His mood was too obvious for Winstone to disregard it for long. ‘You don’t want me here, huh? You don’t trust me?’ he asked.

  David slammed a drawer home and turned to face him.

  ‘Not exactly,’ he said curtly, his mood tempering the truth. Morgan had provided several reasons for doubting the man; David had refused to accept them, and his visit to the Seventy-Seven had seemed to justify his refusal. Winstone himself, however, had not yet been challenged; how would he answer the superintendent’s accusations? ‘According to the police, most of what you told me on Thursday evening was sheer fabrication.’

  It seemed that to Winstone police intervention was of greater moment than David’s accusation. Or perhaps he did not appreciate that an accusation had been made. He said quickly, ‘You told them I been here? Why you want to do that?’

  David shrugged. ‘No option. Earlier that evening my flat had been burgled, and the police were round here next morning collecting finger-prints. They must have found plenty of yours. Presumably they checked with Scotland Yard, and —’

  ‘You think I got a police record? You wrong, man.’ There was no jubilation in Winstone’s voice, it was a statement of fact. ‘I done things, but I ain’t never been catched.’

  ‘No?’ Since only the police could confirm or deny that statement, David let it pass. ‘In that case you’ve nothing to worry about, have you? But the superintendent tells me there is no record at Somerset House of your marriage to Nora. Who’s right? You or he?’

  Winstone considered the question, watching the beer as he slowly swilled it round and round in the glass.

  ‘We ain’t married,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m willing, but Nora don’t want it. She say she won’t be tied to no man for good.’ He looked up. ‘And her right, I guess. Nora too restless, she changing man job — home too quickly. We live together for six months, then she leave me. We don’t have no quarrel. I do all I can to make her stay, but she just say she had enough, and walk out.’

  ‘Then why tell me you were married?’

  Winstone shrugged his slim shoulders.

  ‘It seem like marriage to me. And if I say we just live together for a few months, you going to like that?’ He took a quick sip at the beer. ‘Man, you think I’m just another nigger living on white woman. That going to make you trust me, huh?’

  David saw his point, and was inclined to accept it. But he had not finished yet.

  ‘All right. But the police also say that Nora is dead. They found the car in which she was kidnapped. The back seat and the carpet were drenched in blood.’

  Winstone stared at him. ‘How they know it’s the right car?’

  ‘It was the one I’d seen outside the flat that night. I remembered the make and number. They also found her scarf in it.’

  The man looked more puzzled than alarmed. He put the glass down on the table and with lean, supple fingers scratched his head.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he muttered, as though talking to himself. ‘Man, I just don’t know. She was alive Wednesday morning, that I swear.’ He stopped scratching. ‘When they find the car?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Thursday night or early Friday morning.’

  ‘They don’t find Nora’s body?’

  ‘They hadn’t then. I don’t know what has happened since, but I imagine not. It would have been reported in the newspapers.’

  Slowly Winstone checked off the fingers of his left hand, crooking them one by one into the pinkly brown palm.

  ‘Man, that’s five days since they took her. Nobody going to tell me the cops can’t find a body in five days.’ The clenched fist was complete, and he bumped it several times on the padded arm of the chair. ‘If there blood in that car it not hers. Couldn’t be.’

  ‘Then whose was it?’

  Winstone shrugged, and cast his eyes up to the ceiling; in the lamplight they shone whitely. He seemed to think the gesture expressive enough, for he said nothing. David was inclined to agree with him; a plurality of corpses was certainly within the gunman’s capability, the blood was not necessarily Nora’s. And five days was a long while for a body to remain undiscovered.

  He said, ‘All right. But I’m trusting no one until I’m dead sure. Too many lives at stake, including mine. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ve things to do.’

  ‘You want me to go?’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ David had a guilty feeling that he had been unfair. ‘Pour yourself another beer and switch on the telly. There’s no hurry.’

  Winstone did neither. He sat leaning forward, the near-empty glass held between both hands, a frown puckering the jagged scar on his forehead as he stared unblinking at the carpet. To hell with him! thought David. Let him get on with it. I’ve enough worries of my own without shouldering his.

  It had occurred to him that he should write to Lumsden at his lodgings in Rotherhithe; it was just possible that he had guessed wrong, that Lumsden had not taken the girl to Cornwall and might return while he, David, was away. So he told him what he had learned or guessed from his talk with Mrs Einsdorp, and that he had gone to Pendwara to find him. If Lumsden were to return in the meantime, he wrote, it was essential that he should get in touch immediately with the editor of Topical Truths. The safety of himself and his wife might depend on it.

  He’ll probably take no more notice of this than he did of my first epistle, thought David as he licked and sealed the envelope. He wondered what the landlady would make of it if curiosity should get the better of her.

  He was writing a note to the milkman when the telephone rang.

  ‘David? Oh, thank goodness!’ Susan’s voice was shrill. ‘I’ve been trying to get you all day. I’d have come round to see you if I hadn’t been so scared. I wasn’t sure, you see, what they meant to do; even in broad daylight I didn’t feel safe. And then when it got dark —’

  ‘Whoa there!’ Susan in hysterics was something new. ‘Take it steady, can’t you? What’s all this about being scared? Scared of what?’

  ‘The telephone call. He rang me this afternoon, just after lunch. And he said —’

  ‘Who rang you?’

  ‘Bandy.’ David drew in his breath sharply. ‘Or maybe it was one of his men. I don’t know. But he said I was to tell you that if you didn’t stop interfering in his affairs he would start interfering in yours. You wouldn’t like that one bit, he said, and neither would your friends. And then he laughed — a fiendish laugh, David, really it was —and rang off.’ Over the telephone he heard her sniff, but he did not think she was crying. ‘I’ve been trying to get you ever since. If you hadn’t answered this time I was going to ring Mr Morgan. I had to tell someone.’

  ‘I’ve been here since seven,’ David said. But that was immaterial. He must calm Susan down, try to make her feel secure. ‘It’s just a great big bluff, Susan; it shows they’re getting jittery. They know they can’t scare me off, so they’re trying to add your persuasion to theirs. Don’t be fooled by a simple trick like that.’

  ‘I’m not fooled, I’m frightened. I’m frightened for myself and I’m frightened for you. When will you be round?’

  David swore under his breath. He had enough on his plate without having to spend the evening trying to pacify an hysterical girl. ‘In about three days time,’ he told her. ‘I’m off to the West Country early to-morrow morning, hot on the scent. Back by Wednesday at the latest. See you then.’

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ The hysteria was returning, but she checked it quickly. In a softer voice she said, ‘David, please! After all, it was you who got me into this. Can’t I see you for just a few minutes, darling? I’ll not sleep a wink unless I do.’

  He could have resisted anger, but not her pleading. And it was true that he was indirectly r
esponsible for her present panic.

  ‘O.K. I’ll be along in about half an hour. Now, don’t ring off. Winstone is here with me — you know, Nora’s husband — and I want you to have a word with him.’ Winstone had looked up quickly at the mention of his name and was staring at David. David stared back. ‘I want you to listen to his voice and tell me if he was one of the men who tied you up Thursday evening.’

  Winstone was on his feet now, but he did not obey David’s beckoning hand. ‘Frightened?’ David asked.

  The man shook his head. ‘No, man. I never tied no woman up.’ He took a few steps across the room. ‘What you want me to say?’

  ‘Anything that comes into your head. Tell her what Bandy and his mob did to you. No, better not. She’s scared enough already.’ He handed over the receiver. ‘Tell her about your job in the band.’

  In a few halting sentences Winstone told her. It was not an expansive description, but it sufficed. David said, ‘Now tell her to keep her head buried in the pillows.’ The West Indian looked his astonishment. ‘Go on, tell her.’

  Winstone told her. David took the receiver from him. ‘Well?’ he asked Susan.

  ‘No, darling. Not like either of them.’ She giggled nervously. ‘I must say it was an odd conversation to have on the telephone.’

  David hung up with a repeated promise to be round shortly. As he completed his packing Winstone said, ‘You going to look for them two witnesses? You know where they are?’

  ‘I may do.’

  ‘You let me come with you? Like I say, I want to help.’

  ‘No.’ David wondered why he should be so emphatic in his refusal. A companion on the trip could be an asset; but it had to be a companion he could trust, and he could not trust Winstone. Perhaps it was the man’s colour, or the fact that by his own admission he had not always been law-abiding; or perhaps it was that suspicion once aroused was not easily allayed. To offset his bluntness he said, ‘This isn’t just a personal feud, you know. I’m working for a magazine, and my editor might disapprove if I co-opted an assistant.’

  Susan lived in Bayswater. David took Winstone with him in the Alvis, and until leaving the car at Notting Hill the man continued to plead his cause. But David was adamant. ‘Try shadowing your shadow for a change,’ he suggested. ‘If you’re smart he might lead you to Nora.’

  By the time David arrived Susan had regained her nerve, but she was unfeignedly glad to see him. He sat in her tiny flat, a large whisky in his hand and Susan squatting on a cushion at his feet, and listened again to the story of the threatening telephone call. The flat was sharply gay, with modern furniture and bright colours and an extravagant luxuriance of carpeting and curtains. There were a few ornaments in fine glass or china, one or two good prints on the walls.

  David said, ‘If Bandy meant to harm you he wouldn’t warn you first. But he doesn’t, of course. Not because of any scruples, but because he knows damned well it would be a gamble that couldn’t pay off. No. He reckoned that a woman would be more easily bluffed into panic than a man.’ Susan gave an indignant sniff. ‘However, I’ll let Morgan know. I expect he’ll have someone keep an eye on you for the next few days.’

  ‘You wouldn’t care to keep an eye on me yourself?’ she suggested. ‘It’d be a lot cosier. I don’t take kindly to strangers.’

  ‘I told you, I’m off to Cornwall in the morning.’

  ‘What part of Cornwall?’

  ‘Near Helston.’ That was enough for Susan. To keep her happy he added, ‘When I get back we’ll throw a party to celebrate.’

  ‘If you get back,’ Susan said. ‘Your friend Bandy may decide otherwise.’

  The soft voice was tremulous. Despite her attempt at flippancy, he knew that tears were not far away, and that it was fear for him which prompted them. There was an unspoken pleading in the grey-green eyes as they gazed up at him from under that provocative auburn lock, a tenseness in the supple body so delectably outlined by the cotton frock, gay and deceptive in its simplicity. But he had to resist her pleading. He could not call off the hunt now.

  ‘He won’t,’ he said confidently. ‘I’m way ahead of him, and that’s where I mean to stay. You’ll see.’

  Susan shifted her position, stretching out her shapely legs and tugging at the hem of her frock in a vain attempt to cover her knees. Planting both hands on the carpet behind her, she leaned back to regard him earnestly.

  ‘And what then?’ she demanded. ‘What happens when you’ve caught up with the runaways? Do you hand them over to the police?’

  ‘Probably. It depends on circumstances.’

  ‘But you must, David. You’ve no option.’

  ‘All right, I must.’

  He leaned forward and ruffled her auburn hair. But Susan was in no mood for frivolity. She jerked her head away impatiently.

  ‘It’s time you grew up, David. This isn’t a game; you’re gambling with people’s lives, your own included. Even if everything goes according to plan, there’s more to follow. The police still have to catch up with Bandy, and until they do you won’t be safe.’

  He said cheerfully, ‘We’ll have clipped the blighter’s wings. He’ll either lie low, or try to skip the country. Either way he’s out of business, and it will only be a question of time before he’s caught.’

  ‘And you will have been responsible. That’s what frightens me. He may decide on revenge.’

  David was touched by her concern, even a little perturbed by it. It was unlike Susan to indulge in pessimism. But as he drove back to Fulham his anxiety quickly evaporated; happy in the smooth running of the Alvis, exhilarated by the sharp crackle of the exhaust and the feeling of power under his feet, he was soon singing lustily. The Alvis would need to be at her best tomorrow. In the few months she had been his he had never taken her father than the home counties; Pendwara was nearly three hundred miles away, a stern test for the old bus. But he had no doubt she would make it. The treads on the rear tyres might be a little thin, but there was plenty of wear in them yet.

  Outside the flat he tucked her up carefully, giving the bonnet a valedictory pat as he left her. The thought of the morrow cheered him. It would be good to get away from London, even better to know he had finished with Rotherhithe. And if all went well he would return with yet another scoop to his credit. Not, perhaps, as startling as Shere Island, but surely worthy of financial recognition by Snowball. As for Susan’s gloomy foreboding of what might happen later that was hooey. Revenge was a luxury that a crook in Bandy’s position could not afford. Against his own kind, yes; that was traditional. But opposition from those within the law was what he would expect. It would not motivate revenge.

  It was the lamp across the street that saved him. As he ran up the steps it glinted on moving steel, steel that shot upward and then swiftly downward. But David was ready. As the man lunged he leapt sideways, knocking the arm away and then turning and gripping it at the wrist with both hands. Exerting all his strength, he twisted it viciously. With a sharp cry of pain the man swung round, his back to David, his fingers opening to let the knife fall with a clatter to the stone paving.

  ‘Not very clever,’ David said, breathing hard. ‘The best manuals tell you to bring the knife up, not down. It’s quicker, and harder to counter.’ He jerked his knee into the other’s crutch and gave the wrist an extra twist. The man squealed shrilly. Exulting in his victory, David said, ‘Tough as butter, eh? Now come inside and let’s have a look at you.’

  His exultation was his undoing. As he reached for the doorhandle he temporarily relaxed his grip on the other’s wrist. The man brought his arm down sharply and swung round. Before David could defend himself a fist caught him flush on the chin and he staggered back, releasing his hold and banging his head sharply against the stone wall. His assailant did not wait for him to recover; he was down the steps in a flash, picking up the knife as he went. David could hear the padding feet vanishing into the darkness.

  One hand to the back of his head, he moved away fro
m the wall and stumbled down the steps to the street. The man had gone south, away from the lights of the Fulham Road. His footsteps were still audible, but David did not attempt to give chase. Never a fleet runner, he knew he would stand no chance of catching his assailant. And there was always the danger that the man might wait for him in the shadows, that a second attempt at murder might be more successful than the first.

  He went back to the flat and examined his face in the mirror. His chin was sore, but there was no swelling. Gingerly fingering the back of his head, he could feel a lump forming. The skin was unbroken, but he knew he was in for a headache.

  He poured himself a whisky and sat down to consider the situation. He had experienced no fear at the time of the encounter; but now that it was past his limbs felt weak and there was a fluttering in the pit of his stomach, and he knew that he was afraid. Danger was not a new experience. But suddenly to be faced with death when he had thought himself secure, to realize that he had become a man marked down for extermination, was a frightening prospect.

  But David was stubborn. It occurred to him that he could call off the hunt, but he rejected that solution almost immediately; he could recognize fear, but he would not pander to it. And perhaps it was now too late to retreat. Perhaps he had gone so far that, even if he went no farther, his enemies would still consider him a threat to their security. He began to regret his summary dismissal of Winstone. The West Indian might not be the ideal companion, but any companion would be a solace now. And who else among his acquaintances could take immediate leave of absence for a couple of days?

  Paul. Paul had no ties. With his one arm he would not be much use in a rough-house; but a rough-house was not necessarily on the cards, and if they could leave London without being followed it could be disregarded entirely. From all other aspects Paul would be the ideal companion.

  Paul received the telephoned invitation with caution. Yes, he was free. He had to be in Exeter on Wednesday, but he had no commitments until then.