Send Superintendent West iw-7

by John Creasey

  What’s holding us back?”

  He shook hands with Al Ginney, who stepped with them to the street. A Cadillac convertible, wine-red cellulose and chromium glistening, stood in the shade of a spreading beech tree. By now more people were in the main street and in the shops. Most of the weather-board houses were freshly painted, looking bright and new. Only a duster of shops had two storeys or more, while all the houses were the English bungalow type, but looked much larger.

  Lissa took the wheel, and Ginney waved them off. Soon they passed the open doors of the little hotel where Roger had feasted on ham and eggs. Looking between the houses on the left, Roger caught glimpses of the lake; of trees on the lake shore, a brighter green than those farther from the water; of small craft moving slowly, an outboard motor-boat flashed past them with a stuttering roar. The far bank of the lake, where Roger had stood and looked at the lights of Wycoma during the night, now seemed much nearer. Beyond, hills rose in wooded slopes, and beyond the hills, peaks which looked like mountains.

  Now he and Lissa were passing the end of a dirt road, and as they did so, a big car which had been standing there slid after them.

  “See that?” Roger asked quietly.

  We’re well guarded,” Lissa said. “Someone thinks you’re worth taking care of.”

  Roger didn’t speak.

  “How do you feel?” asked Lissa.

  “Stiff in places, otherwise I’m all right.”

  “If you were half dead, you’d call yourself all right.”

  She didn’t look at him. The hood was down, wind sang past the windscreen and whipped round it, playing with her hair where it escaped the peaked pull-on cap she was wearing. He hadn’t given much thought to her clothes before. The cap, wine red like the Cadillac, a beige shirt with large breast pockets, and a wine red skirt; simple, perfect for her. As she drove, she looked as if she held the secret of life.

  “How far is it?” Roger asked.

  “Say a hundred and sixty miles; we’ll arrive late this afternoon.”

  “How did you get here so soon?”

  “I flew,” she said simply. “The car was sent from Albany.”

  They look after you well.”

  They know how important this is, Roger,” Lissa said. “Anyway they don’t want anything else to happen to an English policeman over here! The fingerprints will help, but you’re still the man who matters. The man who matters,” she repeated softly, and glanced at him. Then she laughed. “It’s too bad. You don’t have two hours in New York before you get carried off, and even when you see the Adirondacks, you’re being hunted or hustled. We’re on the eastern slopes,” she went on. “In a month or six weeks, you ought to come back to see the autumn leaves. I don’t think there is anything like their colours in the world.” She laughed again, as if she were excited, and talked swiftly, as if anxious to stop herself from thinking too much. “You’ll have heard that too often already, Ed Pullinger couldn’t help himself talking about New York. Do we talk too much about America? I often wish I knew just what the English think about us. Is it too bad?”

  Roger said easily: “I’d rather work with Marino than with most men I know.”

  “Thank you.” She took her right hand off the wheel and rested it for a moment on Roger’s knee. “If there’s one thing I want, it’s that you should think well of us.”

  He didn’t have to tell her that he knew she meant it.

  She drove fast without being reckless, and the other car was always in sight behind them. The first hour was through winding tree-clad slopes, hiding large lakes, allowing only occasional glimpses of them through the folds in the hills and the valleys. There was little traffic. The surface of the road was good, the edges roughly finished to eyes used to the neatness of English roads. Roger didn’t consciously compare them, but sat back and let reflections drift in and out of his mind in a strange contentment. The aching in his limbs had eased, and now only the abrasions at his ankle and the back of his right heel stung, but not severely.

  Soon they reached open land, pasture with long, wide vistas, and here it would have been easy to imagine that he was in an unfamiliar part of England. Only the big cars and the huge trucks were different; and the small towns, with their frame houses, each house surrounded by sweeping lawns and shaded from the hot sun by tall trees.

  It was in one of those towns that they stopped for lunch, choosing a large, single-storey restaurant, where green blinds were down to keep out the sun, and a huge sign proclaimed:

  Steaks

  Chicken in the Basket

  Boston Baked Beans

  Roger hadn’t eaten a bigger steak for years.

  The big room was cool, the service friendly, music came from juke boxes fed with nickels by a family with three children who were sprawling over the chairs and examining the colourful candy-stand with eager eyes.

  Afterwards, Lissa drove on tirelessly. They said little. Roger thought less, his mind a vacuum which he knew would soon have to be filled; but there was no need to fill it yet. Just after four o’clock they turned off a wide main road on to a narrow one with a good tar surface, and Lissa said:

  “In another two miles, we’ll be there. Roger, please try to help David. I know you don’t like him, but try to help. I don’t think — I don’t think anyone could do anything to help Belle, unless it’s David. That’s why he needs all the help anyone can give him.”

  “I’ll try,” Roger promised. “Has there been any ransom demand yet?”

  “I forgot you didn’t know. He paid some as soon as he got here. One hundred thousand dollars. When we found out he had cashed such a big cheque we made him talk, we got tough for once.” She didn’t smile. “He put it in an old chest in the house, and doesn’t know who took it, although it must have been someone with access to the household.”

  Roger nodded; looked at her; and wondered.

  • • •

  The house was in the old Colonial style, built of weatherboard, with tall round pillars at the front, on either side of the large verandah and the dozen steps leading up to it. It stood in parkland. Gardeners were working on the lawns and in the flower gardens, which were massed with colour. Hissing sprays of water filmed the air in a dozen places. On one side was a swimming-pool, with diving-board and two small brick-built sheds, one at each end. The water looked limpid in the sunshine, and shone pale blue because of the tiles.

  Lissa pulled up at the front steps. The other car drove past them towards garages which were just visible. As they walked towards the open front door, Dr Carl Fischer appeared, a hand raised, face twisted in a smile. It might have been the direct rays of the sun, but it looked to Roger as if Fischer were showing signs of great strain.

  He shook hands with Roger.

  “They tell me you’ve been getting around.”

  Roger smiled. “A little,” he conceded.

  “I’m glad you don’t look like another patient,” said Fischer dryly.

  “How are they?” Lissa asked as they entered the shady hall.

  “Much worse, since they heard that Ricky had been traced and lost again. The news came over the radio, someone must have picked it up in Wycoma.” Fischer glanced at Roger almost accusingly, as if to blame him for the news leaking out. “Belle gave David another look at hell after that. He looks as if he’s turning into stone, I don’t think he’s slept since he got back. He won’t have a shot. I can’t give Belle any more, she’s built up a resistance.”

  “I’d better go and see her,” Lissa said almost wearily. “Where is she?”

  “In her room. I shouldn’t go yet, she’s quiet. When she sees Roger, she’ll blow up again.” Fischer had as much time for Belle Shawn as he would have for a dog with rabies, if his manner were any guide. “David’s in the library.” He stopped by an open door. “I won’t come with you, if you don’t mind. I could use some sleep myself.”

  “You go and rest,” Lissa said.

  Fischer was obviously so tired that he could have gon
e to sleep on his feet.

  As he went upstairs with Lissa, Roger glanced at her, wondering how much of the brightness of her eyes was due to over-exhaustion. It was hard to believe that she, too, hadn’t slept, but if this household were as she had said, and Fischer had confirmed this, how could she have done so? Yet she had shown no sign of fatigue on the journey, had been bright-eyed when she had come to Sergeant Al’s office. Perpetual youth? Roger found himself scowling at his own strange fancy and stranger mood.

  Now they were on a spacious landing, oil paintings, mostly portraits, on the walls, the floors highly polished, skin rugs showing up darkly against the fight brown of the wood. Lissa went straight to a door on the left, the farthest from the staircase, opened it and went straight in. As she glanced back, her look said:

  “Wait, Roger.”

  He waited.

  She walked across a carpeted room, and he could see the books which rose from floor to ceiling along one wall. The late afternoon sun came in at a window where the blind wasn’t drawn properly; apart from that, it was shadowy.

  “Hallo, David,” she said.

  Shawn didn’t speak.

  “How are you?”

  Shawn still didn’t speak, and the dislike Roger had felt for him came back, but he fought against it. Shawn was living in two different kinds of hell, he had never seen him except under dreadful pressure.

  “I’ve brought Roger West,” Lissa announced. He’s outside.”

  “Should I care?” Shawn asked. His voice was still husky, but very tired, as if finding any words was a physical effort.

  “He saw Ricky last night,” said Lissa.

  Even without seeing Shawn’s face, Roger sensed the tension which had clutched the man. A chair creaked. Roger moved forward, knowing that Shawn was coming towards the door. As he reached the doorway, Shawn was halfway from the window. Lissa stood against the window, and the shaft of sunlight caught her right hand and the side of her face. Shawn’s face, against the light, looked dark and full of shadows, but his eyes burned. His hands were clenched by his side. He stopped moving, just stared.

  Then, from across the landing, there came a scream.

  20

  SCREAMING BELLE

  SHAWN moved convulsively, as if someone had stabbed a knife into his back. The scream came again, as a door burst open and a woman ran across the landing into the room. Now she was screaming all the time. Roger spun round. Belle Shawn was beating her hands against her breasts, her mouth was open as if it were locked that way. She wore a simple white dress buttoned down the front, the top button unfastened, and her fair hair was braided and drawn back from her forehead. In spite of the way her mouth, stretched back, she still appeared beautiful — tall, full-breasted, with the figure of a Juno and the wildness of the demons in her eyes.

  “Why don’t you stay with me?” she screamed at Shawn. “I can’t bear to be alone, you ought to stay with me. You don’t care, that’s the truth, you don’t care about me. You don’t care about Ricky. You’re a devil, that’s the truth of it, a cold, heartless devil. Why don’t you stay with me?”

  “But, Belle, you said —”

  “I asked you not to leave me alone, I can’t stand it! And all you care about is running after her. Why don’t you go away with her? Why don’t you? That would be better than tormenting me, torturing me!”

  “Belle,” Shawn said, “you asked me to leave you alone for an hour.”

  “Answer my question! Why don’t you go away with her? Do you think I don’t know what’s going on? In my own house, under my own nose. Think I don’t know where you’ve been all the afternoon. In her bed, that’s where you’ve been. You left me alone, just when I need you most. You went to her.”

  “That’s not true,” Shawn said in a dead voice. “You know that’s not true.”

  “You can’t fool me. I know. I’ve known for months. I could stay behind, but she had to come to England with you. You pretended it was work, all you wanted was to have that wanton with you. I won’t have her in the house any longer. I won’t have her!”

  “You’re not yourself,” Shawn said. “Lissa’s a good friend to us both. She—”

  “Friend!” Belle screeched. “She’s your mistress, the whore, I won’t have her in the house another minute.” She turned, looked as if she would fly at Lissa, beat at her, drive her out of the house by force. “Get out, get out, get out!”

  Lissa stood without moving.

  Shawn stretched out his long arm, and his fingers closed round his wife’s wrist. She stopped, as if she knew that she had no hope of getting free.

  “Be quiet,” Shawn said, and his voice became stronger. “It’s not true and you know it. Don’t go on like this Belle. I won’t have it any more.”

  “Send that whore away!”

  “Belle, will you listen —”

  She struck at him savagely, and he backed away and freed her wrist. She pushed again and he lost his footing and went staggering back.

  Belle flung herself at Lissa.

  Roger would rather have been a thousand miles away, but he couldn’t just look on. The first time he had seen Belle Shawn, she had tried to push past him, and he had felled and stunned her. Now he thrust her to one side and stepped in front of Lissa, whose face was cold and set as an alabaster statue. Belle steadied, turned to fly at the new adversary, might have done so if Roger had not said:

  “I saw your son last night, Mrs Shawn.”

  Belle stopped absolutely still. Her arms fell by her side and at once the passion drained out of her cheeks and eyes. He had never seen anyone emptied of everything as she was then; he could not have stopped her more effectively if he had struck her. She stood quite still, legs a little apart, hands limp by her side. After a moment, the blankness of surprise faded from her eyes, but she didn’t speak.

  “Ricky’s all right,” Roger went on quietly. “I saw him and talked to him.” Nothing would make him tell the Shawns about the plaster over the boy’s mouth. “He told me they hadn’t hurt him, and I could see that for myself.”

  His back was turned on Shawn, his only concern then was Belle. Then a hand crashed on to his shoulder, fingers gripped him like claws. Shawn spun him round, and glared into his eyes.

  His lips hardly moved.

  “Don’t lie!”

  Roger said: To hell with you.” He doubled his right fist and drove it into Shawn’s stomach, with all his weight behind it. The sudden surge of fury blinded him to what Shawn might do. Damn Shawn, damn this hysteria which made mockery of distress. Shawn staggered back, his eyes losing their fire as astonishment caught him, stumbling against a chair.

  “I saw the boy, and he’s all right,” Roger said harshly. “If you had only behaved like a father instead of a mad bull, you might have had him back by now. Tell us what messages you get, help us find the kidnappers, instead of getting in our way.” Shawn, still dazed, gave no answer, and Roger turned on Belle. “You’re just as bad — in fact you’re worse, you stop your husband from doing what he should. You’re flagellating yourself with unnecessary horror. Lissa was driving with me all the afternoon. She’s tried to help you both, and you’ve made it an ordeal for her. If she had any sense, she would leave you to manage for yourself.”

  Lissa was watching him, and the corners of her lips were curved slightly. He didn’t notice that

  “You — saw — Ricky,” Shawn said with slow disbelief.

  They took me, too. We were held at the same house. I got away. By the time I reached the police, Ricky had been moved, but the police are closer now than they’ve ever been. They’ll find him, if you do what you ought to.”

  Shawn said very simply: “I would do anything in the world to find him. Anything in the world.”

  Belle cried: “You saw Ricky!” It was as if she had only now realized the truth. Roger half turned as she rushed at him and flung her arms round his shoulders, thrusting her face very close to his. “You saw him, and — and he was all right. You swear he wasn’t
hurt. Swear it!”

  “He wasn’t hurt.”

  “Swear it!”

  “God help me, your son was not hurt, Mrs Shawn,” Roger said quietly. “I spoke to him. I spoke to his kidnapper. I was told they didn’t intend to hurt Ricky. They know that nothing is his fault, they’ve nothing against him.”

  Belle dropped her arms; and the soft warmth of her moved away. She looked past him, at Shawn.

  “David, did you — did you hear that?”

  Shawn’s voice was choky with emotion.

  “I knew he was all right, Belle, I was sure they wouldn’t hurt him.”

  “Ricky’s not hurt,” she said in a distant voice. He’s all right, and — and this man’s seen him. Oh, David.”

  She didn’t move towards him, her arms fluttered, then her hands went to her face, she buried her face in them and began to cry. Her shoulders heaved, but she stood still. Shawn went to her; he looked gigantic by her side. His arm went round her shoulders gently, and it was easy to think that he had for-gotten Roger and Lissa.

  Lissa took Roger’s arm, and they moved away. On the landing they stopped, turned and looked back at the tableau; the strength of Shawn’s arm seemed to have stilled the heaving shoulders.

  Lissa took her hand away from Roger’s, and they went downstairs together, out into the bright sunlight and then beneath the shade of trees between the house and the swim-ming-pooL Mosquitoes and flies hummed lazily. There were hammocks and a swing garden-seat. They sat down, Roger cautiously as pain twitched the muscles of his leg. He took out cigarettes which Sergeant Al had pressed on him.

  “I wonder how long this new mood will last,” he said dryly.

  “They need a shot of Roger West once every hour or so.” Lissa was still pale, as if the scene upstairs had really hurt her. “Belle can be so very sweet. It’s hard to believe, but she can. I wonder if this would have happened if David hadn’t been forced to leave her so much.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  “Oh, for years. I’ve worked with David for ten. She’s never turned on me quite like that before,” Lissa added, and looked rueful “She sounded so convincing.”