The Best of British Crime omnibus (72 page)

‘What have you got in mind, Harry?'

‘Some friends of mine have a hotel in the Cotswolds. It's quiet, hidden away. No one need ever know she's staying there.'

‘Where is this place?' Nat's eyelids were heavy. He was not really interested in what Harry was saying now.

‘I've told you. It's in the Cotswolds. A village called Steeple Aston.'

‘Okay.' Nat smiled at Harry, blinking sleepiness away. ‘If she talks you have my permission to take her down there, but if she doesn't talk—' His tone changed. ‘If she refuses to help us, then so far as I'm concerned that little miss has got to face up to—Oh, good evening, doctor.'

Nat jumped to his feet, slightly embarrassed. Doctor Friedman had opened the door behind him very quietly.

‘Good evening,' the doctor said rather formally.

‘How's the patient this evening?'

Nat's tone was breezy. The doctor quite deliberately turned to Harry.

‘She's quite a lot better. She can leave tomorrow morning if she wants to but of course she will have to be careful for a day or two. I told her you were here, Mr. Dawson, and she'd very much like to see you, but—' Friedman glanced briefly at Nat. ‘She'd rather see you alone, if possible.'

‘That's okay,' Nat said, returning to his chair quite cheerfully. ‘I'll wait.'

Judy was in a private room by herself. To Harry's surprise she was out of bed and sitting by the window in an arm-chair. She was fully dressed and her left arm was in a sling. She was smoking one of her inevitable cigarettes and was looking fairly well, apart from her pallor. It was still strange to see her with dark hair, but the heavy spectacles were nowhere in sight.

‘May I come in?' Harry said, hesitating at the door.

She gave a little nod. He closed the door and drew up an upright chair.

‘How do you feel?'

‘Not – not too bad.'

‘Is the shoulder painful?'

‘No. It's all right at the moment.'

There was a short silence. Both of them finding it hard to say the right thing. Then Judy turned her head and for the first time looked at him.

‘I'm sorry about what happened. It was my fault. I behaved stupidly, I realise that now. And they tell me you risked your own life to save me.'

‘There wasn't any risk really. The last thing I wanted was for you to get hurt.'

‘What's going to happen now? What are you going to do with me?'

Harry sat down in the chair so that he was at an angle. He could see her in profile but she was not forced to look at him. He decided that she was well enough to hear what he had to say.

‘Judy, I've got something to tell you. Linda Wade's been hurt. She – well, she was beaten up by someone.'

‘No. Oh, no! When did this happen!'

‘This afternoon. Her face is badly marked, I'm afraid.' He leaned forward in the chair and spoke quietly but earnestly. ‘Now listen, you've got to tell me the truth. I want to know the truth about Newton and Tam Owen.'

‘But I told you the truth!' Judy stubbed her unfinished cigarette into the ash-tray beside her.

‘You said Peter Newton was in the property business. He wasn't. He and Tam Owen were running a call-girl set-up.'

Judy stared out of the window for a moment before answering. Then she said, very quietly, ‘Yes. I know. Linda told me. She told me the whole story. I didn't know a thing about it, not until she—'

Impatiently she stood up and walked round behind him, out of his field of view.

‘Oh, what's the use? You won't believe me anyway.'

‘Tell me the story, then I'll tell you whether I believe you or not.'

Harry sat facing the way he was. She might open up more easily if she didn't feel he was pressurising her.

‘According to Linda,' she began, ‘when Peter first met me he intended that I should work for him, that's why he brought me to London. Then, when I'd been here for a little while he fell for me and decided that—'

She broke off for a moment. He heard her moving restlessly about behind him.

‘I knew nothing about this call-girl business at that time. Peter kept all that hidden from me. I knew absolutely nothing about it and that's the truth.'

‘But you knew about Linda,' Harry pointed out gently. ‘You must have known the sort of life she was leading, otherwise—'

‘Yes. I knew about her. She was a good friend to me. But I swear to you I didn't know about Peter.'

‘What happened the night I picked you up outside the restaurant in Soho – the Chez Maurice?'

Judy, realising perhaps that she was still a bit weak on her feet, came back to her chair and sank into it.

‘Tam Owen knew the police were looking for me and got one of his girls to tip you off. Then, when Linda saw you outside the restaurant she guessed what Tam was up to. She decided she must help me. So she phoned Tam and told him Peter had given me a letter – a letter containing information about him.'

‘About Tam Owen?'

‘Yes.'

Was that true – about the letter?'

‘No. But it did the trick. He already had Marty Smith trailing me. When we stopped in the Mall Marty rang to check with him. Tam was worried in case I handed the letter over to the police—'

‘So he told Marty Smith to mug me and bring you back to him. Then he talked you into skipping the country.'

‘Yes. Except that it was Linda who did the talking. I've never met Tam Owen.'

‘Never?'

‘No, never. Only Marty. He's a friend of Linda's, although friend is hardly the right word. I don't think he's a friend of anyone's. In fact, he's the number one heavy in the Tam Owen set-up.'

She reached towards the open packet of cigarettes on the table beside her. Harry drew out his lighter and snapped it into flame. She put her hand over his to bring it closer to her cigarette.

‘Go on, Judy,' he said, when she had expelled the first deep lungful of smoke.

‘Linda told me if I stayed in this country I hadn't a chance. She said I'd already behaved so suspiciously that the police were bound to pull me in sooner or later. She promised to get me a false passport.'

‘From Tam Owen?'

‘Well, from Marty Smith. But it was done through Tam Owen.'

Harry pondered for a moment. Judy's face had gone paler. It was evident that this interview was taking its toll of her. But he had to make ground while the going was good.

‘Judy, I've asked you this question before, but I'm going to ask you again. Did you kill Peter Newton?'

She looked him right in the eye and somehow this was quite different from Heaton's false stare. He had time to notice that she had very long eye-lashes under the high, arching brows.

‘No, I didn't,' she said steadily.

‘You didn't find out what he was really up to?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You didn't discover that he was running this dirty racket and decide to take the law into your own hands?'

‘No. I didn't.' Judy denied the accusation without exaggerated protestation. ‘It wasn't like that a bit. I wanted to help Peter. I knew he was in trouble and I was trying to persuade him to go to the police about it. That's why we had that row in the restaurant.'

‘But I thought you told me the row was about a dog collar.'

‘It was. It was about the collar and the note. The note you received the morning after he was murdered.'

Harry moved his chair a little farther round so that he could see her better.

‘Tell me about it, Judy.'

It was eleven o'clock the next morning when Harry picked Judy up from the hospital. Having been admitted as a casualty she had no luggage. The clothes she had been wearing had been cleaned and pressed by a sympathetic nurse. A good night's sleep had done wonders for Judy and the colour had come back into her cheeks. Her left arm was supported by a brilliant white sling and her jacket had been draped loosely over that shoulder.

The journey to Defoe Mansions did not take more than ten minutes. Harry made no attempt at concealment this time and parked his 1100 outside the entrance. The empty suitcase which he took from the boot would be full of Judy's things when they came down.

Outside the flat on the third floor he put the big suitcase down and gave her a reassuring smile before ringing the bell.

‘Now, leave this to me. I'll talk to Linda. You needn't say anything. Just collect your things.'

She nodded and nervously adjusted the sling. After a minute Harry pressed the bell again and this time kept his finger on the button for ten seconds. They could hear it ringing inside the flat.

‘I don't think she's in,' Judy said, hoping for the excuse not to have to confront Linda.

‘It doesn't sound like it.' Harry nodded at the letterbox. ‘Try calling her name. She might open when she knows it's you.'

Judy stooped and pushed open the flap of the letterbox.

‘Linda,' she called through the aperture. ‘It's me, Judy.'

Still there was no response from inside the flat. After another minute Harry took Sidney Heaton's key from his pocket and pushed it into the lock.

‘Where did you get that?'

He ignored the question and quietly opened the door. He picked up the suitcase and walked into the flat, signalling for her to follow. He kept close behind her, just to be on the safe side, as she went into the sitting-room, calling Linda's name.

‘She's definitely not here. My things are in this room—'

‘Wait!' Harry stopped her as she put her hand on the door of a room facing the one where he had found Linda. He went past her to check the bedroom. It had an empty and abandoned look.

‘All right,' he said. ‘Pack your things as quickly as you can. There's something about this I don't like.'

Judy went past him and slid back the door of a built-in cupboard. Harry put the suitcase down on the bed and opened it.

‘That's funny,' Judy exclaimed.

‘What is it?'

‘My things are here but Linda's seem to have disappeared.'

‘Does she keep her stuff in here? I thought she—'

‘No, a lot of it's in the other room, but she used to keep her long dresses in here. Wait a minute.'

Before he could stop her she had gone out of the room. He would have followed her but at that moment the telephone on the bedside table began to ring.

He stood looking at it for a moment, wondering whether to answer it or not. Then he picked the receiver up and put it to his ear.

Immediately a voice, said crisply: ‘586 1729?'

Harry glanced down at the disc to verify the number. ‘Yes.'

‘I have a telegram for Linda Wade.'

‘Thank you. I'll take it.'

‘Message begins: “Will expect you ten o'clock tomorrow”. It's signed: “Douglas”.'

‘Douglas, did you say?'

‘Yes, that's right.'

‘Where was the telegram sent from?'

‘It was handed in at St. Albans at eleven forty-five.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Do you want written confirmation?'

‘Yes, please.'

Harry was still standing thoughtfully in front of the telephone when Judy returned.

‘Who was that?'

‘It was a wrong number. Have you discovered anything?'

‘Yes. Linda's gone. She's left the flat. Her wardrobe's completely empty.'

Harry nodded. ‘All right, Judy. Let's get moving. We haven't a lot of time.'

Judy moved to the wardrobe and began to fold her clothes and lay them in the suitcase.

‘How long will it take us to get to this place?'

‘It's about two hours to Bicester. Steeple Aston's about ten miles from there.'

Harry was standing in the middle of the room, once again letting his eyes conduct a quick but systematic search which took note of every detail.

‘Steeple Aston?'

‘That's the village. The hotel is called The Priory.'

‘That's an unusual name for a hotel,' Judy said, returning to the wardrobe for another armful of clothes.

‘Yes, I know. It's more a guest-house than a hotel. But don't worry. You'll like it all right.'

‘Yes, I'm sure I shall. I'll be glad to get away from London.'

She folded a cardigan and placed it in the suitcase. Then she straightened up and looked at him across the bed. Her eyes had softened.

‘I'm terribly grateful, Harry, for what you're doing.'

‘There's no need to be grateful,' he said, thinking how very attractive she looked when she relaxed the rather hard manner which she affected. ‘Just take care of yourself. And, above all, remember what I told you. Don't give your address to anyone, don't go out of the hotel and if you must use the phone, phone me.'

She smiled at his emphatic and sincere tone.

‘I'll remember that.'

‘The people who own the hotel are friends of mine. I've told them that you're recovering from a nasty car accident and that you've got to be absolutely—'

He stopped and they both looked towards the hall. Someone had rung the door-bell. Harry put his finger to his lips and motioned Judy to stay where she was. He went out into the hall, closing the bedroom door behind him, and stood listening.

Outside on the landing he heard the clattering sound of the lift doors closing and then the receding moan as it descended. Whoever the caller had been his business was evidently not very urgent.

Just to make sure, Harry went and opened the door. The landing he looked out on was empty, but on the door-mat lay a long white envelope.

He stooped to pick it up. Even before his fingers touched it he realised that he had made an unpardonable mistake. The corner of his eye caught the movement of a trousered leg close to the wall flanking the door. He tried to twist sideways to avoid the blow which he knew must come. But he was too late. He never felt the gun-butt hit his head, never saw the floor coming up to meet his forehead.