didn’t seem likely she knew I was there.
When she was finished she remained in a brown study. “All clear now?”
I said, to bring her out of it.
“I don’t know. Are you sure this stuff about Simon is true?”
“Every word.”
“But it’s incredible. Dear God, if you’d seen that man stand up in court
and tell the world of my pathetic little affaire, of the menace this made me to
my daughter — Mister Simon-Sanctimonious-Leewarden with his porno films
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and smuggling and God knows what else — and not only the court believing he
was the unsullied little prig he seemed to be, but damn it, I believed it too!”
“Now you know better,” I said.
“But too late!” The deep voice vibrated with outrage. “That poor kid.
All those years of his hypocritical bilge. Now she’s not even a kid any more.
There’s no way of ever making up for it.”
“But there is,” I said. “And you still haven’t heard the whole story. I
have an agency on the hunt for van Zee, and the evidence it’s turned up points
in one direction. Going by that evidence and by the last letter I ever received
from van Zee — it was written in Zurich just before he was to start on a
smuggling trip to Luxembourg for your ex-husband and his partners — well,
I’m now convinced that he was done away with.”
“Murdered?”
“Yes. As he himself put it, he had learned too much about the operation.
And this Luxembourg run offered them a perfect opportunity to get rid of him.”
“And you really believe Simon had a part in that?”
“Yes.”
“But why come to me? Isn’t this police business?”
“It will be as soon as I piece together the final bits of evidence. That’s
what this is all about, Miss Bell. Until I met Sarah, I planned to swing the ax
and let the chips fall where they may. After that meeting, I realized that I didn’t
want any of those chips to land on her.”
“Oh God, no. I didn’t think of that.”
“I did. And so far, Sarah knows nothing about any of this.”
“So far.” Emmaline frowned at me. “That doesn’t sound very promising.
You mean that sooner or later —”
”No. Not if she’ll leave her father right now and come live with you.
Under those conditions it’s possible she’ll never know the worst about him.
And once she’s under your wing, I’ll feel free to take action against him.
Under any conditions, I must take action quickly, and I intend to.”
“I understand that. But have her leave him without telling her the truth?
Not only will Simon do anything to prevent that, but there’s her own feelings
to stand in the way. She knows she’s the one human being on earth he’s
devoted to, and that makes her dreadfully defenseless against him. But” —
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Emmaline tapped a finger on the packet of letters — “if I were to confront
Simon with these —”
”He’d promptly take off for parts unknown,” I said. “With Sarah.”
“Would he?” She weighed this. “Yes, I suppose he would.”
She was at the point where I wanted her. Eyes teary, hands fluttering,
she was ready to grasp at any straw. I said, “But what if I told you that when I
spoke to Sarah yesterday she made it plain that she’s now ready to make the
move, never mind how her father felt about it?”
“She told you that?”
“She did. So now, Miss Bell, it’s all up to you. It’s very simple really.
Tomorrow, at twelve-thirty, Sarah will be waiting outside her school. You’ll
arrive there in that ivory-colored job now parked below, with my chauffeur at
the wheel. Tomorrow evening, you and Sarah will have dinner together in this
apartment.”
Emmaline looked dazed. “But Simon —”
”I’m meeting with him tomorrow. After that meeting, he’ll be completely
out of the picture. Take my word for it, there won’t be any court action, any
difficulties at all for you or Sarah.”
“But it’s all so incredible!”
“Not at all, if you leave everything to me.”
“The return from Brussels?”
“The car and driver are yours until you’re back here. To make sure
you’re on schedule getting there, you should leave for Brussels right now. A
hotel room there has already been reserved for you overnight. The chauffeur
knows exactly what’s to be done and how it’s to be done. So much for that
side of it. But there is a side of it you may find a bit uncomfortable.”
“Yes?” Emmaline said.
“Naturally, I lied to Sarah about my motive in all this. I told her that
since she had made such an impact on van Zee, I wanted her to play a part in
the film. In fact, wanted her under contract to me. That not only settled the
question of my motives but helped solve another problem.”
“Which is?”
“The matter of money, Miss Bell. Sarah’s coming to you without dowry,
so to speak. It’ll cost money to keep up with her.”
“I’ll manage, thank you.”
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“Don’t be a fool,” I said. “Just swallow your pride and settle for your
daughter’s well-being.” I handed her the check and accompanying letter.
“That, should Sarah raise the question, is in payment for her services whether
or not they’re called on. It’s made out to you, of course. And my signed letter
of agreement. It doesn’t matter that it’s neither legal nor binding, since it’s for
Sarah’s mental ease only.”
Emmaline looked at the check. She looked at me. “Ten thousand
pounds?” she said incredulously.
“It’s worth at least that much to me.”
“But ten thousand?” She was not, however, thrusting it back at me. “At
least let me offer you a drink in return for it.”
I went down the stairs two highly emotional drinks later, and Harry
leaned through the window of the car as I approached. “All set, sir?”
“All set. She’ll be down very soon.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll phone you tomorrow right on the dot.”
If he said he would, he would.
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Walking through Soho on my way back
to the Berkeley Regal, I suddenly found myself in the throes of that
schizophrenia which, given enough impetus, would come on me now and then
without warning. That uncertainty about whether I was David Shaw or Jan van
Zee or both or neither. It was so acute now that when I skirted the familiar
little park and saw a trio against its railings, two heavily bearded, youthful
males, one wild-haired, stringy, very youthful female huddled over a wellremembered
ritual — it might have been painted by Cézanne and titled The
Lighting of the Joint — I would not have been surprised to find, if I looked
closer, that one of the males was Jan van Zee.
The crise d’identité faded as I got clear of Soho, passed away
completely when I reached Berkeley Street. But I still had a surprise coming.
In the hotel lobby there was Costello seated near the entrance.
He saw me and came to his feet with an effort, the ruddiness of his face
replaced by a sallow gray-green, the eyes bleary. “I couldn�
�t get into your
room,” he said. “Let’s get up there quick so I can lay down.”
“Stoned or hung-over?” I asked.
“Neither. It’s that goddam English Channel. How’d it go with the kid’s
mama?”
“As planned. She and Harry are on their way now.”
I convoyed him up to the suite and saw him stretched out on the bed in
Harry’s room. It was after pulling off the first shoe against his feeble protest
that I realized why he had taken the boat-train instead of a plane. A fistula
showed on the stout calf beneath the trouser leg. When I hauled up the cuff I
saw a holster strapped to the leg, a gun butt protruding from it. Boarding a
plane, the metal detector would have sounded that out.
I unstrapped the holster and held it up before him. “Sorry to say if you’re
not going back by boat, you’ll have to get rid of it.”
“I know. I’ll dump it before I take the plane because I’m sure as hell not
getting back on that boat. I’ll dig up another gun in Paris now that I know
where to dig.”
I locked the gun in his bag. “Meanwhile,” I said, “how’s the opposition
doing?”
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Costello showed a flickering sign of life. “One in particular. You told
that Avril at Choochoo’s to look into any mail coming from out of the country,
right? So there was a letter from Copenhagen. Mane-Paule Neyna. Your
mission lady from way back. Now guess who the new owner of that
whorehouse is?”
“Marie-Paule?”
“None other. She’s taking over next month and she expects Choochoo
out by then. Dead or alive, I guess. You know, Davey, that’s a big money deal,
not the kind you’d figure for hired help like Marie. And the Dutchman was not
only Choochoo’s connection in the old days, he now has a million bucks in
cash to play around with. How’s chances he’s the new owner and Marie is just
a front?”
I said, “That would mean he’s trusting her with his money.”
“He could be.”
“If he is, Ray, they’re a lot tighter little team than I ever suspected.”
“Then maybe they are,” said Costello.
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He was still asleep when l woke early
next morning, so, not to disturb him, I had breakfast downstairs in the dining
room and then did St. James’s Park. A typical springtime day for London,
scudding clouds with patches of Wedgewood blue showing among them,
spatters of rain alternating with sunshine. I had brought the remnants of my
breakfast toast, and on the footbridge where Anneke used to feed the untrusting
sparrows she patiently lured to her outstretched hand, I now fed them.
When I got back to the hotel Costello was at breakfast. He said with his
mouth full, “I just checked with the agency. Leewarden’s in his office now,
and he’ll be there until one. When do we leave?”
“We?”
“I’m coming along for the laughs,” said Costello.
That was one way of looking at it.
Noontime Oxford Street was, as ever, solidly packed with shoppers, and
it took an effort to work our way through the crowds to the storefront marked
Leewarden Tours, Ltd. Inside, a girl at the counter said that Mr. Leewarden’s
office was upstairs. “Expecting you?” she asked, picking up a phone.
“Just possibly. Tell him it’s Mr. Rouart-Rochelle.”
I started upstairs, Costello on my heels, before she made her call. When
I pushed open the office door Leewarden was standing behind his desk, the
same bald, middle-aged Bertie Wooster Leewarden. An outraged Bertie. “I
thought I made it plain —!” he snarled, and then got the full view of his
company. “Who the devil are you?”
Costello pushed the door shut behind us and leaned back against it
looking grim. “My associate, Mr. Costello,” I said. “I am David Shaw.”
“But that name you gave my girl —”
”Yves Rouart-Rochelle?”
“Whatever it was.” Leewarden was trying to pull himself together and
not doing too well at it. “I don’t know anyone by that name. Don’t know you,
for that matter. And I’m not interested in whatever game you’re up to.”
I dropped the packet of letters on his desk. “Evidence to the contrary,
Simon. Exhibit A. Read them.”
“I don’t see why.”
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“Because if you don’t, they’ll be mailed at once to the Los Angeles
police. By now Los Angeles must have found that it has a million dollars less
in its bank account than it should have. It might like to know why.”
The shot hit dead center. Leewarden sagged into his swivel chair and
picked up the packet. It was fascinating to watch him apply himself with
growing horror to page after page of his own story. He wound up a sweating
lump of misery.
“Blackmail,” he said bitterly. “Film producer, the newspapers said. But
blackmail is the game, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Oh, there’s a load of cod’s-wallop,” he jeered. “Then why bring this
stuff to me? Why wasn’t it brought straightway to the authorities?”
“Because the newspaper stories were right, Simon. I’ve got a few
hundred thousand sunk in this van Zee film. Without him, it all goes down the
drain. And the authorities can’t seem to locate him. I think you can.”
“Then think again, because I don*t know where the devil he is.”
I said, “What about the gent who seems to be the brains of the act? Kees
Baar? Tell me where to locate him, and maybe he can come up with the
answer.”
“Locate him? Nobody locates him. He comes and goes as he damn well
chooses, and where he is in between I don*t know.”
I said, “For a man involved in large-scale crime, you don*t know much,
do you, Simon?”
“That*s very sharp of you, Mr. Shaw. I don*t know anything. And since
I*m done with operating on that side of the fence, what would you say to just
packing it in with me? I have a feeling that for your own good reasons you*re
not all that anxious to make this a police matter anyway.”
“My own good reasons. That intrigues me, Simon. Now what could
those reasons be?”
He was growing bolder. “Well, what do you have to show to the police
really? A stack of letters from some Dutch crackpot? It would just be his word
against mine, wouldn*t it?”
I reopened the attaché case and drew out the folder prepared for this
moment. “Exhibit B. A detailed report from the detective agency I put on the
case. It seems that one of their men — no crackpot either — was back to back
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with you at dinner in Brussels when you and Yves and an American named
Fremont had a meeting there. Fremont made painful demands. Very soon after,
he met death by violence. Can you see how gratified the Brussels police
would be by Exhibit B? Look it over, Simon.”
He didn*t want to, that was clear. But ashen-faced, his hands trembling,
he couldn*t keep himself from picking it up and examining it. Then he placed it
carefully on the desk. “What a bloody mess,” he whispered. He shook his head
numbly. “What a bloody
mess it*s been from the start. If the banks had only
seen me through —”
“The banks? What did they have to do with it?”
“Nothing. That was the bloody trouble. When I hit the rocks financially
they all refused me a loan and I had to go elsewhere. And the man I went to put
Baar on me.”
“Baar loaned you money?”
“He loaned me nothing. He got me to use the travel agency for
smuggling. Tourist parties go through customs easily, see? And it worked very
nicely for a while. Then when customs tightened up because of all this
terrorism around he set up the porno film thing in Copenhagen. You*re in the
film business. You know those cans marked Undeveloped Film. Do Not Open.
Well, it looked like a foolproof way of moving the stuff. Then that got risky
too, so Baar found this mechanic who could rig up a car that was safe against
any search.”
“Jago.”
“That*s right. Jago. And van Zee was taken on to do the driving. But if
anyone had known he was writing it all down just to turn an extra penny —”
“Twenty thousand dollars so far,” I said.
“Thirty pieces of silver is how I see it. But the question is what happens
now. All I can say is I*m out of the racket for good, and unless you want to be
bloody righteous about my past sins, you can say good-by to me and let it go at
that.”
“Except for one thing.” I had him chained to the post, the kindling piled
high around him. I thrust the torch into it. “Your daughter.”
“My daughter? What the bloody hell does she have to do with this?”
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“A great deal. I don*t think you*re a proper father for a kid like that. And
if your courts get a look at these letters, they*d have to agree with me about it,
wouldn*t they?”
He gaped at me. “Where do you have the right to talk like that? What do
you know about my kid?”
“I met her two days ago. Took her to lunch in fact. But if you*re worried
that I let slip any of your little secrets to her, rest assured I haven*t.”
“Oh? And I*m supposed to thank you for that? Well, all I*ll thank you for
is keeping your distance from that girl from now on. A long distance,
understand?”
I nodded understanding. “When it comes to Sarah you*re not to be trifled
with.”
“That*s it, Mister. Try it, and you*ll soon find out for yourself.”
The Luxembourg Run Page 18