A Brush With Death (23 page)

“Put it down,” Ayesha said, in her perfectly modulated, polite accents.

I replaced the receiver. No panic overcame me yet, just surprise, and curiosity. I replaced the receiver and turned. I can overpower her easily, I thought. She's small and out of shape. It was that little round black hole of the muzzle that sent the first tremor of fear through me. The gun was a very dainty little silver one with a darker bulge of metal on the end. A silencer? She must have had the gun hidden behind the champagne bottle, or perhaps tucked into her waistband, hiding the bulge with the bottle.

I tried to speak, but no sound came out. My throat was bone dry. I tried again, and my words came out in a squeak. “What are you doing?"

“Just tying up a few loose ends,” she said, and tossed her head toward the door. “This way. Not a sound, or you're dead."

“So you
are
helping Rashid!"

She snorted. I edged my way toward the door, figuring how to escape. Once we were in the hallway, I'd turn suddenly and knock the gun out of her hand. She opened the door, and Jan Bergma slid in, sideways like a crab. His face was white and strained; his black eyes were glazed with fear.

“This'll have to be quick,” Ayesha said, in a cold, businesslike voice. “They'll be back soon.” She turned a sardonic smile. on me. “From that imaginary little meeting at the top of the mountain I arranged for them."

“Why?” was all I could think of to say.

“Because they expected it. I didn't want them realizing Rashid has nothing to do with this. I needed time to think, to plan. This way is better. I convinced Rashid he wanted to see a Christian mass. I like to off one victim at a time. Less chance for accidents.” She might have been playing a role, and relishing it. Victor had come up with the right name for her. Dragon Lady.

“But the phone calls! You said Rashid—"

“I had to talk fast, before Jan spilt the truth."

One victim at a time. My God, she intended to kill John too! And all I could think of was how much I loved him, and how sweet he'd been about arranging that Christmas tree for me. When he came back, she'd be waiting with that little silver gun.. My insides were shaking, and a ball of fear was growing in my throat. Strangely, Jan Bergma looked even more frightened than I. He wasn't relishing any of this. If I could co-opt his help...

“You killed Latour?” I asked, in a shaky voice.

“His job was done—superbly. I didn't need him any longer. Why split the money three ways?"

“Is Rashid the buyer?” I asked.

“That's enough questions. Into the bedroom."

I didn't move. If she wanted to kill me in the bedroom, she'd have to force me physically to walk. I looked a mute appeal to Jan.

“Can't we just tie her up?” he asked. He began wringing his hands nervously.

“Don't be an ass. She knows everything. Find your slides and notes. They were in the sitting room last time I saw them."

“But Weiss knows everything too,” he pointed out.

“He's next. Divided they fall,” she said, and laughed a very strange laugh. She was high on something, not completely bombed, but definitely high. Oh God, there was no counting on rational behavior from a drugee. Maybe she wasn't as calm as she pretended. She needed that false courage actually to kill in cold blood.

How did they know John's name? He'd been masquerading as Sean Bradley. But he'd told Bergma his real name. “The police know too,” I said, directing my words to Jan.

He looked even more frightened. “We can't kill cops!” he exclaimed.

“She's lying. There's just herself and the insurance investigators, Weiss and his fat assistant."

“His fat assistant is a Mountie,” I said, sensing a reprieve.

“Bullshit! Mounties have to be at least five feet ten inches, and they don't hire illiterates. Do you think I'm an amateur?"

“He's a federal policeman,” I insisted, though it did seem incredible.

“And I'm a saint. Into the bedroom.” She pushed the gun into my face. I took a few steps backward. “Hurry up!"

I looked a plea at Bergma. “You'll be next,” I warned him.

“She's already killed Latour. Now me and John. Do you think she'll leave you alive?"

Jan wiped his hand over his lips. “She can't finalize the deal without me.” He was weak. One of those weak men who will close his eyes to any horror, so long as it doesn't touch him personally. I had to appeal to his own safety.

“So far you're only involved in art fraud,” I said, pinning him with a stare. “You weren't there when she killed Latour. This is accessory to murder."

“Tie her up and let's get out of here,” Bergma exclaimed. Perspiration beaded his brow.

“I want a clean getaway. She has to go, and Weiss and the fat man."

“You'll never get away with it,” I heard myself say, with a sense of unreality. I too had become an actress in her melodrama.

“I'll get away with it all right. When they find one woman's body and two men's, they'll leap to all the wrong conclusions. Weiss will be holding the gun,” she decided. “A love triangle that has nothing to do with me."

At that, she took me by the shoulder, turned me around, and pressed the gun against my back. I went into the bedroom. She flicked on the lights. This couldn't be happening. I couldn't become a victim of murder at the Ritz, on Christmas Eve. John..."

“Take off your dress,” she ordered calmly. “Let your hair down and get into bed.” I began to pull out the hairpins, slowly, trying to think. “Did the tarot cards show this was going to be a bad day for you, Cassie? Or have you still not learned to read them? If you hadn't pushed your way into my life, I wouldn't have to kill you."

“Ayesha, you don't have to. Why kill me? You're not going to get away with this. Loads of people know. There's a whole army of cops following every move you and the sheikh make."

“Mostly Rashid, I think. If the cops ever do learn what's going on—and there's no reason they should—they'd never believe I could afford ten million dollars to buy the forgeries."

“If you have that much money, why are you..."

“I don't have it, you fool! I'm not the buyer.

“Then who..."

“A gentleman friend. You wouldn't know him. Now the dress."

I had removed the pins. My hair tumbled around my shoulders. “I had planned to help you,” I said, hoping against hope to change her mind. “I was going to have Victor get you into movies."

“I've been in movies, thank you. I'm not interested in showing my body any longer. Its hard work, keeping in that kind of shape. Time to use my mind instead."

“I don't mean blue movies!"

“What did you have in mind? Gidget? I'm no longer interested in a film career. It's too much like work. Hurry with that dress."

I reached behind and fumbled with the back zipper, while I made a mental tour of the room. What could I use for a weapon? Hairbrush wasn't heavy enough. Shoes? A spiked heel across the temple ... She'd make me take off my shoes before I got into bed. If I attacked her, she'd shoot. I'd have to throw one at her, and hope my aim was good. The silence stretched. To distract her, I asked, “Where did you hide the forged paintings?"

“I left them with a friend for safekeeping."

I doubted if she had a friend in the world. “How do you plan to escape?"

“With Rashid will be the best way. Once the lot of you are gone, there'll be nothing to tie him or me to all this. They're so casual with him at customs. I convinced him he didn't want to go skiing after all. We're going to London—via New York to give my Christmas present a trial run. If that zipper's stuck, just give the dress a yank. No matter if you rip it. You won't be wearing it again. And kick off your shoes.
Kick
them off. I wouldn't want you getting any foolish ideas."

A burning anger began to grow in me. I had pitied this bitch. I had wanted to help her. She didn't want to .work. She just wanted money, and to shop her life away. My shoes were open-backed gold slippers. They were practically falling off, so I couldn't pretend they were tight. I shuffled out of them. The zipper, far from being stuck, unzipped itself and began to slide down past my knees. I'd soon be in my half-slip and bra. Would she make me take everything off, to add an air of authenticity to the love triangle she had in mind?

Not content to filthy up her own life, she wanted to make her victims’ deaths sordid as well. When people listened to the news tomorrow, they'd believe that John and Gino and I were involved in some sex scandal. I'd be damned if I'd let her get away with it.

“I'm becoming very impatient,” she said. And she was. Her fingers clutched at the gun so nervously that she might fire it accidentally if I delayed much longer.

My gold lame gown slithered to the floor. Before she could tell me to kick it aside, I reached down and picked it up. With a swift movement, I slashed it at the hand that was holding the gun. A muffled shot rang out and a bullet imbedded itself in the wall. I made a lunge for her, and simultaneously Jan Bergma appeared at the door.

“Grab her!” Ayesha yelled. My dress had wrapped itself around her face and neck. She clawed at it with her long, blood red nails. The thumbnail came loose and hung like a gigantic scarlet fish scale from her thumb.

Jan stood a moment in the doorway, undecided. I grabbed the gun while I had the chance and pulled Ayesha in front of me, wrenching one arm behind her back. I should have been triumphant, but I was still scared out of my wits. It was two against one, and one of the two was a strong man. Physically strong, I mean. Ayesha had enough determination and lack of scruples for anything. If they turned on me, I'd have to shoot. My heart was pumping like a steam engine inside me. Could I do it? To save my life, and John's and Gino's, I'd have to.

I spoke to Jan. “Into the other room,” I said, in a voice of mock bravado. He went like a lamb to the slaughter, and I pushed Ayesha on in front of me. I had to tie them up—her first. She was the more treacherous. “Take off your tie,” I ordered him. White and sweating, he undid it.

“Don't do it,” Ayesha ordered. “She won't shoot me. She hasn't got the nerve."

Jan looked from one to the other. He stretched the tie between his two hands and pulled, while his black eyes studied me. I could almost feel that tie around my neck. If he tried it, I'd have to shoot him. And my trembling hand better aim straight.

“You'll go first, Bergma,” I said, but it was against her spinal column that I pushed the gun.

The next bit would be tricky, to get him to tie her up. Between them, they might outwit me. At that awful moment, the phone rang. I wasn't about to be distracted by answering it. It rang six times, jarring my nerves. It seemed it would never stop. Surely someone would come soon. If it was Export A phoning, he'd come to investigate. If it had been John on the phone and I didn't answer, he'd send someone upstairs to check. It might be better just to hold the gun on them and wait, instead of having Jan tie her up.

It was less than sixty seconds before there was a banging at the door. “You all right, Cassie?” Export A called.

I did the crabwalk to the door, holding the gun aimed right between Ayesha's scheming eyes, to let him in.

He took one look and his eyes goggled. “Holy Christ! What's going down here?"

“Call the cops,” I said.

“They're on their way. John just phoned, said you weren't answering the phone. He's coming back. The sheikh didn't show."

“Fine, then we'll just wait."

Export A came in. I was vastly relieved to have an ally. “Tie them up, will you?” I said, in a weak voice.

He used Bergma's tie to tie him up, and one of John's for Ayesha, while I stood guard with the gun. With their arms secured behind their backs, I could breathe easier.

“Where are the paintings?” I asked her.

She gave me a malignant look and said, “Up your ass."

Export A slanted a grin at me and said, “Funny you didn't notice."

I turned to Jan. “Bergma?"

“She took them for safekeeping. I don't know where she put them. I had no idea she was going to kill Latour.” He was as talkative as Ayesha was sullen. “I didn't know till she told me. She told me tonight she took a cab to a spot near Latour's apartment and walked the rest of the way so she wouldn't be noticed. He'd never met her. She let on she was looking for the woman who used to live in his apartment, and when he went to find the address the woman had left behind, she knifed him and took the paintings. She
bragged
about it."

“Shut up, you fool!” Ayesha snapped.

“Do you know who the buyer is?” I asked Jan.

“A Swiss businessman who used to be her lover. His name's Leopold Dornach. He has a whole castle full of artwork outside Zurich. Half of them are stolen."

“Dornach will kill you,” she warned.

“This is all your fault!” Bergma croaked, close to tears. “I never agreed to
murder.
You asked if I wanted to make a few easy million. No one would get hurt, you said!” Jan turned to me and continued, “Dornach heard about the sale at the museum and was planning to buy a few of the Van Goghs. It was her idea to have them forged and the forgeries sold in their place, Dornach getting the originals. He arranged with the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam for me to come here. He has immense influence. She asked me who could do the forgeries, and I fingered Latour—I knew him from Holland. She was going to get fifty percent. Latour and I shared the other five million. But she was too greedy. She killed him, and she'd have killed me too as soon as I made the substitutions."

“Why did you go along with her?” I asked. He seemed too weak for such skullduggery.

He gave her a jaundiced look. “She came to Amsterdam and seduced me. She can be very persuasive."

She spit at him. “Next time I'll hire a man."

“There ain't going to be a next time, lady,” Export A smiled.

At last the pounding of running feet was heard in the hallway, and John came storming in. Gino was a few yards behind him. John took one look at me, then at the gun in my hand, and finally over my shoulder to my captives. His eyes were staring, and his whole body trembled. He pulled me into his arms and squeezed me so hard my bones ached. “Thank God,” he breathed in my ears, and finally let me go. His voice was shaking harder than his arms.