Lovers and Liars (87 page)

‘So, do you know where McMullen is nowT

‘No. Not for certain. Not yet.’ He glanced down at his watch. ‘It was a mistake on his part to kill. Now even the British police have stirred themselves. My instinct is that he will have tried to leave the country, shortly after his encounter with you this evening, Ms Hunter. He may or may not have succeeded. He will have had an escape route planned.’ He sighed in an impatient way. ‘My main concern is that my people catch up with him before the British police, or security. They might arrest him, in fact they almost certainly would. Then there would be questions, investigations … ‘

‘And you wouldn’t want thatT

‘Obviously not.’ He smiled. ‘I’m increasingly anxious for Mr McMullen to be silenced permanently. Within the next few hours, I hope.’

He frowned, and looked away from her. A thought had evidently just come to him, and it appeared to irritate him. Gini watched him become a little disconcerted; his hands plucked at his rug.

‘You know when McMullen planned to kill JohnT he said abruptly. ‘It was discussed with Lise, in the second of their phone calls. Indirectly discussed, but their intentions were clear enough. At the party to be held for my son’s forty-eighth birthday next week in Oxfordshire. After the dinner, during the firework display. The fireworks were to be timed to coincide with the actual hour of John’s birth - a family tradition. Lise knows about my ambitions for John, and when I had always hoped to see them fulfilled - as do you, of course, since John discussed them with you the other night. So I imagine it was Lise who selected the date, and McMullen who saw the opportunity the celebrations would provide for a marksman.’ He leaned forward. The blue ice-chip eyes met hers.

‘I find that malicious, Ms Hunter. And I shall punish that malice, in due course.’ He leaned back, and gave a sigh. ‘Meantime, McMullen will be found and dealt with, and Lise-!

‘Lise will take her overdose?’ Gini said sharply. She glanced towards the door. Hawthorne smiled.

‘No. Unfortunately not. My son has over-ruled me there. As he himself told you, he is concerned for his sons, and when he said that he genuinely meant it. Perhaps he would find it difficult to face his children with that on his conscience - I don’t know. I sometimes suspect that there is a bond between Lise and my son that even I cannot understand, and he remains reluctant to sever it finally. Who knows? John is a very complex man. So Lise will not overdose, unless she does it by accident. No, she will be despatched to a nice quiet, secure private mental home, as the doctors have been advising for many months. She can tell her fantasies to the walls there, Ms Hunter, while receiving the most excellent care. She really is not sane. I think even you can see that my son has no choice.’

Gini looked away. If all this were true - and on the whole she believed it to be true - she could see that indeed, as far as Lise was concerned, John Hawthorne was probably making the only possible choice. She wondered how long he would succeed in

protecting Lise - and she wondered, glancing back at his father, what definitions of sanity or insanity meant any more.

‘So, Ms Hunter/ he leaned forward once more, ‘that brings us up to date, I think. And it leaves us with just one outstanding problem. You, Ms Hunter - and your photographer friend. Now what, I wonder, should I do about that?’

There was a silence. They looked at each other. Gini met those blue ice-chip eyes.

‘These are my terms,’ S. S. Hawthorne said. ‘First, there is no way you’ll now be able to print a word of this in a British newspaper. I have too many friends. McMullen has killed once, and I have incontrovertible evidence that he was intending to kill my son. McMullen is a British army officer, with a somewhat intriguing, and impressive, military career. An attempt by such a man to kill the American Ambassador … ‘ he smiled, now that makes the British very nervous indeed. You try to print a word against my son in any paper in this country, and you’ll get a “D” notice slapped on you and on your paper before you can move. This is now a security matter - so, here at least, I know you’re foiled.’

He paused, smiling grimly. ‘I’m not happy with that situation. I like to be thorough. You might talk-, you might try to sell your story abroad. So listen to me very carefully, Ms Hunter. You’re paying attention now, I hope? If you do that, or attempt to do that, I shall know. And I won’t touch you - not immediately anyway. But I shall finish the job I began the other night with your French friend. On Friday, my driver missed him by exactly six inches. He was spared, because my son had certain plans for him which involved his remaining alive until today, until Sunday.’

Gini went white. She rose to her feet, and began speaking. Hawthorne gave a bored gesture of the hand to cut her off. ‘Listen, Ms Hunter. Mr Lamartine has never been my primary

concern. I knew he would never obtain his photographs - even he could not photograph assignations with blonde women which never took place. You worried me rather more, because - with Mr Lamartine’s gallant assistance, of course - you might have come up with evidence that would damage my son. And now, unfortunately for you, John has been unwise enough actually to present you with evidence. However/ he paused and gave her another cold glittering look, ‘my son has also won you a stay of execution. But understand this, if you give me any further problems, any at all, this is what I shall do. First, Mr Lamartine’s daughter Marianne will

die. Give him that message from me, if you’d be so good. Secondly, I’ll have Mr Lamartine killed, and you afterwards, you understand? I shall make sure he dies in unpleasant circumstances, and I’ll allow you enough time to contemplate your own responsibility for his death. Then I shall take care of you as well.’ He smiled. ‘Frank Romero has taken a liking to you, Ms Hunter. I know he’ll find an interesting way of dealing with you.’

He looked at her closely. ‘I hope you understand? I hope you don’t doubt me - because I can assure you, I wouldn’t hesitate. It would be like squashing some insect, some fly. Unlike my son, I do not like you, Ms Hunter. You are one of the little people and you are getting in my way.’

There was a silence. Gini watched him. He had been speaking clearly and concisely, in the tone of voice a man might use when dictating a routine business letter. Looking at him, she felt as cold, and as exact as he evidently did. There had been, she realized, one central question behind this whole investigation: what was the true nature of John Hawthorne? The answer to that question, she thought, lay in the man now seated opposite. She looked down at the black rug covering his paralysed legs.

‘I understand/ she said. ‘And I don’t doubt you for a moment. How long do you expect to live?’

That amused him. He laughed. ‘Long enough, Ms Hunter. Long enough, I assure you. And don’t imagine you’d find safety after my death. I shall operate very well from beyond the grave, Ms Hunter. My son John will see to that.’

He pressed the switch on the arm of his chair. There was a low hiss, a low whine; he began to move forward. Gini stepped in front of his chair. He stopped.

‘Ms Hunter,’ he said quietly, ‘this interview is over. Get out of my way.’

‘I will. But this interview isn’t over. There are certain things you said you would tell me … ‘

‘I know that.’ He glanced down at his watch. ‘Unfortunately, there are other matters of greater urgency than you which I have to attend to.’

‘There was a question/ Gini continued, not moving. ‘You said there was a question you knew I wanted to ask.’

That delayed him. He gave her a glance that was suddenly filled with both malice and contempt. He glanced over his shoulder, towards the fireplace and the mirror above it. He looked back at her, then at the door.

‘My cat,’ Gini said.

There was a silence. He frowned, and for one tiny second, she thought he seemed confused.

‘That was your questionT

‘One of them, yes. Which of your brave hit men killed my cat? I want to know.’

‘I have three men here.’ He shrugged. ‘Any one of them. Frank Romero will have issued the instructions. But I wouldn’t advise cross-examining him. His temper … his tastes - you understandT

‘All right. Then I have another question. What really happened in Vietnam?’

‘Not what McMullen claims. The account John and your father gave you is the true one. If the question still preoccupies you, when you see him, ask my son.’ He paused. He gave her an amused, considering look. ‘Those were the questions uppermost in your mind? I’m surprised.’ Once again, he looked her up and down. He gave a small supercilious smile. He now seemed much less impatient to leave the room, and Gini sensed that, in his arrogance, he was beginning to enjoy himself yet again. Clearly he believed her an unworthy opponent, one whose every move and question he could second-guess. When she did not speak immediately, he gave her a complacent glance. His smile broadened.

‘Come along now, Ms Hunter. Something’s bothering you which little detail do you need me to explain? I’ve covered most of it pretty thoroughly … ‘

‘But not all of it/ Gini replied. ‘The woman with the English accent, you haven’t explained her. It was an Englishwoman who began all this, an Englishwoman who first telephoned that courier company-,’

‘And an Englishwoman who called the escort agency. A blondhaired Englishwoman who met that call-girl you interviewed at a London hotel.’ He finished the question for her with a dismissive gesture of the hand. ‘Come now, are you always this slow? It was Lise who made those calls, it was Lise who put that prostitute through her paces at that hotel. Ask Lise to demonstrate her English accent some time. She’s a born actress. She does it astonishingly well.’

He paused, watching her closely. ‘It seems to me that such petty details need hardly concern you now. Except, I see, I begin to understand.’ His smile broadened. ‘That’s not what you really want to know, is it, Ms HunterT

‘I want to know who the man was in that hotel room with the call-girl and with Lise,’ Gini began. Hawthorne gave a bark of laughter.

‘Of course. I might have known. These are a woman’s questions, not a reporter’s, Ms Hunter - aren’t they? You’re a whole lot more fascinated by my son than you’re admitting to yourself - you realize thatT

‘That’s not true.’

‘Oh, but I think it is. By my reckoning, Ms Hunter, John gave up too quickly the other night in your apartment. You’re easier than you look. Play you the right way, and John could have you any time he chose.’

‘Who was the man with Lise and that call-girl?’ Gini repeated steadily. Hawthorne shot her another amused glance.

‘It was my son,’ he said drily. ‘I did warn you, Ms Hunter.’ Gini hesitated. It was the answer she had been expecting, but it disappointed her all the same. She would have liked to believe that John Hawthorne was above and beyond such sordid encounters. She gave a small shrug, and held his father’s gaze.

‘In that case,’ she said quietly, ‘there’s only one more question I want to ask. In those pictures you sent McMullen, in the third of them, the December shot … ‘

She hesitated, and remembering the details of that photograph, felt herself blush. S. S. Hawthorne noted this.

‘Yes, Ms HunterT he prompted.

‘In the December photograph, Lise is looking out of frame. There was someone else in the room with her and that man. Someone who watched her go through that whole performance … ‘

‘Indeed. Lise liked to have an audience, I understand. So, yes, there was someone with her, that December, that November, that October - and on similar occasions as well.’

‘Who was itT Gini said sharply, and at once regretted the tension she betrayed.

S. S. Hawthorne lowered his eyes; the complacent smile still remained.

‘Oh, Ms Hunter,’ he said, in a half-playful, half-reproachful tone. ‘I think you already know the answer to that question. If in doubt .

He paused, looked down at the black rug across his lap, and adjusted it. The door was opening. In the doorway stood John Hawthorne. He looked from his father to Gini in silence. S. S. Hawthorne gave her one last amused, malicious glance, then

manceuvred his chair past her towards the door. There, he looked back at Gini over his shoulder.

‘Perhaps you’re not quite so stupid as I thought, Ms Hunter/ he said. ‘That question gets to the heart of the matter, I guess. As I say, I think you know the answer already. But if you want confirmation, don’t turn to me. Ask someone you like and admire rather more, Ms Hunter. Ask my son.’

XXXV11

JOHN HAWTHORNE closed the door behind his father. He leaned against it, and stood silently looking at Gini. He moved across the room, and drew back the curtains, looking out to the darkness beyond.

‘What time is itT Gini said.

‘Eight. Nine. Between the two. Morning - and still not dawn.’ He turned back to face her then, and they looked in silence at one another. It was the first time she had ever seen him informally dressed, Gini realized. He was wearing a dark polo-necked sweater and black corduroy trousers, the kind of clothes Pascal might have worn. Beyond that, the alteration in him was profound. He emanated none of the energy she associated with him. His face was pale and drawn with fatigue. There was no verve or vitality. He looked like a man who had spent nights without sleep, a man who had moved into some dead zone on the other side of despair.

‘How long were you speaking to my fatherT he asked. ‘A long time. And he did most of the speaking.’

‘I see.’

‘Were you listening to us? Or watching usT

Gini gestured towards the mirror as she said this. Hawthorne glanced at the glass, then frowned. Her question seemed neither to surprise nor to annoy him.

‘No, I wasn’t.’ He hesitated. ‘I hadn’t realized, that my father planned to do this.’

She saw him look at the tape recorder, and the pile of tapes. He moved across to the table, picked up the envelope of photographs, drew out the bundle with its covering letter, glanced at it, then replaced it in the envelope. He tossed it back on the table, as if it did not concern him at all, then, moving slowly, crossed the room. He came to a halt a few feet in front of her. She saw him look at her hair, and her scratched face. He took her right hand in his, and examined the cuts gently, turning her hand this way and that. He released her hand, and looked at her.