Blood Red City (10 page)

One trip, Jed promised himself. Just one. Chances were he'd find nothing, because there was nothing to find. If he was lucky he might meet some old farmer with failing eyesight who might have seen something back in February. Or maybe he didn't, and perhaps it wasn't February he was thinking of anyway. But after the tip-off from the guy at the observatory, it had to be worth a look.

So just one trip. And even so, he was wasting time and gas, he thought as he turned down yet another narrow dirt track.

Or maybe not.

Jed slammed his foot down on the brake pedal, bringing the car to a skidding halt in a cloud of dust. It might be nothing, but the undergrowth on one side of the track had been ripped away, branches of trees broken off, the ground charred, a scar scraped through the landscape. The woodland had started to grow back over it, of course, but it looked as though something had ploughed through here – something large and fast and hot. And the damage was evidently several months old …

Could this be what he was looking for?

Jed left the car angled across the narrow road, running back to explore the area he'd seen. The trail led deep into the wooded area, the ground and branches and scrub charred and discoloured, thrust aside as something forced – burned – its way through.

In the distance, nestling under larger trees, he caught sight of something reflecting back the afternoon sun. The glint of metal. Whatever it was that had torn its way through the wood – it was still here.

Did he have the camera with him? Jed couldn't even remember if he'd bothered to chuck it on the back seat of the car. But he wasn't going back to check, not until he'd seen what was at the end of the trail of devastation.

He hurried forward, hardly daring to draw breath. Was it a plane? A Japanese bomber? The shape was obscured by the trees and the vegetation growing back over it. Then a figure stepped out in front of Jed.

He skidded to a halt. The man was dressed in rough work clothes, dishevelled and spattered with mud and dirt. There was a rip down one leg of the pants. His weather-beaten face was set hard as granite and he held a shotgun levelled at Jed.

‘Wait – wait!' Jed cried out, afraid the man was about to shoot first and not bother with questions at all. ‘I just want to see what's down there, in the trees.'

‘Why?' the man's voice was strangely devoid of accent, flat and emotionless.

‘Do you know what it is?'

‘This is my land.'

Jed held out his hands. ‘Look, sorry if I'm trespassing. I'm a reporter, from LA.'

The shotgun jabbed forward slightly. ‘Reporting what?'

‘For a newspaper. I know something came down here, one night back in February when there was all the noise and shooting over the city. Remember?' Maybe the guy was a bit simple. But Jed didn't doubt he would shoot if he didn't like what he heard.

‘You're a newspaper man.'

‘That's right.'

‘You got connections.'

‘I suppose. But whatever you have here, on your land, it could be valuable. Why not let me take a look?'

The man tilted his head slightly to one side. Maybe he was considering this. ‘Then what?' he asked.

‘Then I could come back with a camera. Take some photos. Get you and whatever it is in the paper. Make you famous. Maybe,' Jed added, ‘make you rich.'

‘You'd pay me to let you see what's down there?'

‘Depends what it is.' He didn't want to commit to anything until he knew what the guy had here. ‘Let me see what you got, and I'm sure we can come to an arrangement.'

The man nodded. But he didn't lower the gun.

‘I'll make it worth your while,' Jed said. ‘I've got some cash on me now, if it helps. Not much…' He reached into his pocket for his billfold. ‘I'm Jed – Jed Haines. What's your name?'

‘Davy Wiles. I don't need money.'

‘Then you're a remarkable man.'

‘Yes.' He said it like it was a simple statement of fact.

‘So what
do
you need?'

There was a pause. The man looked up, as if he was listening. ‘I need to see Sumner.'

‘You what?'

‘J.D. Sumner. I need to see him. You know Sumner?'

Jed shrugged. ‘Sure I do,' he lied. ‘But why would a farmer like you want to see Mr Sumner? They say he hasn't been outside his mansion in years.' A thought struck him. ‘You want to sell him whatever you've got back there? He's a collector, might make you a good offer.'

‘Nothing like that,' Wiles said. There was still barely any inflection in his voice. ‘We share an interest, me and Sumner.'

‘Oh?'

‘An interest in…' He paused, glancing upwards again as if listening to something in the distance before continuing: ‘… in native American artefacts.'

‘Stuff the Red Indians left behind, you mean? Yeah, I've heard he goes for that stuff.' Jed remembered subbing an article about it recently. He struggled to recall the details.

‘Found some pieces on my land. Might interest Sumner. So, can you arrange for me to meet him?'

‘Sure.' Jed smiled. He remembered the article now. ‘Sumner's opening a new gallery of his museum this week, going to show off some more of his collection. Including some of these Native American Artefacts. He's having a reception for the opening, on Friday evening.' Sumner probably wouldn't even show up, but Jed wasn't about to mention that. ‘I can get a press pass for you if you want. I'll talk to Felix, my editor. Won't be a problem. We'll sort something out.'

Now Wiles did lower the shotgun, just slightly. ‘Good. You do that, Jed Haines. Then you can see what's here.'

‘No, I want to see it now.'

The gun swung back up. ‘After I see Sumner.'

Despite the lack of emotion or accent, there was something in the voice that told Jed he meant it. ‘OK, OK. I'll sort out that press pass, like I said. We can arrange somewhere to meet. I'll be going too. Then next day, I come back here and see what you've got. I'll bring a camera, all right?'

Wiles nodded. ‘Come back before and I'll know. Then I'll kill you.'

Jed's mouth went dry at the matter-of-fact way he said it. He forced himself not to show how afraid he suddenly was. ‘Hey, we got a deal, right?' He tried to smile, tried to sound in control. ‘This reception will be a big deal, you know. Loads of important people there. Rich people too. You'll need a suit.'

*   *   *

There was a plane waiting for them at Montreal. If Sergeant Green was impressed with Sarah's father's hospitality, he didn't show it, but settled back in the rather more comfortable seat of the DC-3, and was almost immediately asleep.

Sarah spent the journey down to Los Angeles staring out of the window, enjoying the tangible motion of the flight as it bumped gently through the clouds, and wishing she was at the controls.

It didn't surprise her that Dad was there to meet them when they landed. She hadn't seen him since before the war. His face was a little more lined, his hair no longer streaked with grey but a uniform gunmetal. He was a tall man, lean and confident, and enfolded Sarah immediately in his arms.

‘How's my favourite daughter?' There was a trace of accent he'd picked up from his years living in the States.

‘I'm your only daughter,' Sarah pointed out as she untangled herself from the embrace.

‘You can still be my favourite.'

Sarah introduced Green, and her father led them through the airport, assuring them their luggage would be at their hotel before they were. A limousine was waiting for them at the kerb, the uniformed driver already holding open the back door for Sarah to climb inside.

‘You'll want to freshen up, I'm sure,' Anthony Diamond told them as he settled himself in the front beside the driver. He twisted round to look back at them. ‘But then I'll stand you both dinner.'

‘That's very kind, Mr Diamond,' Green said. ‘But—'

Diamond waved away the protest. ‘But nothing. Least I can do.'

‘We're here to work, Dad,' Sarah pointed out.

‘Not today, you're not. You want to see Jonny Sumner, you'll have to wait until he wants to see you.'

‘And when is that?' Green asked.

‘I ship goods around the world for him, but he's not at my beck and call. More's the pity.'

‘So you can't help us?' Sarah couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice.

‘It would help if I knew why you're so desperate to see him.'

Green shook his head. ‘Can't tell you that, I'm afraid, sir.'

‘I know, I know – there's a war on. Not that you'd notice it much over here yet. But for what it's worth, I do have an invitation to the reception on Friday when Sumner's opening the new gallery you seemed so interested in. If that's any good.'

‘That's great,' Sarah told him, leaning forward to put her hand affectionately and gratefully on his shoulder. ‘There's something in the gallery we need to see as well as Sumner, if we can.' She was aware of Green looking at her, and knew she'd said more than he thought she should have. ‘Thanks, Dad.'

‘Yes, thank you, sir,' Green added. ‘That's really good going.'

‘Not as good as you might like, Green,' Diamond said, turning back to face the windshield. ‘My invitation is for me and one guest. I'm not missing it for the world, and my guest is my daughter. So you'll have to sit this one out.'

There was the hint of a smile on Green's face. ‘Oh I've never been one for sitting things out, Mr Diamond. Invitation or not, I'll be there, I promise you.'

*   *   *

While it was late afternoon on the west coast of the USA, it was the middle of the night over occupied France. A plane smaller and quieter than the DC-3 that had taken Sarah Diamond and Sergeant Green from Montreal to Los Angeles made its clandestine journey from RAF Tempsford in Bedfordshire. The Westland Lysander banked away from Paris, evading German observation posts with practised ease and descending towards a field to the east of the city.

The plane was on the ground for less than a minute. As it took off again, its two passengers set off across the countryside and disappeared into the night. Not for the first time, Guy Pentecross and Leo Davenport were risking their lives in occupied France.

 

CHAPTER 8

It wasn't the sort of place Jed had expected at all. The bar was upmarket and expensive in a good area of the city. But the note from Davy Wiles, delivered to Jed at the office that afternoon, said to meet him here.

Jed almost didn't recognise the man. Wiles was sitting at a table in a booth towards the back of the dimly lit room. A glass of beer sat untouched on the table in front of him. But perhaps it wasn't the man's first.

Jed waved to the barman for a beer of his own, and slid into the booth to sit opposite Wiles.

‘You all set?' he asked.

Wiles fixed him with an unsettlingly focused stare. ‘All set.'

‘You look smart,' Jed said as he waited for his drink.

The man had shaved and generally cleaned himself up. He was well dressed too. Very well dressed in a dark blue double-breasted suit.

‘You said I'd need a suit.'

‘So I did.' Jed's own suit was in need of cleaning and pressing. But it would have to do.

‘You have the invitation?' Wiles demanded.

Jed patted his breast pocket reassuringly. ‘I do indeed.'

It had taken all his charm and more to persuade Cynthia to go to the considerable trouble of getting it. She'd been livid when she found out Jed didn't intend to take her with him. He'd promised to make it up to her. If this evening – and more importantly tomorrow morning – went as well as he hoped, he'd be able to afford to.

‘I've got the car outside,' Jed told Wiles as he drained his beer. Wiles, he noted, still hadn't touched his drink. ‘You staying in town tonight? If you are, I can give you a ride back to your place tomorrow. I've got the camera with me,' he added, hoping to provoke some clue from the man about what he might see in the morning.

But Wiles remained impassive. ‘I have a ride arranged for tonight,' he said.

‘You're full of surprises, ain't you,' Jed said, buoyed up by the beer. He signalled the barman for another. ‘Nice suit, by the way. Did you get it specially?'

There might have been the hint of a smile on Wiles's lips as he watched Jed start on his next drink. ‘Yes,' he said, ‘I got it specially.'

The barman took Jed's empty bottle and tossed it into a crate full of other empty bottles. The crate was almost full, so while the bar was fairly quiet he decided to dump it out the back.

The back door of the bar opened into an alleyway. It was already dark, and the nearest streetlight was out. Scrumpled paper caught what light there was as it blew down the narrow street. The barman heaved the crate up and emptied it into a large dumpster. The bottles rattled against the metal sides. Usually they smashed on the bottles and other trash already inside, but this time they didn't. The barman barely noticed. He was already thinking about how long he still had to work and what he'd do when he got off tonight.

Inside the dumpster, deadening the fall of the bottles, lay the twisted form of a man's body. He had been killed by a single, powerful blow to the head. Until recently, he had been a the manager of a small bank three blocks away. Until recently he had cared about his appearance, but now he was lying amongst a stale mass of discarded restaurant food and broken glass, flat beer dripping onto his lifeless body.

Until recently, he had been wearing a dark blue, double-breasted suit.

*   *   *

The beaten-up, muddy car looked as out of place beside the smart, gleaming limos parked on the forecourt as Jed felt among the smartly dressed people arriving at Sumner's house.