The Great Pursuit (19 page)

'And I suppose you didn't shoot up fire trucks either?'

'Of course I didn't. Why the hell should I want to do a thing like that?'

'I wouldn't know, Mr Hutchmeyer, any more than I'd know what you were doing in the middle of
the bay in the raw with a heap of empty gas cans tied round you and your house is on fire and
nobody has called the Fire Department.'

'Nobody called...You mean my wife didn't call...' Hutchmeyer gaped at Greensleeves.

'Your wife? You mean you didn't have your wife with you out in the bay on board your
cruiser?'

'Certainly not,' said Hutchmeyer, 'I've told you already I wasn't on my cruiser. My cruiser
tried to ram me on my yacht and blew up and...'

'So where's Mrs Hutchmeyer?'

Hutchmeyer looked around desperately. 'I've no idea,' he said.

'Okay, take him down the station,' said the Police Chief, 'we'll go into this thing more
thoroughly down there.' Hutchmeyer was bundled into the back of the police car and presently they
were on their way into Bellsworth. By the time they reached the station Hutchmeyer was in an
advanced state of shock.

So was Piper. The fire, the exploding cruiser, the arrival of the fire engines and police cars
with their wailing sirens and finally the rapid machine-gun fire from the romper room had all
served to undermine what little power of self-assertion he had ever possessed. As the firemen ran
for cover and the police dropped to the ground he allowed himself to be led away through the
woods by Baby. They hurried along a path and came out in the garden of another large house.
People were standing outside the front door gazing at the smoke and flames roaring into the air
over the trees. Baby hesitated a moment and then, taking advantage of the cover of some bushes,
dragged Piper along below the house and into the woods on the other side.

'Where are we going?' Piper asked after another half mile. 'I mean we can't just walk away
like this as if nothing had happened.'

'You want to go back?' hissed Baby.

Piper said he didn't.

'Right, so we've got to get some mileage,' said Baby. They went on and passed three more
houses. After two miles Piper protested again.

'They're bound to wonder what's become of us,' he said.

'Let them wonder,' said Baby.

'I don't see that's going to do us any good,' said Piper. They are going to find out you
deliberately set fire to the house and then there's the cruiser. It's got all my things on
it.'

'It had all your things on it. Right now they're not on it any more. They're either at the
bottom of the bay or they're floating around alongside my mink. When they find them you know what
they're going to think?'

'No,' said Piper.

Baby giggled. 'They're going to think we went with them.'

'Went with them?'

'Like we're dead,' said Baby with another sinister giggle. Piper didn't see anything to laugh
about. Death even by proxy wasn't a joke and besides he had lost his passport. It had been in the
suitcase with his precious ledgers.

'Right, so they'll know you're dead,' said Baby when he pointed this out to her. 'Like I said,
we have to make a break with the past. So we've made it. Completely. We're free. We can go
anywhere and do anything. We've broken the fetters of circumstance.'

'You may see it that way,' said Piper, 'I can't say I do. As far as I'm concerned the fetters
of circumstance happen to be a lot stronger than they ever were before all this happened.'

'Oh you're just a pessimist,' said Baby. 'I mean you've got to look on the bright side.'

Piper did. Even the bay was lit up by the conflagration and a number of boats had gathered
offshore to watch the blaze.

'And just how do you think you're going to explain all this?' he said, forgetting for the
moment that he was free and that there was no going back. Baby turned on him violently.

'Who's to explain to?' she demanded. 'We're dead. Get it, dead. We don't exist in the world
where that happened. That's past history. It hasn't got anything to do with us. We belong to the
future.'

'Well someone's going to have to explain it,' said Piper, 'I mean you can't just go round
burning houses down and exploding boats and hope that people aren't going to ask questions. And
what happens when they don't find our bodies at the bottom of the bay?'

They'll think we floated out to sea or the sharks got us or something. That's not our problem
what they think. We've got our new lives to live.'

'Fat chance there's going to be of that,' said Piper, not to be consoled. But Baby was
undismayed. Grasping Piper's hand she led the way on through the woods.

'Dual destiny, here we come,' she said gaily. Behind her Piper groaned. Dual destiny with this
demented woman was the last thing he wanted. Presently they came out of the woods again. In front
of them stood another large house. Its windows were dark and there was no sign of life.

'We'll hole up here until the heat's off,' said Baby using a vernacular that Piper had
previously only heard in B-movies.

'What about the people who live here?' he asked. 'Aren't they going to mind if we just move
in?'

'They won't know. This is the Van der Hoogens' house and they're away on a world tour. We'll
be as safe as houses.'

Piper groaned again. In the light of what had just happened at the Hutchmeyer house the saying
seemed singularly inappropriate. They crossed the grass and went round a gravel path to the side
door.

'They always leave the key in the glasshouse,' said Baby. 'You just stay here and I'll go get
it.' She went off and Piper stood uncertainly by the door. Now if ever was his chance to escape.
But he didn't take it. He had lived too long in the shadow of other authors' identities to be
able now to act on his own behalf. By the time Baby returned he was shaking. A reaction to his
predicament had set in. He wobbled into the house after her. Baby locked the door behind
them.

In Hampstead Frensic got up early. It was Sunday, the day before publication, and the reviews
of Pause O Men for the Virgin should be in the papers. He walked up the hill to the newsagent and
bought them all, even the News of The World which didn't review books but would be consoling
reading if the reviews were bad in the others or, worse still, non-existent. Then, savouring his
self-restraint, he strolled back to his flat without glancing at them on the way and put the
kettle on for breakfast. He would have toast and marmalade and go through the papers as he ate.
He was just making coffee when the telephone rang. It was Geoffrey Corkadale.

'You've seen the reviews?' he asked excitedly. Frensic said he hadn't.

'I've only just got up,' he said, piqued that Geoffrey had robbed him of the pleasure of
reading the evidently excellent coverage. 'I gather from your tone that they're good.'

'Good? They're raves, absolute raves. Listen to what Frieda Gormley has to say in The Times,
"The first serious novel to attempt the disentanglement of the social complicity surrounding the
sexual taboo that has for so long separated youth from age. Of its kind Pause O Men for the
Virgin is a masterpiece."'

'Gormless bitch,' muttered Frensic.

'Isn't that splendid?' said Geoffrey.

'It's senseless,' said Frensic. 'If Pause is the first novel to attempt the disentanglement of
complicity, and Lord alone knows how anyone does that, it can't be "of, its kind". It hasn't got
any kind. The bloody book is unique.'

'That's in the Observer,' said Geoffrey, not to be discouraged, 'Sheila Shelmerdine says,
"Pause O Men blah blah blah moves us by the very intensity of its literary merits while at the
same time demonstrating a compassionate concern for the elderly and the socially isolated. This
unique novel attempts to unfathom those aspects of life which for too long have been ignored by
those whose business it is to advance the frontiers of social sensibility. A lovely book and one
that deserves the widest readership." What do you think of that?'

'Frankly,' said Frensic, 'I regard it as unmitigated tosh but I'm delighted that Miss
Shelmerdine has said it all the same. I always said it would be a money-spinner.'

'You did, you most certainly did,' said Geoffrey, 'I have to hand it to you, you've been
absolutely right.'

'Well we'll have to see about that,' said Frensic before Geoffrey could become too effusive.
'Reviews aren't everything. People have yet to buy the book. Still, it augurs well for American
sales. Is there anything else?'

'There's a rather nasty piece by Octavian Dorr.'

'Oh good,' said Frensic. 'He's usually to the point and I like his style.'

'I don't,' said Geoffrey. 'He's far too personal for my taste and he should stick to the book.
That's what he's paid for. Instead he has made some rather odious comparisons. Still I suppose he
has given us some quotable quotes for the jacket of Piper's next book and that's the main
thing.'

'Quite,' said Frensic and turned with relish to Octavian Dorr's column in the Sunday
Telegraph, 'I just hope we do as well with the weeklies.'

He put the phone down, made some toast and settled down with Octavian Dorr whose piece was
headed 'Permissive Senility'. It began, 'It is appropriate that the publishers of Pause O Men for
the Virgin by Peter Piper should have printed their first book during the reign of Catherine The
Great. The so-called heroine of this their latest has many of the less attractive characteristics
of that Empress of Russia. In particular a fondness amounting to sexual mania for the favours of
young men and a partiality for indiscretion that was, to say the least, regrettable. The same can
be said for the publishers, Corkadales...'

Frensic could see exactly why Geoffrey had hated the review. Frensic found it entirely to his
taste. It was long and strident and while it castigated the author, the publisher and the public
whose appetite for perverse eroticism made the sale of such novels profitable, and then went on
to blame society in general for the decline in literary values, it nevertheless drew attention to
the book. Mr Dorr might deplore perverse eroticism but he also helped to sell it. Frensic
finished the review with a sigh of relief and turned to the others. Their praise, the
presumptuous pap of progressive opinion, earnest, humourless and sickeningly well-meaning, had
given Pause the imprimatur of respectability Frensic had hoped for. The novel was being taken
seriously and if the weeklies followed suit there was nothing to worry about.

'Significance is all,' Frensic murmured and helped his nose to snuff. 'Prime the pump with
meaningful hogwash.'

He settled back in his chair and wondered if there was anything he could do to ensure that
Pause got the maximum publicity. Some nice big sensational story for the daily papers...

In the event Frensic had no need to worry. Five hours to the west the sensational story of
Piper's death at sea was beginning to break. So was Hutchmeyer. He sat in the police chiefs
office and stared at the chief and told his story for the tenth time to an incredulous audience.
It was the empty gasolene cans that were fouling things up for him.

'Like I've told you, Miss Futtle tied them to me to keep me afloat while she went to get
help.'

'She went to get help, Mr Hutchmeyer? You let a little lady go and get help...'

'She wasn't little,' said Hutchmeyer, 'she's goddam large.'

Chief Greensleeves shook his head sorrowfully at this lack of chivalry. 'So you were out in
the middle of the bay with this Miss Futtle. What was Mrs Hutchmeyer doing all this time?'

'How the hell would I know? Setting fire to my hou...' Hutchmeyer stopped himself.

'That's mighty interesting,' said Greensleeves. 'So you're telling us Mrs Hutchmeyer is an
arsonist.'

'No I'm not,' shouted Hutchmeyer, 'all I know is ' He was interrupted by a lieutenant who came
in with a suitcase and several articles of clothing, all sodden.

'Coastguards found these out in the wreckage,' he said and held a coat up for inspection.
Hutchmeyer stared at it in horror.

'That's Baby's,' he said. 'Mink. Cost a fortune.'

'And this?' asked the lieutenant indicating the suitcase.

Hutchmeyer shrugged. The lieutenant opened the case and removed a passport.

Greensleeves took it from him. 'British,' he said. 'British passport in the name of Piper,
Peter Piper. The name mean anything to you?'

Hutchmeyer nodded. 'He's an author.'

'Friend of yours?'

'One of my authors. I wouldn't call him a friend.'

'Friend of Mrs Hutchmeyer maybe?' Hutchmeyer ground his teeth.

'Didn't hear that, Mr Hutchmeyer. Did you say something?'

'No,' said Hutchmeyer.

Chief Greensleeves scratched his head thoughtfully. 'Seems like we've got ourselves another
little problem here,' he said finally. 'Your cruiser blows out of the water like she's been
dynamited and when we go look see what do we find? A mink coat that's Mrs Hutchmeyer's and a bag
that belongs to a Mr Piper who just happens to be her friend. You think there's any
connection?'

'What do you mean "any connection"?' said Hutchmeyer.

'Like they was on that cruiser when she blew?'

'How the hell would I know where they were? All I know is that whoever was on that cruiser
tried to kill me.'

'Interesting you saying that,' said Chief Greensleeves, 'very interesting.'

'I don't see anything interesting about it.'

'Couldn't be the other way round, could it?'

'Could what be the other way round?' said Hutchmeyer.

'That you killed them?'

'I did what?' shouted Hutchmeyer and let go his blanket. 'Are you accusing me of '

'Just asking questions, Mr Hutchmeyer. There's no need for you getting excited.

But Hutchmeyer was out of his chair. 'My house burns down, my cruiser blows up, my yacht's
sunk under me, I'm in the water drowning some hours and you sit there and suggest I killed
my...why you fat bastard I'll have my lawyers sue you for everything you've got. I'll '