Red Crystal (54 page)

‘Oh … Yes …’ Archie felt a pang of disappointment. The girl was obviously nuts. The Attorney-General indeed. And as for the police understanding, he was beginning to be uncomfortably certain that they wouldn’t.

Nevertheless he looked around for the phone. Seeing one by the front door, he picked it up to dial 999. The phone was dead. He looked at it crossly. Silly girl hadn’t paid the bill.

Blast. What a nuisance this all was.

‘Hello?’ he called through the door. ‘Your phone’s been cut off. I’ll have to go into the village or something.’

‘Ohh.’ The voice sounded very distressed. Archie was not very fond of emotion, especially in women. He said briskly, ‘Right. Well, I’ll be off now.’

‘Please – make sure they realize. They mustn’t – absolutely mustn’t – open the door!’

‘Right ho.’ Archie retreated fast. He got straight into the car and tried to decide what to do. It was nine-fifteen. No client in sight. If he left now he’d probably miss him. Really, this was too much.

Finally he decided to whizz quickly up the road to the nearest phone box and then whizz straight back. He drove quickly up the drive, or as quickly as it was possible to go on the dreadful road surface, and three minutes later arrived in the village.

He was looking for a phone box – there was always at least one in these small villages – when a car appeared from nowhere and forced him to brake sharply to a halt. Brimming with righteous indignation he wound down the window, ready to give the driver a piece of his mind, when he saw four men getting out of the car and approaching in what he quickly appreciated was a serious manner.

‘Mr Pinker?’ the first man asked.

‘Yes,’ he replied, wondering nervously how they knew his name.

‘Could you tell us, please, what you saw at Hunter’s Wood just now.’

Archie looked at the card the man was holding in his hand and realized that, due to some strange stroke of providence that he didn’t quite understand, the police were already here.

How long would it take? Victoria imagined the estate agent driving up to the village, finding the phone box, having to wait while someone else finished a call, then getting through to the local police station. They wouldn’t believe everything he told them, of course … But they would send someone anyway, just to check. A local man. In a slow car …

How long?

At least half an hour, she decided.

She must be patient. Another half-hour was not very long. Not after a whole night of biting pain from the wire on her wrists, and the nightmare of trying to prevent herself from falling asleep.

She called down to Henry again. ‘Another half-hour, I should think. Then they’ll be here!’

A faint ‘Yes’ came up. His voice sounded flat and uninterested, as if he didn’t quite believe what she had told him.

She couldn’t quite believe it herself. Everything had gone wrong for so long. She was still kicking herself for not having picked up Giorgio’s gun. It must have dropped on to the floor of the shed, but she’d never even stopped to look for it. If only she
had
, then she might have been able to stop the woman. Shot her if necessary. It couldn’t be that hard to aim and fire a gun. She could have done it, she
knew
she could.

After all, she’d stopped Giorgio.

For most of the night she’d been in terror of him returning, injured and viciously angry, and barging in through the cellar door. But as the long cold hours had dragged by she’d realized he would not return. Instead he had come to her in vivid appalling dreams which leapt into her mind as soon as she dozed. The nightmare always ended in the same way – with her falling forward, off the step. Then she awoke with a terrible start, her heart thumping, her mouth dry.

Now, as she waited, the memory of what had happened in the tractor shed had become just another vague half-realized horror that jostled with all the others in her tired mind. If she had hurt him badly she felt no remorse at all.

There was a sound. She was instantly alert.

The creak of a hinge. A footfall in the hall.

She gasped, ‘Hello?’

A slight pause, then a voice close to the door. ‘I’m a police officer. My name is Nick Ryder. Is that Victoria Danby?’

‘
Yes
.’

‘Is there anyone else in the house, Victoria?’

‘Just us – me and Henry.’

‘Sir Henry Northcliff?’

‘
Yes
.’ Victoria felt a wonderful relief: he
knew
. She wouldn’t have to explain. She shouted the news down to Henry and he acknowledged it briefly.

The voice continued, ‘Why mustn’t we open the door, Victoria?’

‘Because – there’s a bomb. And another on Henry. And’ – she whispered, putting her mouth close to the crack in the door – ‘it’s going to explode at midday. That’s what they said. You will – be able to stop it, won’t you.
Won’t
you?’

‘I’ll have to get help, Victoria. Straight away. Can you hang on a minute?’

‘You’re not going?’ She couldn’t bear the thought of being alone again. He had such a reassuring voice.

‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘I’ve just got to speak into my radio, that’s all. I’ll be straight back.’

She heard his voice, muted and efficient, and the tinny sound of amplified voices coming back in reply. While he was busy she called to Henry again. He replied in a voice that was stronger, more certain. He, too, was allowing himself to hope.

‘Victoria?’ It was the calm voice at the door again.

‘Yes.’

‘The bomb disposal people are on their way right now. They’ll be here as soon as possible.’

‘Thank you. Thank you.’

‘Victoria, listen – what can you tell me about the people responsible for this? Where have they gone to – have you any idea?’

‘There were two of them. A woman, Gabriele – I don’t know where she’s gone. She left last night.’ She paused. ‘Then there was a man. Giorgio. I think – I’m not sure – that he may be in the shed.’

There was an electric silence. ‘In the shed!’

‘I hit him,’ she said calmly. ‘I think he’s still there.’

He was still there all right. Stone cold. Nick touched a hand. He’d been dead for some time. A Walther pistol lay on the floor some yards away. And the girl had killed him. Extraordinary.

He had known it would be Black Beard. There was no one else it could have been. Giorgio: he turned the name over in his mind. Italian then. He still didn’t know his second name. He shook his head: there should have been a way of finding out before now.

In the yard behind him more cars were drawing up and men appearing from their stake-out positions.

A breathless Kershaw came up beside him and stared down at the body. ‘One of
them
?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Our friend from the demo. Wheatfield’s mate. The user of that Italian cologne.’

‘How many does that leave then?’

Nick ventured, ‘Just one. Just the Wilson woman. Unless—’

‘Yes?’

‘Unless she’s got more friends.’

Kershaw grunted sharply. Waving a couple of his men forward he barked, ‘Right, no pauses for snaps. Give him a good going over.’

They rolled the body on its back, and went through the clothing. As the contents of the pockets came out, Kershaw examined them and passed them to Nick.

Wallet … Money … Door keys … An Italian passport in the name of Riccardo Enrico. Crumpled receipts, a restaurant card, small change. And, folded in a back compartment of the wallet, a small slip of paper.

It had a list of five numbers on it, four of them with seven digits, the last with eight.

‘Phone numbers?’ Kershaw suggested. ‘Right, let’s go and try them.’

As the detectives cut the jacket off the body and tore the lining out, Nick followed Kershaw back towards the house. ‘There’s an army bomb disposal unit in Salisbury,’ Kershaw said. ‘They’re on their way by road.’

‘We only have till noon, so the girl says.’

‘Ask her how she knows. Ask her
everything
. It’ll be good for her to keep talking anyway. Meantime we’ll get going on these numbers.’

Nick returned to the cellar door where another detective was crouching, his ear to the crack, talking softly.

Taking over, Nick said, ‘Hello, Victoria. It’s me again. Nick.’

‘Hello.’ She sounded pleased in a breathless panicky sort of way.

‘Victoria, I’d like to have a long chat with you. About everything. About how you got involved in this. Everything that might help us. Just until the bomb disposal people get here. Will that be all right?’

‘They won’t be long, will they?’

‘Not too long. They’re coming as fast as they can.’

‘It’s just – there’s so little time.’

Nick looked at his watch. It was ten to ten. God!

In what he hoped was a comforting voice he said, ‘Don’t worry. If you could just—’

‘But tell me,’ she interrupted firmly, ‘did you find him in the shed?’

Nick hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want to upset her – or did she already
know
? He said, ‘He was there all right—’

‘Tell me.’

Her tone was insistent. Hoping he was doing the right thing, Nick said, ‘He was dead.’

There was only the slightest pause. ‘Good,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I’m glad. He was a terrible person.’

‘Yes.’ So she had known. ‘Now, Victoria. Please tell me what you know, about these people’s contacts, their friends—’

‘You want to find that woman—’

‘Yes.’

‘She was a terrible person too.’

Her words turned in his stomach; a knife-like memory that had lost none of its sharpness. He said, ‘Yes, I know.’

She talked for a long time, first in great bursts, then more slowly, with greater effort. He could hear the tiredness in her voice as she dredged her memory for any small detail that might be useful.

He pressed her for more and more facts about the trip to Paris. She tried hard to remember the address where the van had been loaded, and the two streets where she had waited while Giorgio went to his appointments.

‘He went into a door beside a newsagent’s … There was an antique shop on the other side of the doorway. And then at the other place not far away – he came out of a second-hand bookshop – I
think
. Oh
dear
. I memorized the name of one of the streets. I really did. It was
Rue
something … But I can’t remember!’

He could hear the exasperation in her voice. They had talked for thirty minutes. He guessed she was near her limits.

Some men in army uniforms were coming into the hall. Nick said, ‘Look, don’t worry now. We’ll try again later. The bomb disposal people are here. And they’ll want to talk to you. I’ve got to go and make a phone call—’

‘I was no use, was I? I’m
sorry
.’

‘You were! You are! Really. And I wouldn’t just say that.’

She started to speak, but her voice quavered, and he sensed that she was on the point of tears.

He said, ‘Please don’t –
worry
. You’ve been doing so well.’

There was a sniff and she said in a deliberately calm voice, ‘You’ll come back again, won’t you?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I – feel so …’ The voice trailed off and her silence hung painfully in the air.

‘I’ll be back,’ Nick repeated softly. ‘I promise.’

The bomb disposal men moved in to talk to her and Nick went to the phone, which a uniformed man with a screwdriver had just succeeded in reconnecting. Nick called Desport at the DST in Paris and gave him the details, such as they were, of the places the girl had visited. He also gave him the name of the girl, the name on the Italian’s passport, details of the van, and the dates when they had been in Paris. It might not find Gabriele for them, but it could lead to the people responsible for helping her. And he wanted to know who they were, very badly.

He found Kershaw in his car, speaking into the radio mike. The commander clicked it back into its cradle. ‘Nothing on those numbers. I’ve given them to a cypher bloke but …’ His voice was heavy with pessimism.

Getting out of the car he added, ‘We’ve heard nothing from the remaining terrorists, either. No contact at all. And only an hour and a half to go. If that bomb is on a timer, it doesn’t leave much leeway.’

They walked towards the house. The head of the bomb disposal unit, a Major Phipps, came up. He was a typical army type, Nick observed. Short schoolboy haircut, crisp no-nonsense manner. ‘We’re going through the door,’ he announced. ‘Cutting a hole in it. Then we can get men inside and start work on both devices simultaneously.’

‘It’s safe, is it? To go through the door?’ Nick asked.

‘Should be. I’ve had a long talk to the girl. The device is strapped to her back. And the initiator is underneath her behind, so it is reasonably safe to assume that her weight is the critical factor.’

Nick gave an involuntary shudder. He remembered the jolly, plump girl at the Vietnam United Front offices. Naïve, unworldly, pathetically enthusiastic. He had been scornful of her then. But, looking back, she hadn’t been guilty of anything more than gullibility. She had trusted the first man who’d given her a good time. She wasn’t the first to have fallen into that trap. She certainly didn’t deserve this.

He looked into the hall and, seeing there was no one at the cellar door, he ducked under the tape that the army had slung across the front doorway and hurried across.

An army sergeant interrupted him. ‘We’re sealing this place off. Could you keep clear now, please.’

Nick waved him impatiently away and put his mouth to the door.

‘Hello, Victoria.’

‘Nick, is that you?’ She sounded hopeful. Dangerously so. ‘They’re coming through the door, they said.’

‘Yes. Any moment now. Be brave a while longer. You
have
been very brave, you know.’

‘No. No. I haven’t. I’ve made a complete mess of everything.’ Her voice was full of anguish. ‘I can’t believe how
stupid
I’ve been.’

‘Well, no point in brooding. It’s in the past now.’

‘I never realized, you know, who they were. Not until I found those sticks in the van.’

‘I know.’

‘The trouble was’ – there was a pause – ‘he made me happy. I never
thought
about – I just wanted to be happy. For a while. He was so –
different
. I’d never known anyone like him before; I didn’t think about what or who he was or what he was doing. I just – wanted to be happy.’