Midnight Runner (20 page)

The door to the principal's office opened and he came out. "There you are, Senator." He held out a hand. "I can't tell you how distressed we all are."

They shook hands.

"You'll have come for your daughter's clothes and belongings. I asked some members of the staff to pack her suitcase. I hope we did right."

"That was kind of you."

"Do you need me to come with you?"

"That won't be necessary."

"Here's the key to her room." The principal handed it over, hesitated, and then said, "Your daughter was a wonderful young woman, well liked by the staff and other students. What I heard of the circumstances, it's beyond belief. It simply is so out of character that it doesn't make sense."

"To me, neither, but I'm grateful you said it." Quinn turned away and Dillon followed.

The room was on the first floor. There was a single bed, two suitcases beside it, a carrying bag open and empty on the bed, a wardrobe, table desk, and chair. Books were on two shelves, a photo of Quinn with his arm around Helen stood on the desk. It was very quiet, very simple, and yet the room was filled with her presence. He leaned on the desk, a dry sob wracking him.

Dillon put a hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy. Just breathe slowly."

"I know. I'll be okay. I'll pack the carrying bag with her books and the odds and ends."

He started taking them down and Dillon moved to the window and took out the pen and examined it.

"What have you got there?"

"I noticed it in Alan Grant's pigeonhole. It looks familiar somehow, like I've--" He snapped his fingers. "Of course!"

"What?"

"I've seen one of these before. This isn't an ordinary pen. It's a recording device."

Quinn paused as he put books into the bag. "What? Are you sure?"

"You twist and put the top down. It has a surprising amount of volume."

"But what was Alan Grant doing with that?"

"Let's find out," and Dillon turned it on.

And he was right. The sound was particularly clear as Rupert Dauncey said, "There are three pieces of candy in there, chocolates. Each has an Ecstasy tablet inside. I want you to offer the girl one..."

Dillon pressed down with his thumb. There was silence. Quinn stared at him, his face drained, the skin stretched tightly over the cheekbones.

"I know that voice," he whispered.

"Rupert Dauncey."

Quinn sat on the edge of the bed. "Let's hear the rest of it."

Afterwards, he sat with his head in his hands for a while. Finally, he looked up. "That bastard was responsible for my daughter's death."

"I'm afraid so."

"But why did Grant go along with it?"

"I don't know. Dauncey may have had something on him--it's clear from the recording he was under pressure. And he might not have thought it was any big deal. Lots of students try that stuff. A pound to a penny, he'd experimented himself." Dillon shook his head. "He didn't mean for Helen to die."

"Which is why he killed himself?"

"If he killed himself. The more we look into this, the more we see Dauncey's fingerprints. I've a hunch we'll find even more before we're through. Dauncey's capable of anything."

"Well, so am I." Quinn got up. "Let's get back to London, Sean. Can the recording on that pen be copied?"

"I believe so. I have a friend who could probably handle it for us."

"Then let's get moving." He picked up the two suitcases, Dillon got the carrying bag, and they left.

A
t Regency Square, Dillon made the introductions and Roper examined the pen. "Yes, I know how these things work. I can put it onto a cassette tape. That would enhance the sound."

"Just the one," Quinn said. "No other copies."

"As you wish. I'll need to run it through first." He pointed Dillon toward the kitchen. "After your comments about my wine, Sean, I got a bottle of Irish whiskey in. It's not Bushmills, but I presume it will do. On the shelf next to the icebox."

Roper moved to a bench piled with electronic devices and got to work. Dillon found the whiskey bottle and two glasses and poured him and Quinn one each. They sat side by side on the window seat.

Dillon said, "What do you intend to do?"

"I intend to meet with Rashid and Dauncey."

"Are you certain about that?"

"Oh, yes." Quinn was calm. "Don't worry, Sean, I won't have a gun in my pocket, however much I'd like to. There are other ways."

Roper turned his wheelchair. "One pen and one tape." Before Dillon could move, Quinn took them. "Mine, I think. Many thanks, Major."

"My pleasure." He said to Dillon, "Let me know what's happening, won't you?"

T
hey found Ferguson at Cavendish Place, and when they went in, Hannah was seated at his side, going through a batch of papers.

Ferguson said, "Things okay at Oxford?"

"Well, you could say it was a revealing experience," Dillon told him.

Hannah frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'll leave it to the Senator."

It was Ferguson's turn to frown. "Quinn?"

"Before I explain, I'd like to raise a question. Superintendent, you're a serving police officer. What you're going to hear now is evidence of criminal conduct, but it's my business. If you can't treat it in confidence, then I'd prefer you to leave--and no offense intended."

Hannah looked shocked, but Ferguson stayed calm. "The Superintendent is seconded to my department and is subject to the restrictions of the Official Secrets Act. What's said in here stays in here." He turned to Hannah. "Please confirm that."

Hannah looked troubled but said, "Of course, sir."

Ferguson turned back to Quinn. "So, what have you got?"

"In Alan Grant's mailbox, we found a pen."

"A secret recording pen," Dillon put in.

Quinn held the tape up. "Major Roper has just made a copy for me that enhances the sound quality. You'll find it interesting."

Ferguson said, "Superintendent?"

Hannah got up, took the tape from Quinn, and went and inserted it in the cassette player on the corner of the sideboard. When she switched it on, it was loud and clear.

"There are three pieces of candy in there, chocolates," Rupert Dauncey said. "Each has an Ecstasy tablet inside..."

When they were done, Hannah said, "That's one of the most cold-blooded things I've ever heard."

"A bastard of the first order," Ferguson said.

Hannah carried on. "With that evidence, the police will be able to arrest him at once."

"And charge him with what? Murder? No. Manslaughter? No. A good lawyer would claim that all Dauncey intended was to get my daughter into trouble to embarrass me. At the worst, he might be charged with contributing to her death, but I'm not even confident of that."

"But there's much more to it, Senator, you know there is."

"Of course I do. But with Rashid's resources, how do I know he'll get more than a slap on the wrist? Dauncey could say he was sorry, that his personal antipathy had taken things too far, and what kind of sentence would he draw? Come on, you tell me."

"I will," Dillon put in. "And you're right. The tape's damaging, but it's not enough."

"And I couldn't put any of the background into evidence, any of the history of the Rashids and the President. All the events involving you people are classified."

Hannah said, "So Dauncey and Rashid get away with it?"

"I didn't say that. If necessary, I'd have no hesitation in taking Rupert Dauncey's life myself." There was silence, and then he added, "But I have other ideas. I'm going to South Audley Street to confront them now. Dillon, are you coming with me?"

"I'm your man," Dillon said.

Ferguson sighed and got up. "Then I suppose I'd better come, too, as the voice of sanity." He turned to Hannah, "Not you, Superintendent. I have a hunch it would be better if you weren't there, Official Secrets Act or not."

L
uke delivered them to the Rashid house, where a maid in a black dress and white apron answered the door.

"Is the Countess at home?" Ferguson asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Be kind enough to tell her that General Ferguson, Senator Quinn, and Mr. Dillon would appreciate a word."

They waited in the hall while the maid went upstairs. She was back in a moment, stood at the top, and called, "Please come up, gentlemen."

She showed them into the drawing room, where Kate Rashid sat by the fire, Dauncey standing behind her.

"Well, well," she said. "What do we have here? The Three Musketeers? All for one and one for all?"

"That's not funny, Kate," Dillon said. "And I don't think you'll find it funny yourself when you hear what we have."

"Such as?"

Quinn took out the pen. "We found this at Oxford. It belonged to Alan Grant. I know you know who he is, so don't pretend you don't."

"Of course we know," said Kate Rashid. "Don't be melodramatic, Senator."

"Well, this is what you don't know. This pen is really a recording device. And Alan Grant turned it on when your cousin started threatening him."

Kate Rashid looked taken aback. Then she rallied. "Nonsense. Where would someone like him get a thing like that?"

"His brother's in the security business," Dillon said. "It was a present."

Quinn took the tape from his pocket and held it up. "We took the liberty of making a copy. The quality is much better. You'll see."

There was a sound deck in the corner and he switched it on and slipped the tape in place. There was a moment's silence, then Rupert Dauncey started to speak...

Afterwards, Dillon said, "Any way you try to spin it, it's bad for you, Kate." He looked at Dauncey. "And you."

"Guaranteed prison time, I'd say," Ferguson said.

But, remarkably, Rupert was unfazed. He lit a cigarette, face calm. "Do what you like," he said. "You won't get far. You must realize that, Ferguson, don't you?"

"No, that's the wrong way of putting it," Quinn said. "What you mean is, we won't get far enough. You'll get some stupid piddling sentence, of which you'll only serve half anyway. And you know what? You're right. You know what this is worth?" He held up the pen. "Nothing. Its only useful function is to tell me you were responsible for my daughter's death."

And he tossed the pen and the tape into the fire.

Ferguson said, "For God's sake!" as the tape flamed and the pen melted. Even Dillon looked surprised.

Quinn continued. "I'll be flying to Boston tomorrow morning with my daughter's ashes. When she's laid to rest, I'll be back. Then we'll get started."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Kate Rashid asked, visibly rattled.

"Countess, I intend to go to war on you and your company. I intend to ruin you. And ruin you I will, if it's the last thing I do."

"And you," he said, turning to Rupert Dauncey. "You are a dead man walking."

He turned and led the way out.

A
fter they'd gone, Kate Rashid said, "Well. That was rather nasty, darling. Though you have to admire that gesture. Do you think it's true, that those were the only copies of the tape?"

"I've never been more certain of anything in my life." He lit another cigarette. "I'll have his house watched, so we know when he's back."

"Then what?"

"Then I'll handle it." He smiled. "The 'last thing I do' will come somewhat sooner than he expects." He turned. "And what about you? What about this bomb thing of yours?"

"I'm still waiting to hear from Colum McGee. Once he's arranged things with Barry Keenan, we'll fly to and drive down to Drumcree."

"Do I finally find out why?"

"Of course. Just not yet. Everything comes to he who waits, darling." She seemed to have regained her spirits.

"So what would you like to do while we wait?"

"Oh, let's have a little fun. I was thinking of going down to Dauncey Place. I keep my little plane there at the air club, my Black Eagle. I was thinking we could fly over to the Isle of Wight and have a picnic."

"But what about Ferguson and his crew?"

"My dear Rupert, that's exactly the point. They'll never believe we're going over there just to have a picnic. It'll drive them crazy!"

A
t Ferguson's suggestion, Luke drove them to The Dorchester. They went in and sat in a corner.

"Champagne hardly seems in order," Ferguson said.

"No, but a brandy would be," Quinn said, and held up his right hand, which shook slightly. "I've got to learn to control myself from now on."

"I thought you did a remarkable job of doing just that," Ferguson said. "But, look, Senator, we have to tread carefully here. Before your daughter's death, we had nothing concrete, nothing that in law would allow us to take on Kate Rashid and her organization in an appropriate way. That recording gave us a foothold, but you chose to destroy it, which leaves us back where we started."