Common Murder (27 page)

It seemed like stalemate. “I know about the tape,” said Cordelia. “I know where there's a copy of the analysis of it, too,” she said, guessing wildly about Annie's involvement. “Take me with you or the lot goes to Lindsay's paper. Even if you arrest me, I get to make a phone call
eventually. That's all it'll take. And just think what a story it'll make—famous writer sues police for wrongful imprisonment.”

He shook his head. “There's no point in all this blackmail, believe me. I give you my word, I'll get her back to you.”

“That's not good enough. Something's going on here. And I can't leave it in anyone else's hands. It's too important.”

He finally conceded, too worn out to carry on the fight. “All right. You can follow me. But you won't be allowed to come in.”

“Why? Where the hell are you going? Where is she?”

“GCHQ Cheltenham, I think.”

“What?”

It was nearly midnight when they reached the main gates of the intelligence complex. As Rigano instructed, Cordelia parked as unobtrusively as possible about quarter of a mile from the brightly lit gate. She watched as Rigano drove up and after five minutes, was admitted. Tearing irritably at the cellophane on the packet of cigarettes she'd bought at a petrol station
en route
Cordelia prepared herself for a long vigil. Rigano wasn't exactly her idea of the knight in shining armor. But he was all she'd got.

The chirrup of the telephone broke the stalemate in the smoky room. Lindsay was grateful for the note of normality it injected into what had become a completely disorientating experience. Harriet Barber frowned and picked it up. “Barber here,” she said coolly. A puzzled look crossed her face and she turned to Stone, handing him the phone. “You'd better deal with this,” she ordered.

“Yes? Stone speaking,” he said. He listened for a few moments then said, “I'll be right down.” He replaced the phone and got to his feet. “I don't understand this, I'm afraid. Are you staying here?” he asked.

“The situation down there is your problem, Stone,” she replied icily. “Deal with it. Deal with it quickly.”

He left the room.

“I suppose a visit to the loo would be out of the question?” Lindsay asked.

“Not at all.”

“You surprise me.”

“Provided you don't mind my company.”

“What?” Lindsay demanded, outraged.

“We don't take chances with valuable government property,” Barber replied easily. “Besides, I thought it might rather appeal to you. Given your . . . inclinations.”

Lindsay's face revealed her contempt. “I'd rather eat razor blades,” she spat.

“That could be arranged,” Barber replied with a faint smile. She pulled a small black notebook from her jacket pocket and made a few notes. Lindsay glowered at her in silence. Long minutes passed before the phone rang again. “Barber here,” the woman said again. She listened then said abruptly. “Out of the question. No . . .” She listened again.
“He says what?” Anger clouded her eyes. “Well, in that case, you'd better bring him up. I'm not going to forget this whole episode, Stone.” She slammed the phone down and stared at Lindsay. She lit another fragrant French cigarette then got up and offered one to Lindsay who accepted gratefully. “We have a visitor, Miss Gordon,” Barber said, her voice clipped and taut.

“Who?” the journalist asked wearily.

“You'll see soon enough,” was the reply before Barber lapsed into silence again.

Lindsay heard the door open and swiveled uncomfortably round in her chair. A surge of relief flooded through her when she saw an obviously disgruntled Stone hustling Rigano into the room.

He stopped on the threshold, his face the stony mask that Lindsay had come to recognize as normal. But when he spoke, the concern in his voice was a distinct novelty. “Are you all right?” he asked, moving slowly toward her. Before she could reply, he spotted the handcuffs and rounded angrily on Stone. “For Christ's sake,” he thundered. “She's not one of the bloody Great Train Robbers. What's all this crap?”

Stone looked helplessly at Harriet Barber, who responded immediately. “Mr. Stone is not in charge here, Superintendent. I am, and I have no intention of releasing Miss Gordon until we have the assurances from her that we require. I am under no obligation toward you, and you are here out of courtesy only.”

The tension between the two of them crackled in the air. “We'll see about that,” Rigano replied grimly before turning back to Lindsay. “Are you all right?”

“Considering that I've been kidnapped at gunpoint, threatened with a knife, transported in conditions that would be illegal if I was a sheep, and interrogated by assholes, I'm okay,” she answered bitterly. “You got me into this mess, Jack. You shopped me. Now call off the dogs and get me out of it.”

“He doesn't have the authority,” Barber said.

“We'll see about that as well,” Rigano retorted. “But I didn't shop you, Lindsay. That bastard Stone had my office bugged. I have proof of that, and it's already in the hands of my senior officers. You people, madam,” he said, turning toward Harriet Barber, “had my men's full cooperation, but that wasn't good enough for you, was it?”

“As things have turned out, it looks as if that was a wise precaution. We haven't had your full cooperation, after all.”

“You don't get away with bugging a senior police officer's room, whoever you are, madam.”

“Your intervention at this juncture is tedious and utterly pointless, Superintendent. You have satisfied yourself as to the well-being of Miss Gordon and I suggest that you leave now.” Barber's tone suggested that she was not accustomed to being thwarted.

But Rigano refused to be intimidated. “Where are we up to, Lindsay? What's the deal?”

“I would advise you not to reply, Miss Gordon. Superintendent, you have no standing here. I strongly advise you to leave.”

“You might not think I have any standing here, madam, but I'd have thought you'd welcome any intervention that might sort this business out. Now, will someone please tell me what the offer is?”

“It's simple, Jack,” said Lindsay. “I sign away all my rights, promise to forget everything I know, and Simon Crabtree gets to kill Debs.”

Exasperated by the situation spiraling out of her control, Harriet Barber got to her feet and said angrily, “Don't be absurd. Superintendent, we expect Miss Gordon to sign the Official Secrets Act and to be bound by it. We expect the return of any secret material still in her possession. She will not refer to the events of this evening or to her theories about what has happened at Brownlow to anyone, on pain of prosecution. Not unreasonable, I submit.”

“That's the sanitized version,” interrupted Lindsay. “What she misses out is that Crabtree stays free to take whatever steps he wants against Debs and that if I write the story I'll be silenced. Permanently.”

“No one has threatened your life,” Barber snapped.

“Not in so many words,” Lindsay agreed. “But we both know that's what we've been talking about.”

Rigano shook his head. “This is bloody silly. This is not the Soviet Union. People don't get bumped off because they possess inconvenient knowledge. You're both making a melodrama out of a molehill. Do you really think that any newspaper's going to print her story? For a kickoff, no one would believe her. And besides, you can easily shut up any attempts at publication.

“There's no need to threaten Miss Gordon with dire consequences
because she'd never get any editor to take the chance of using this stuff. She's got no evidence except the computer tape and that means bugger all at the end of the day. All you need from her is her signature on the OSA and the return of the tape. You don't need threats.”

“But what about Deborah?” Lindsay interrupted. “Crabtree's going to walk away from all this believing she knows something that can put him away. You can't protect her twenty-four hours a day for ever.”

Rigano looked puzzled. “I still don't bloody see why you people want Crabtree free. He's a bloody spy as well as a murderer.”

Barber frowned. “He has uses at present. He will eventually pay the price for his activities. That I can guarantee.”

Rigano jumped on her words. “So surely until that happens you people can put Deborah Patterson into a safe house.”

Lindsay shook her head. “I can't trust them to look after her. Their organization's probably penetrated at every level already without Simon Crabtree hacking his way in. Besides, this lot would do a double-cross tomorrow if it fitted their notion of national security.”

“And there's the impasse, Superintendent,” Barber said. “She doesn't trust us, and we don't trust her.”

Rigano thought for a moment, then said slowly, “There is one way.”

Cordelia counted the cigarettes left in the packet. She fiddled with the radio tuner, trying to find a station that would take her mind off the terrifying possibilities that kept running through her head. She looked at her watch, comparing the time with the dashboard clock. He'd been in there for more than an hour. She lit another cigarette that she knew she wouldn't enjoy and stared back at the dark cluster of buildings in deep shadow under the severe overhead lights that led from the road. As she watched, a tall man came out of the main gate and started walking in her direction. She paid little attention until he stopped by her car expectantly. Wary, she pressed the switch that lowered the window until a two-inch gap appeared. She could see a blond head of hair above a windproof jacket. His eyes glittered as he asked brusquely, “Cordelia Brown?”

“Yes,” she answered. An edginess in his manner urged her to caution.

“I have a message for you.” He handed her a note.

Cordelia recognized her lover's familiar handwriting and her stomach contracted with relief. She forced herself to focus on the words, and read, “Give the copy of the computer tape to the man who delivers this if you've got it. It's all right. L.” She looked up at the man's impassive face. “What's going on? Am I going to see her soon?” she pleaded.

“Looks like it,” he said. His voice was without warmth. “The tape?”

She fumbled in her bag and handed him the unlabeled cassette.

“The note as well, please.”

“What?” she asked, puzzled.

“I need the note back.” Reluctantly, she handed him the scrap of paper.

Cordelia watched him walk toward the gate and gain admission. Unnerved by the brevity of the encounter she lit another cigarette and searched the radio wavebands again.