Return

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘We don’t need to think on it,’ said Beddows.

  Powell held up a warning, contemptuous finger. ‘I still haven’t finished. You try one more smart-assed move against me in the Bureau – get in my way, annoy me just once – I’ll file an official complaint not just internally but in public civil court. From now on you’re going to head the division with my permission and you’re going to hate every goddamned moment of it. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you quit.’

  He tried to clear his mind – to compartmentalize the anger and the humiliation – on his way into Washington but he was only partially successful.

  The humiliation was the stronger feeling. They really must have laughed, derided him, for so long. But not any longer. From now on everything – their personal life and Harry Beddows’s professional existence – was by his permission. How long would it be before he withdrew it?

  Everything was smoothly in motion by the time he arrived at the incident room. The FBI agent attached to the London embassy, Jeri Lobonski, had been at home, only thirty minutes from Grosvenor Square, and was already in his office. He’d faxed five different newspaper accounts, received details of the American killings to pass on to the British, and was waiting for the investigating officers from New Scotland Yard and Richmond to contact him to authorize their getting in return the official scientific and factual evidence of the murders of Beryl Simpkins and Samuel Hargreaves for comparison. Jeri Lobonski had been promised callbacks within an hour. John Price had been given the same timing for Harold Taylor’s bank records which the court had ordered to be opened to the Bureau, as well as granting legal permission to open the safe deposit box. That, however, wouldn’t be possible until after the weekend because the vault was sealed by a time lock.

  ‘And I know we’re right,’ declared Amy. ‘I’m cutting a lot of corners. Hacking. But I’ve found a Harold Taylor on a Delta flight from JFK to London’s Heathrow three days before the English hooker got murdered.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Powell.

  She frowned at his reaction. ‘So we know the name he’s travelling under.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Sure.’

  The doubt remained on her face. ‘Beth OK?’

  ‘It’s personal. I’m sorry. You’re fantastic.’

  ‘I’m sorry, too,’ she said at once.

  Price said, ‘You want me to call Harry, at home? He said this morning that I should get hold of him if anything broke.’

  ‘I’ll tell the Director, when we’re sure,’ said Powell.

  He was, more quickly than he expected. Among the Scotland Yard material that began arriving within thirty minutes – along with the names of Chief Superintendents Malcolm Townsend and Henry Basildon – was the killer’s DNA string obtained from the hair and blood in the Bayswater hotel and Richmond house. They perfectly overlaid those from the American crime scenes when Amy put them on her screen. So did the fingerprints.

  Townsend and Basildon had already established both matches when Powell made the conference call to London.

  There’s a lot about your stuff we don’t understand,’ protested Townsend, at once.

  ‘There’s a lot we don’t understand ourselves,’ agreed Powell. The only thing that’s important at the moment is that five days ago he killed Samuel Hargreaves, so your killings are the most recent.’

  ‘You believe he’s still here?’ said Basildon.

  ‘I believe we’ve got to work on that assumption. I’d like—’ Powell abruptly stopped, remembering it had just become a joint international investigation involving diplomacy – personal as well as political – and competing jurisdiction. He went on: ‘I would suggest you alert your air and sea ports to the name Maurice Barkworth, as well as Harold Taylor.’ As an afterthought, he added, ‘Maybe Myron Nolan, too.’

  ‘Already being done,’ said Townsend, which was a lie. The conference call was being relayed into his Scotland Yard office on speakers, for both support officers to hear. Townsend nodded to Anthony Bennett, who immediately went into his adjoining office to contact Immigration.

  ‘The Berlin trial of Myron Nolan is the key,’ advised Powell. The connection, whatever it is, will be somewhere in Samuel Hargreaves’s history.’

  Basildon said, ‘You going to issue a press release about this?’

  ‘No,’ said Powell, quickly. ‘I want him caught, not on the run. He’s totally insane, has already killed six people and isn’t going to stop.’

  ‘We need to agree a working relationship,’ insisted Malcolm Townsend.

  ‘You already have everything we’ve got here. And you’ll get whatever else we find,’ Powell assured him. ‘Total reciprocity.’

  ‘That’s the way we’d like to operate, too,’ said Townsend.

  ‘Absolutely,’ confirmed Basildon.

  ‘You got all my contact numbers?’ pressed Powell.

  ‘Right in front of me,’ said Townsend.

  ‘Speak to you tomorrow, if not before.’

  ‘We’ll be waiting.’

  After the disconnection Townsend said, ‘You know what we’ve got here after all, Henry? We’ve got the best career opportunity we’re ever likely to get.’

  ‘If we get the collar,’ qualified Basildon.

  ‘We get the collar and the glory is ours,’ stated Townsend. ‘If it fucks up it’s America’s fault. We can’t lose, either way.’

  ‘Just that he’s in the United Kingdom?’ pressed Clarence Gale.

  ‘Believed to be in the United Kingdom,’ cautioned Powell.

  ‘No idea where?’

  ‘We only made the connection three hours ago, sir. We’ve already exchanged all the relevant information and I’ve spoken personally to the detectives in charge.’

  ‘Who did make the connection, the Brits or us?’

  ‘Amy. By computer.’

  ‘Useful to have on the team.’

  ‘Indispensable.’

  ‘I’ll have to brief State,’ said the Director. ‘And the Attorney-General. All sorts of side issues now.’

  ‘We still haven’t arrested him.’

  ‘You think you should go to London?’

  ‘He could already be back here.’

  ‘We’ll keep it in mind. London intend making a release?’

  ‘I’ve asked them not to. Same reasons apply there as they do here.’

  ‘I think that’s a hell of a risk. We got no control over the way they work, what they might do. And there’s nothing to stop some journalist making the same connection Amy did. We’d really look dumb – you particularly – if it appeared we were following instead of leading.’

  ‘Let’s just keep it wrapped a little longer,’ urged Powell, alert to his chance.

  ‘No more than twenty-four hours, before we discuss it again. It is international now. I won’t have the Bureau looking like the bag carrier, especially when we’re not.’

  Ann answered the telephone.

  ‘What have you told her?’ He should have stayed there, waited until Beth got back!

  ‘The truth.’

  ‘How did she take it?’

  ‘I told her you wanted her to live with you. She’s excited. Wants to know when.’

  ‘You bitch!’

  ‘That’s what you said, Wes. I heard you.’

  ‘Let me speak to her!’

  He heard the phone slammed down, then feet running. ‘Dad!’

  ‘I mean it, Beth. On my life, it’s a promise I’m going to keep. As soon as I get this case out of the way I’ll take leave and we’ll organize it.’

  ‘I thought from Mom it was going to be right away!’

  While Beth still had to live with Ann he couldn’t make any situation worse between them. ‘Mom made a mistake. Just hang in there, honey. It won’t be long.’

  ‘A to-die-for promise?’

  ‘A to-die-for promise. Is Harry still there?’

  ‘I love you, Daddy.’

  ‘And I l
ove you, Beth.’ Powell replaced the telephone without asking to speak to Harry Beddows.

  Taylor waited until he heard Janet moving about before he went downstairs himself. He was, of course, totally under control but unsure how it was going to be when he confronted her. If only he could kill her now instead of having to face her! As he went towards the kitchen he heard her humming, in tune with the radio.

  She turned at his entry and said, ‘Morning, darling.’

  Darling! It was as if they had fucked and she’d enjoyed it. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Juice and coffee’s ready. What else?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you.’ He had to say something! ‘About last night …’

  ‘Last night was wonderful, all of it.’ She crossed to him, putting her outstretched hands on his shoulders. ‘Stop apologizing for something you don’t have to apologize for. You’ll get a complex about it.’

  The bitch was patronizing him, laughing inwardly. But she’d shown him the way. ‘I probably already have.’

  ‘We’ll get it right.’

  ‘I think I’m falling in love with you,’ he forced himself to say.

  ‘I think the feeling’s mutual.’

  It was even harder to force himself to kiss her.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  ‘So where do we go from here?’ smiled Janet.

  A new amusement, Taylor recognized: building up her every expectation, letting her imagine her life was going to be turned upside down – and wasn’t it, literally! – but most of all that she was safe, with someone who wanted her. ‘Guess there’s a lot to talk about.’

  He’d carried lounging chairs into the garden for them to lie side by side, but separated by a table for the breakfast coffee that Janet brought out behind him. Both had been aware of Vera Potter’s smirking arrival, as he’d set up the chairs.

  ‘The problem’s knowing where to start.’

  ‘I could stay on a little longer but eventually I’ve got to go back,’ he said. She shouldn’t think everything was perfect.

  ‘I know. And of course I can’t leave Mother.’

  You’re not going to have to, he thought: you’re both going to leave together. ‘I suppose it’ll give us time to make our minds up.’

  ‘Don’t we need to be together to decide that?’

  Hope building time: up and down on the see-saw. ‘I’m lucky, moneywise. I can come back a lot.’ Now she’d think their financial worries were over, too.

  ‘I know it’s manageable; lots of people have to be apart. It’s just not what I want. I’m coming to like being spoiled too much.’ She turned to him, smiling. ‘Wasn’t I the one talking about everything moving too fast, yesterday?’

  ‘Something like that. You going to tell your mother?’

  ‘Do you mind if I do?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘She’ll be so pleased. She worries about my still not having anyone. She was married at nineteen.’

  I know, thought Taylor. It would be good to build up the old bitch’s hopes, too, before they really found out what was going to happen. ‘Make it the good news to come home to.’

  Janet looked at her watch. ‘Which reminds me. Time to call the hospital.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed at once: her homecoming was the only uncertainty. ‘It’s important to know she’ll be back tomorrow … to know that she’s better, I mean.’

  Alone, Taylor closed his eyes, relaxing. It was time to make other positive plans. If she was released, she’d be brought home during the day, the afternoon most likely. As part of this new game, allowing them to imagine their lives were changing for the better, he’d let them settle. Kill them in the early evening. He could shower and be away by seven. Away to where? Portsmouth was probably the nearest ferry port to the continent. He could be there in an hour, return the car to the Hertz office there. Needed to check if there was a night ferry-but he was sure there would be. Or he could abandon the idea of France and Belgium. There was the choice of two airports, Heathrow or Gatwick. Reach either in two hours, Gatwick probably less. Vera Potter didn’t arrive until ten in the morning, sometimes later if it took her longer to get the pub ready. By which time he could be wherever he wanted. Sensible to have used the Bark-worth name, at the hotel and around the village. The only association with his current identity was the hire car, for which he’d had to use a driving licence, and he’d always been careful to park it out of sight at the rear of the house, although even in such a small, gossipy village it was unlikely anyone would have noted the registration. All the police would have was a colour and there had to be a million dark blue Ford Escorts. He heard Janet returning and opened his eyes.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ she announced. ‘Being released tomorrow unless anything happens in the meantime.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ said Taylor, swinging his legs around to sit on the lounger. ‘What time?’

  ‘Depends on the availability of an ambulance, but some time in the afternoon.’

  ‘Her wheelchair folds up, doesn’t it? If there’s a problem we could collect her in my car: put the chair in the trunk. Then no-one will be disappointed.’

  Standing over him she reached out, stroking his face, her crotch at the level of his face. ‘I really don’t want to lose having you around.’

  He nuzzled forward, burying his head in the join of her legs, sure he could smell her perfumed pussy through the thin cotton of her skirt. He could do it now. He knew he could. Fuck her brains out. He licked out, against the fabric, so she could feel his tongue and she put her hand on his head, pulling him into her.

  She said, ‘We can’t. Mrs Potter’s still here.’

  ‘A curse on Mrs Potter.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s not on me.’

  He pulled away as she lowered herself on to the sunbed opposite. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s around my time of the month.’

  No! She was cheating him again! He’d make her give him head but that wasn’t the same. He wanted to fuck her, rape her in front of her mother and he couldn’t do that if there was blood. That would be obscene, disgusting. She was going to have to suffer so much. He said, ‘We don’t have to make love to be in love, do we? And it was me with the problem last night, wasn’t it?’

  The church bells tolled, briefly, and Janet said, ‘The first call. I want to go to church this morning. I’ve got such a lot to be grateful for, to give thanks.’

  She’d expect him to go with her. The thought of being enclosed with a lot of sweat-stinking farmers and their labourers revulsed him. ‘I know I have too, but there’s something else I want to do.’

  ‘What?’ she said, disappointed.

  ‘It’s a secret.’ There had to be shops open in Midhurst on a Sunday. It wasn’t important what sort: virtually anything would provide the excuse. ‘What are we going to do for lunch?’

  ‘Eat here, I thought. I hadn’t really thought about it.’

  ‘I’ll be back by twelve.’

  He was luckier than he’d expected, a good omen. There was an antiques fair in Midhurst, with three jewellery stalls and he paid £200 to an impressed woman in gypsy skirt and blouse for an intricate necklace of blue crystals on a gold filigree chain that came complete with an 1851 provenance and an appropriately aged felt-lined case. She willingly changed an additional £10 into coin and from a public kiosk in the High Street he checked Portsmouth ferry and Gatwick and Heathrow airport departures. Either would be convenient but he decided to return direct to America, from Gatwick. There were vacancies on an American Airlines flight at 2300 to JFK and he made a first-class booking on his open return ticket. On his way back to the car he found a wine shop and bought Beaujolais and Chablis and champagne. Remembering the distance he intended travelling the following night, he stopped at a garage to fill the Ford until petrol came to within an inch of the cap. There was an extensive shop adjoining the garage and he spent some time examining the various ropes available, finally choosing a 2mm-thick cord. He doubted their screams would be heard,
because the house was set so far back from the road, but as a precaution he also picked up some thick masking tape. The pumps had been self-service so he bought perfumed wipes to clean his hands of petrol.

  He got to the house before the end of church and by the time Janet returned he’d made the salad, quick-chilled the Chablis and set the lunch on a parasoled table close to one of the branch-skirted firs.

  He laughed more loudly than he intended when Janet shook her head and said, ‘I just can’t believe this. I’m in heaven!’

  You would be soon, if there was such a place, Taylor thought. He produced the necklace in the middle of lunch, sliding the scarred box wordlessly across the slated table towards her. Janet looked at it, also not speaking. She didn’t reach out for it, either.

  ‘With my love,’ he said.

  ‘This really is beginning to frighten me.’

  ‘Don’t let it.’

  ‘If this place had a dungeon I’d lock you away in it, so I wouldn’t lose you.’

  ‘If you did that I couldn’t spoil you.’

  At last, hesitantly, Janet reached out for the faded case, making a slight whimpering sound when she opened it and saw the necklace inside. ‘Darling! It’s beautiful!’

  ‘I didn’t know your size, for a ring. And a ring would have been a commitment and when you get to know me better you might decide I’m a monster,’ he said, amusing himself.

  ‘Put it on for me!’ she demanded, coming excitedly around the table.