The Doll’s House (28 page)

Zarubin said, ‘Is that what you're going to do, Hermann? Wait?' Rilke glanced sharply at him.

‘No. I don't rely on anyone but myself. I have arrangements made if I need to get out in a hurry.'

‘I thought you would,' the Russian nodded. ‘I don't rely on anyone either.' He got up. ‘You have some vodka?'

‘In the kitchen,' Rilke answered. ‘
She
liked it. They'll identify her in the end, won't they? She'll be on Interpol's files.'

Zarubin said, ‘If I know Arab bodyguards, they'll have to rely on fingerprints. There won't be much left to recognize.' He came back with a tumbler half full of neat vodka. ‘I'm going to give it a few hours,' he said, ‘no more. If Daniel doesn't call in, or if Oakham doesn't find the Pole, then I go.'

‘If he does?' Rilke demanded. He answered himself. ‘At least we will know what happened.'

‘And maybe where the others are …' Zarubin added. He drained the glass of vodka. He showed no effect from alcohol. ‘There's one thing that bothers me,' he said slowly.

‘What?' Rilke looked at him.

‘One of the lady guests. The one Oakham spent the night with. When those Irish people were here, she behaved rather strangely. I'd like to find out more about her. It would occupy my time.' He smiled.

Six suspects had been taken to Cannon Row Police Station. All had been found in the area of the Regis after it was cordoned off by squad cars, and summarily arrested.

The duty officer had taken details; two were released immediately. One was a local resident walking his dog – ‘Bloody fools to pick him up,' the D.O. muttered – he'd been furious and was threatening an official complaint. The dog had peed all over the squad car.

The second was a young woman walking home from the tube station; her address and credentials were verified by a telephone call. She'd been pacified by an apology and a lift home.

A couple had been found in the back of a parked Volvo estate. They weren't local, and the embarrassed alibi that they were about to have intercourse was being treated with caution. They'd been fingerprinted and put on the computer.

The fifth was a man who claimed he was jogging. He was dressed in the gear and he'd been picked up some distance from the hotel simply because he was running.

The last was a local vagrant, who'd been found sleeping in a doorway in Lancaster Place. They'd brought him in, in case he had seen anything suspicious. It was a very long shot as he was dead drunk and still snoring it off in a cell.

The jogger had objected to having his prints taken and started shouting about a lawyer. They'd dabbed him anyway, and ran the name he'd given on the computer. Nothing had come up about him or the couple. It looked like a complete dead end.

The report was duly sent through to the incident room that had been set up. The D.O. poured some hot coffee from a flask.

All hell had broken out already. It looked a dirty case, and there was no way the diplomats were going to put the wraps on what had happened. The Press were drawn up in battle order as near to the hotel as they were allowed to get, and making bloody nuisances of themselves in the station, wanting to know if anyone had been arrested. No suspects. Investigations were continuing. They weren't giving the bloodhounds anything …

The D.O. yawned. Fancy a woman killing the bugger. Some lady. She'd smashed his windpipe. They'd taken her body away for identification and a post-mortem. The bodyguards had gone berserk; he'd heard somebody say the place looked like a slaughterhouse when they got in. He was finishing his coffee when his phone rang.

He listened, said, ‘Yes? Right, I'll get it through right away.'

In the incident room at New Scotland Yard the phone was answered on the first ring. ‘We've got something, sir!'

The Detective Chief Inspector at Special Branch in charge of the murder took the phone himself. ‘What? I'll be there in ten minutes. Have a room ready.' He looked round the office. ‘I think we've struck lucky,' he announced. ‘One set of prints taken from the suspects matches an old friend of ours.'

When the phone rang, Rosa rushed to pick it up. ‘Harry?'

‘It's Dick. Dick Lucas, remember me?'

She bit back an exclamation of disappointment. ‘Dick? Oh, hello—'

He sounded annoyed. He asked her how she was, and by the way, who was Harry …? She was irritated by the sarcasm. She ignored the question. ‘I was calling,' he said, ‘because I can't make our date. We've got a visiting admiral flying in from Washington. I have to be on duty. Are you busy right now – you sound busy?'

‘I'm just going out,' Rosa said ‘Sorry you can't come down. Never mind. I'm leaving next week anyway. Maybe we can meet up another time.'

‘Don't be mad at me, Rosa.' He was conciliatory. ‘I can't help it, I have a job to do. You ought to understand that. I could drive down and have dinner. Why don't I do that?'

Rosa hesitated. She had asked him to come so they could investigate the Adventure Trail. She didn't need him now.

‘Rosa?'

She had the excuse ready. ‘I can't, Dick, I'm sorry. I promised to join some people here. I couldn't just dump them. I'll call you before I leave. We'll fix up to meet in London. I must go now, or I'll be late.'

‘I wouldn't want that.' She heard the irony creep back. ‘I guess Harry wouldn't either. See you around, darling.'

‘Oh, damn you,' she said as she hung up. Then she dialled reception. ‘It's Mrs Bennet. Did Mr Oakham leave a message for me?'

‘Oh yes, Mrs Bennet – sorry, I didn't get through to you earlier, but I've just taken over.' It was Jane, friendly Jane … ‘I found it on the desk here and I tried your room but you were taking an outside call. One minute. Here it is. I'll send it straight up. So sorry.'

It was brief, written in a hurry. The writing sprawled across the page. ‘Rosa, forgive me. A drama has turned into a crisis. I have to deal with it. I'll be back to explain. My love, H.'

Oakham braked hard, pulled the car into the kerb and jumped out. Jan was sitting slumped in the front of the parked car, close by the telephone kiosk.

Harry came to the side and tapped on the window. He saw the pale exhausted face light up. The door opened and Harry said, ‘Hello, old son. Out you get.' He reached in and helped Jan step on to the road. ‘You all right?' he asked him gently.

‘I'm all right,' Jan answered. ‘I just blanked out. I'm sorry, Harry.' His mouth trembled. Harry slipped an arm round his shoulders.

‘Don't be bloody silly. You did great stuff. Now come and get into my car; give me the keys of this one.'

‘They're still in it,' Jan muttered.

‘OK, fine. Come on now. Nothing to worry about. We'll be home in no time. I'll get the garage to come and collect this later.' He made a light-hearted joke. ‘Lucky you picked a parking zone or we'd get towed away.'

He didn't question Jan when they drove. He didn't go too fast. He let him settle, relax. He was a terrible grey colour. It was Jan who volunteered the information, and Harry didn't press him. He let him talk.

‘I couldn't find you, Harry – Daniel might have backed out – I had to stay and see it through.'

‘My bloody fault,' Harry muttered. ‘Go on, what happened?'

‘I was early so I parked where I could see Monika come out. I waited; it was quiet. The hotel was quiet by then. She was late, Harry. I began to get worried.'

‘I expect you did,' Oakham said gently. He slowed down and turned off the Ipswich dual carriageway.

‘I heard sirens,' Jan said. ‘They were getting louder, blue lights flashing all over the place … coming straight for the hotel. I didn't hang around. I aborted.'

‘Thank God for that,' Oakham murmured. ‘Good man, Jan. You did the right thing. No sign of Daniel?' He asked it casually. Daniel could have been in the Prince's Mercedes; waiting for Monika. The Merc had been found abandoned in Lancaster Place. Daniel must have run for it when he heard the police cars closing in.

‘I didn't see him,' Jan admitted. ‘I didn't wait, I just took off before they closed off the square. I made for the rendezvous with Bill Stevenson, but I must have missed the road. I found myself in the country. I panicked, Harry.' He looked at him, his face twisted in remorse. ‘I couldn't remember where I was or anything. It was like the attacks I used to have in the old days … after they let me out …'

‘But you remembered the number to call,' Harry comforted. ‘You damn nearly got yourself home, you silly old sod, so stop talking balls. It's not like it was; you're fine. You did a great job.'

Jan was silent for a while as they drove along the country roads towards the Doll's House Manor. ‘Do you know what happened, Harry?'

He asked the question, and Harry noted that his voice was steadier.

‘Monika killed the bugger,' he said flatly. ‘But the bodyguards shot her. It was on the news and the TV this morning. Nobody's been picked up and they're making all the right official noises for the Saudis. But they can't hush the scandal, and my guess is that the media will have a ball over the double killing. So we'll get our money from Hakim's friends.'

‘Do you care about the money?' Jan asked.

‘Not really. I was more worried about you than anything. Here we are. Home sweet home.' He turned and grinned at Jan encouragingly.

‘What you want,' he said, ‘is a hot bath, something to eat and a good long sleep. You'll be back to your old self in the morning.'

As they pulled up into the staff car park, Oakham said, ‘You've got to pull yourself together now. We walk in, you say hello to the girls at the desk – everyone's so pleased about your father, remember – give a bright smile and you'll be OK. No worries.'

He didn't help Jan, he let him get out of the car, smooth down his rumpled clothes and walk towards the entrance.

And Jan didn't falter. He managed a smile and a few words, even pausing to speak to the restaurant manager who came hurrying forward. If he looked grey-faced and drawn, nobody seemed to notice. Then they were upstairs in his flat, and Harry was getting him undressed and running a bath for him.

‘Sandwiches and coffee for you,' he announced. ‘Then you sleep.'

‘I couldn't eat,' Jan protested. ‘I was sick on the road.'

‘That was last night,' Harry brushed it aside. ‘You're fine now. And you'll eat something. Now get in and have a good soak. If you want to talk some more then we'll talk. But only if you feel like it.'

When the Pole had gone, he called through to Zarubin's room. He must have been sitting by the telephone he answered it so quickly.

‘You and Hermann can stop peeing yourselves,' Oakham said coldly. ‘Jan's back, and the others got away.' He rang off.

Rosa, he remembered, and was shaken by how much he wanted to go and find her, take hold of her and forget the last few hours. Maybe I'm getting past it, he wondered. Maybe it's time to retire myself.

He had to settle Jan down first. It would take time to get his nervous system under control, but with Harry's help he'd do it. They had done it together when he came out of hospital. Maybe Jan should retire too. He considered that carefully.

There'd be enough money to make both of them comfortable and independent once Hakim's Libyans paid up. That reminded him about Werner. Werner drawing a handsome monthly retainer for doing bugger all so far. It was too early to call him. He'd have to wait till he was home. European embassies were under twenty-four hour police guard. That would include the German Embassy. Reason enough for friend Werner to start making anxious enquiries from his colleagues in London …

10

It was a warm day with a fresh westerly breeze; Rosa dressed in slacks and slip-on shoes, and set out to walk through the park.

She wandered round the lake; there was a small jetty and a little rowboat tied up, rocking gently. There was nobody in sight. She sat for a while, letting the sun beat down, and the breeze flutter like a caress on her face. It was peaceful and still. She could have slept.

A drama had become a crisis. It was so like him to write about a problem like that, half making fun of it. She smiled a little, thinking of him. He was older, but he didn't seem so. He was more charged with vitality than Dick Lucas, more vibrant than the city-weary James who slumped in his chair at the end of the day.

I'm not going to let you go. This is too good to lose
. She leaned her head back and drifted in the heat. It was too good. He was right.

She shook herself awake. Time for a proper walk, and then when she went back, he might be there waiting for her.

She didn't mean to take the long way round, leaving the lake behind and crossing the undulating grasslands; she had no plan.

But there was the wood beckoning with its cool shade, and the sign,
ADVENTURE TRAIL
, with its red skull painted on the white wood. It was a jokey skull, nothing menacing about it. She could mock her own suspicions the first time she saw it, her scared reaction to the man in the run-about who'd blocked her way and insisted on driving her back.

It was there in front of her. She didn't need Dick Lucas if she wanted to go and take a look round. The gate was padlocked. No problem; Rosa felt it challenged her to climb up and drop down inside. It wasn't difficult or high. The contrast to the bright sunlit park outside made the place seem very dark. Dark and silent. She'd forgotten that there was something daunting about dense woodland. As a child she'd been warned never to go into such places for fear of a lurking prowler. There was a little pathway. She followed it, her eyes adjusting to the dim, shifting light. On either side the trees were dense. A climbing frame over a narrow ditch. A child could have clambered over it.