Blood Red City (11 page)

‘House' was an understatement – it was a mansion on an estate outside the city. The house was lit with floodlights. The grounds were sculpted out of the landscape, designed to show off the grandeur of the place. A long driveway curved its way to the house so as to afford the best possible views. Even in the dark of the evening, it was an impressive sight.

As they joined a group of other guests heading up the wide steps to the main entrance, Jed tucked the bulky camera under his coat. He pulled the crumpled invitation card from the pocket of his crumpled jacket.

‘I'll get you in, as agreed,' he said quietly to Wiles. ‘But once inside it's up to you to find Sumner and talk to him, all right?'

‘All right,' Wiles repeated, without looking at Jed. ‘I will find what I need.'

‘Then I get to see whatever came down on your land. That's the deal, right?'

‘You will see it,' Wiles promised, still not looking at Jed. ‘You will see it very soon.'

*   *   *

It was a long time since Sarah had dressed up for an evening out. Drinks or even a meal with Guy after a day at work were special, but not in a dressing-up sort of way. She had spent a pleasant afternoon shopping in the city, forgetting for a while all about the war and rationing and how difficult it was to find anything to wear in London apart from the drab utility clothing everyone bought.

Now, walking up the steps to what looked like an English stately home dumped down outside Los Angeles, she felt like a million dollars. She had a coat that had some shape to it and actually kept out the chill of the evening. A dress that fitted – fitted very well, she was happy to admit, and in all the right places. For once she was wearing stockings. Real stockings rather than wiped-on gravy browning with a line of pencil to represent the seam. Lipstick was a luxury – she had never been able to stand using beetroot juice to redden her lips like some of the girls in the ATA. Or, come to that, soot from the fireplace to darken her eyes.

She didn't think of herself as vain. These were all things her father could have sent over from America for her if she'd really been that bothered. But that hardly seemed fair on the other women struggling to manage in a country under siege. Just for this evening, though, Sarah was happy to feel good about how she looked. The appreciative smile from the man who checked their invitation enhanced the feeling – even though he probably thought her father was a rich playboy showing off his latest gold-digging trophy.

‘Is Mr Sumner here this evening?' Sarah's father asked the attendant. ‘My daughter would very much like to meet him.' He stressed the ‘daughter' – obviously reading the man's smile the same way Sarah had.

The smile faded. ‘I believe he is, sir, yes.'

‘Thank you.'

A maid was on hand to take their coats. Her own smile had been painted on with a lot of practice. They followed the general flow into a huge reception room with an impressive chandelier hanging from the high ceiling and wood-panelled walls. White-jacketed waiters moved through the crowd with bottles to top up glasses, and trays of food.

‘Let's mingle for a bit,' Diamond said. ‘If I spot Sumner, we'll try to grab a few words with him.'

‘It's a nice home he has here,' Sarah said.

Diamond laughed. ‘Oh, he doesn't live here. This is his collection of art and artefacts. It's open to the public, notionally.'

‘What's that mean?'

‘It means by appointment. Sumner actually lives in a penthouse at the top of one of the hotels in Los Angeles. Runs his company from there too.'

‘And rarely leaves.'

‘He's rarely seen in public. There's a difference.'

They were interrupted by a sudden flash of light close by. Sarah turned, startled – to see a photographer moving through the room, a young man with dark curly hair in a suit that had seen better days. He paused to take another picture of a middle-aged couple, nodding his thanks and moving on to take more.

‘I doubt Sumner will take kindly to having photos taken,' Diamond said.

He was right. Two of the waiters, distinctive in their immaculate white jackets, were already hurrying after the photographer. They reached him as he framed up yet another picture. The flash went off again, just as one of the waiters put his hand on the man's shoulder. The other relieved him of his camera. The photographer's protests were shrugged away.

A short, rather nondescript man in a plain suit and slightly off-centre bow tie had appeared beside Sarah and her father. His dark hair was oiled and slicked back from his high forehead. He sipped at his wine and nodded to where the photographer was now defiantly scribbling in a small notebook. ‘The press are always with us, it seems.'

‘I'm afraid so,' Diamond agreed. ‘I'm sorry, I don't think you've met my daughter, Sarah.'

‘I don't think I have.' The man took Sarah's hand. She thought for a moment he was going to kiss it, but instead he gave a gentle shake and let go. ‘You're every bit as beautiful as your mother.'

She hadn't expected that. ‘Thank you, sir.'

‘Oh call me J.D. – everyone does.'

‘Sumner?!' Sarah mouthed at her father as the man turned away for a moment to speak to a waiter. Her father nodded.

‘Tell him he can have his camera back tomorrow,' Sumner was saying to the waiter. ‘But he's not to use any of the pictures without my express permission. And the permission of whoever is in them, of course. No real harm done.'

The waiter nodded and moved off. Sumner turned back to Sarah and her father, smiling. ‘I hate these events,' he said. ‘But thank you for coming. It's good to see some friendly faces in amongst the people you have to invite for…' He frowned. ‘Well, I'm not quite sure why I have to invite them, but there must be a reason.'

‘I confess we're not really here for the fun of it either, I'm afraid,' Diamond told him.

‘Oh? You intrigue me, Anthony.'

‘My daughter wanted to ask you some questions.'

Sumner's smile hardened slightly. ‘You're not a reporter, are you?'

‘No,' Sarah assured him. ‘I work for the British military. We believe you might have something in your collection that is important to the war effort.'

The smile was back. ‘Reduced to bows and arrows now, are you? I knew things were getting tight over there.'

‘Not quite. But an ancient axe-head, actually. It's in the collection you're showing off tonight.'

Sumner nodded. ‘There are several axe-heads. But I would guess you're interested in the Doll-Child's Axe.'

‘That's the one.'

‘Normally, I wouldn't—' Diamond started to say.

But Sumner waved away his apology. ‘Fascinating. The Doll-Child's Axe has some significance, some relevance today?'

‘It would seem so. Though we don't know what – just that…' She hesitated, not sure how to phrase it. ‘The enemy are interested in it, and we want to know why.'

Sumner nodded. ‘A puzzle. And one probably best discussed more privately.'

‘I'd appreciate that,' Sarah agreed.

‘Let's go look at it, then.'

‘The axe?'

‘Why not? Every man and his mistress, and there are quite a few of those here tonight, will be traipsing through to look at it when we open the gallery in an hour. If you want to take a look without the fanfare and the inane comments then now's the time.'

‘You're sure?' Diamond asked.

‘An excuse to get away from this lot?' Sumner said quietly. ‘You're joking. Course I'm sure. Get yourselves another drink, I need to say hello to the Mayor, but then I'll be with you.'

*   *   *

Muffled sounds of the reception carried to the wing where the new exhibition hall had been set up. It was like a long corridor, with display cases along each side. Not all the lights were on yet, so the corridor was lengthened by shadows, stretching into the distance. At the far end was a large window giving out into the grounds. Since it was dark outside, the window acted as a mirror, making the gallery seem even longer.

The white jacket of a uniformed waiter almost glowed in the dim light as he stood a short way along the gallery. He nodded to Sumner and his guests, his face dipping deferentially into shadow as they passed.

Sumner led Sarah and her father to a display case about halfway along the gallery. Inside were various artefacts, all of them cracked and chipped and worn: a small wooden statue in a rough approximation of the female form but with hugely enlarged hips and breasts; several arrowheads; a hollowed-out stone bowl; a small cup that looked as if it had been fashioned from bone …

Resting on a small plinth behind these was the stone axe-head. Sarah recognised it at once, even without the small typed card that listed it as ‘The Doll–Child's Axe' along with a reference number. It was in surprisingly good condition compared with the other relics in the case.

‘It's smaller than I expected,' she said. The whole artefact was only about four inches across at its widest point.

‘It's ceremonial rather than practical,' Sumner said. ‘It belonged to a small town museum in Idaho,' he went on. ‘They were losing money, looked like they'd have to close. So I made them an offer, and now they can stay open. For a while, anyway.'

‘It's made of stone?' Sarah's father asked.

‘Yeah, seems to be, though it's worn well as you can see. No way of dating it for certain, but it's thought to be from about the tenth century. So pretty ancient.'

‘And it originated in Idaho?' Sarah asked.

‘Who knows? If you asked me, I'd say it probably didn't originate in North America at all. But the museum curator swore blind the local Indians venerated it for centuries as the axe used to cut the tree in the legend of the doll-child.' He shrugged. ‘I'm an enthusiastic collector, but I'm not an expert. So who am I to argue?'

‘So why's it important, Sarah?' Diamond asked.

She shrugged. ‘Blessed if I know. But people are looking for it.'

‘Nazis?' Sumner asked.

‘Probably. And others. You might do best to keep it in a vault.'

Sumner gave a nervous laugh. ‘You really think someone's gonna try and steal it from here?'

*   *   *

They'd told Jed he could get his camera back tomorrow – provided he agreed not to use any of the pictures he had taken without permission. So what good was that?

He was annoyed – as much with himself as anything. He'd need the camera back before he returned to Wiles's farm. He should have waited, got photos of something worth photographing rather than the Mayor and some minor local celebrities. And Davy Wiles of course, he was in the background of a couple of the shots – just standing there looking totally out of place.

Jed looked round for Wiles to see if he'd managed to collar Sumner yet. He saw Sumner before he saw Wiles – leaving through a back door with a pretty young blonde woman in a striking backless dress. There was an older guy with them too – old enough to be the woman's father. No prizes for guessing what might be going on there, out of sight of the other guests.

As he watched, he caught sight of Wiles – distinctive in his dark blue suit. Where the hell had he got that? Where the hell had he got the money to get that? Wiles was pushing past several other guests without a word of apology and following Sumner and the man and woman from the room. Well, that could be embarrassing. Jed smiled at the thought of how Sumner's heavies would treat Wiles if he got in the way.

On the other hand, he realised, he needed Wiles sweet and amenable for the moment. Best to warn him off – help him choose a better time. Jed hurried after them. He glanced round to make sure none of the waiters was watching before he slipped through the door after Wiles.

*   *   *

Something brushed against Sarah's ankle. She stifled a gasp of surprise and looked down. A cat glanced back up at her, before slinking off down the gallery. A black cat – was that good or bad luck? She could never remember.

Sumner was telling them he'd rather not remove the axe from the display case right now. ‘After everyone's been through, wait behind then and you can examine the hell out of it. For all the good it will do you – it's just stone.'

The cat had stopped and was looking back at them. Its eyes glinted green with reflected light. And Sarah felt a sudden chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the cut of her dress.

‘Do you have a cat?' she asked.

‘What?' Sumner frowned. Her father was staring at her, equally surprised by the question.

‘It's important – do you have a cat? Here at the gallery?'

‘No, of course not.' Sumner peered into the darkness, at the cat staring back at them. ‘I'll have someone put it outside.'

He turned to gesture to a figure approaching along the gallery. At first Sarah thought it was the waiter, but she could still see the white of his jacket further down the room. This man was dressed in a dark suit. Behind him, another man was running towards them. As he passed under one of the infrequent lights, Sarah saw that it was the photographer.

‘Wait!' he called. ‘Mr Wiles – Davy – not now!'

Sumner had seen him too. He was holding up his hand and shaking his head as he stepped forward. ‘No, no, no. No interviews, no background pieces, no personal information. Tonight is all about the gallery, not about me.'

The man in the suit didn't break step. He grabbed Sumner by the lapels of his jacket, lifted the small man bodily into the air, then hurled him aside. Sumner crashed to the floor with a cry of surprise and pain.

The photographer was running towards them. The waiter too, stocky and well-built, barrelled down the gallery. Sarah grabbed her father, pulling him out of the way as the man in the dark suit smashed his fist into the front of the display case, shattering the glass.