Brought in Dead

CHAPTER 13

From one-thirty onwards Max Vernon knew in his heart that something had gone badly wrong. By two-fifteen he was sure of it. He poured himself a large brandy, went to his desk and flicked one of the switches on the intercom.

“Get in here, Ben.”

The door opened a few moments later and Carver entered. “Yes, Mr. Vernon?”

“Something’s up — they’re way over time. Take the car and go for a drive past Chatsworth’s. See if you can see any action.”

Carver nodded obediently and left and Vernon lit a cigarette and moved across to the fire. He stared down into the flames, a frown on his face. What could have possibly gone wrong? It didn’t make any kind of sense. The thing was foolproof.

The door swung open behind him and Carver came in looking pale and excited. “A couple of coppers out front, Mr. Vernon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain — I can smell ’em a mile away. I’ll show you.”

Vernon followed him out into the corridor and Carver turned into the cloakroom and paused by the window. “I came in for my overcoat. Lucky I didn’t turn on the light.” He pointed across to the sycamore on the other side of the fence beyond the first street lamp. “There, in the shadows.”

“Yes, I’ve got them.”

“What do you think?”

“I think it stinks to high heaven,” Vernon said, and the telephone started to ring in the other room.

He moved back quickly, Carver at his heels, and stood by the desk looking down at the ’phone.

“It’s Morgan,” Carver said. “It has to be. Who else would be ringing in at this time in the morning?”

“We’ll see shall we? You take it on the extension.” Vernon lifted the receiver. “Max Vernon here.”

“That you, old man?” Craig’s voice rang mockingly in his ear. “I’m afraid Joe Morgan and his boys won’t be able to join you after all. They ran into a little trouble.”

Vernon sank down in his chair. “I’ll kill you for this, Craig.”

“You’ve had it,” Craig said cheerfully. “Joe Morgan and his boys are being squeezed dry at this very moment. How long do you think it will be before one of them spills his guts? You’re on borrowed time, Vernon.”

“As long as I’ve enough left for you that’s all I ask,” Vernon said.

“Sorry, old man. I’ve decided to take myself off into the country for a couple of days’ shooting. Nothing like a change of pace. If you want me, you’ll have to come looking.”

He was still chuckling as Vernon slammed down the receiver. Carver replaced the extension ’phone, a bewildered look on his face. “But how could he have known?”

“How the hell do I know? Another of his damned gadgets probably.”

“What do we do now?”

“Get out while the going’s good — on foot the back way. I’ve got an old Ford brake parked in a lock-up garage on the other side of the river. I always did believe in covering every eventuality.”

“Where are we going, Mr. Vernon — Ireland?”

“You can if you like. I can manage a couple of hundred. That should see you through.”

“What about you?”

Vernon unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out a Luger pistol. “I’ve got an account to settle.”

“With Craig? You don’t even know where he’s going.”

“I shouldn’t imagine I’ll have any difficulty in finding out.”

Carver frowned in bewilderment. “I don’t get it.”

“A challenge, Benny. A challenge — something you wouldn’t understand.”

“You mean Craig wants you to follow him?”

Vernon opened the wall safe and took out a black cash box. “That’s the general idea.” He returned to his desk with the cash box and unlocked it. “This is what he’s been aiming at from the beginning — him and me in a final showdown, but he’s made a big mistake.” When Vernon smiled he looked like the Devil incarnate. “I was a good man in the jungle, Ben — the best there was. Craig’s still got to find that out.”

He opened the cash box, tossed two packets of fivers across and started to fill his pockets with the rest. “There’s two hundred there and good luck to you.”

Carver shook his head slowly and threw the money back. “We’ve been together a long time, Mr. Vernon. I’m not dropping out now.”

Vernon stared at him incredulously. “Loyalty at this stage, Ben?” And then he laughed harshly and clapped him on the shoulder. “All right then. Let’s see if we can’t show the bastard a thing or two.”

“But who turned you in, Morgan, that’s what I can’t understand?” Miller said.

It was just after four a.m. and the pale green walls of the Interrogation Room seemed to float out of the shadows, unreal and transitory as if they might disappear at any moment.

Joe Morgan sat at the plain wooden table under a strong central light that made him look old and sunken. Brady leaned against the wall near the window and a young constable stood stolidly in the corner.

“Nobody turned us in. The whole thing went sour, that’s all.”

“Then who closed the strongroom door on you and Martin?”

“I don’t know — maybe it just slammed shut.”

“All right, miracles sometimes happen. That still doesn’t explain how we found Jack Fallon lying beaten and unconscious in the passageway.”

Morgan didn’t reply and Brady said helpfully, “Maybe Fallon just doesn’t like you anymore. Maybe he decided to lock you and Martin in the strongroom just for kicks and took off. Unfortunately he tripped and fell in the passage, knocking himself unconscious.”

Morgan turned away contemptuously. “You ought to see a psychiatrist.”

“We’ll provide you with one for free,” Miller said. “You’re going to need him badly, Morgan. You’re going to sit for the next ten years staring at the wall, asking yourself the same question over and over again until it drives you out of your mind.”

Morgan snapped, suddenly and completely. “But I don’t know what went wrong. I don’t know.” He hammered on the table with a clenched fist. “Can’t you get that through your thick skull?”

In the silence which followed Grant peered round the door, eyebrows raised. Miller shook his head, nodded to Brady and they joined the superintendent in the corridor.

“Anything?” Grant said.

Miller shook his head. “No more success than we’ve had with the others.”

“He seems genuinely bewildered to me,” Brady put in. “I get the impression he’d like to know what happened as much as anybody.”

“Right,” Grant said briskly. “This is where keeping them separate might have paid off. Put them together in cell 15 and let’s see what happens.”

When the constable pushed Joe Morgan into the cell, Martin was sitting despondently on a bench against the wall. Morgan frowned in bewilderment as the door closed behind him.

“What is this?”

Martin shrugged. “Search me.”

“Maybe the place is wired for sound?”

Morgan looked the walls over carefully and behind him, the door opened again and Jack Fallon was pushed into the cell. He looked a mess. His lips were swollen and gashed, several teeth missing and the front of his shirt was soaked in blood.

He staggered forward, a wild look in his eyes and grabbed Morgan by the lapels. “What happened for Christ’s sake? Who was he?”

Morgan tore himself free with some difficulty. “Who was who?”

“The bloke who came in through the tunnel and locked you and Johnny in the strongroom.”

“What are you talking about?” Morgan demanded.

“I’m trying to tell you. I saw him on the bloody television screen. Big bloke all in black with a stocking over his face. He locked you and Johnny in the strongroom and I jumped him from the stairs.”

“You had a barney?”

“Not for long. Henry Cooper couldn’t have hit me any harder than he did.”

“Maybe it was Harris?” Martin said.

“Do me a favour.” Fallon laughed harshly. “I could break him in two with one hand tied behind my back. It wouldn’t make sense anyway. What would he stand to gain?”

“Then why haven’t they put him in with the rest of us?”

“Search me.”

Morgan turned away, his hands gripped tightly together. “Only one man knew we were pulling this caper,” he said. “The man who organised it.”

“Vernon?” Martin’s eyes widened. “It don’t make sense, Joe.”

“I’ve just got one prayer,” Morgan said. “That one day they put him in the same nick as me. That’s all I ask.”

In the next cell, Grant reached up to switch off the tannoy and nodded to Miller and Brady. “That’ll do me. In we go.”

They went out into the passage and the constable who was standing at the door of cell 15 unlocked it quickly and stood back.

“Did I hear somebody mention Max Vernon’s name?” Grant said as he led the way in.

“Why don’t you take a running jump at yourself,” Morgan told him bitterly.

“Oh, to hell with it.” Jack Fallon cursed savagely. “If you think I’m going to rot while that bastard goes free you can think again. If you don’t tell him, I will.”

“You don’t have much luck with Vernon, do you?” Grant said to Morgan. “Remember that Cable Diamond affair? I suppose he saw you all right when you came out.”

“Five hundred,” Morgan said. “Five hundred quid for five bloody years in the nick.” The anger came pouring out of him in an uncontrollable flood. “All right — Vernon’s your man and much good it’ll do you. We were supposed to be back at his place no later than one-thirty. If he’s still there when you call then I’m Santa Claus.”

It was almost five-thirty when Miller went into Grant’s office. The superintendent was reading through the statements made by Morgan and his cronies and looked up sharply.

“Any luck?”

“Not a sign. Must have cleared out the back way on foot. I’ve put out a general call. We’ve alerted the County and the Regional Crime Squad as well.”

“He’ll probably try for the Irish boat at Liverpool.” Grant said. “He won’t get far.”

“I’m not so sure, sir. What if he’s still in town?”

“Why should he be?”

“There’s always Craig. He has a score to settle there.”

“I shouldn’t think he’d be foolish enough to hang around while he still had time to get out.”

“All the same, sir, I’d like your permission to give Craig a ring. I’d feel happier.”

Grant leaned back in his chair and looked at him reflectively. “You like him, don’t you?”

“I suppose the simple answer to that is yes — a hell of a lot.”

Grant indicated the ’phone on his desk with a sweep of his hand. “Be my guest.”

The ’phone rang for a long time at the other end before it was lifted and Harriet Craig said sleepily, “Yes, who is it?”

“Harriet — is that you? Nick Miller here.”

“Nick?” There was a pause and he had a mental picture of her struggling up onto one elbow, a bewildered frown on her face. “Nick, what time is it?”

“Twenty to six. I was hoping to speak to your father.”

“I’m afraid he’s gone away for a few days.” Suddenly, her voice changed and she came wide awake. “What is it, Nick? Is something wrong?”

There was genuine alarm in her voice and he hastened to reassure her. “Everything’s all right, I promise you. Are you on your own?”

“No, Jenny’s here.”

“Tell you what. How would you like to give me breakfast? I’ll tell you all about it then.”

“That’s fine by me. What time?”

“Seven-thirty too early?”

“Not at all. If you think I could go to sleep again after this you’re mistaken.”

Miller replaced the receiver and turned to Grant. “She’s on her own — her father’s out of town. Mind if I put a car on watch up there? Just in case.”

“Just in case?” Grant said and smiled. “Young love — it’s marvellous. Go on — get out of here.”

It was raining heavily when Miller drove up to the house and the patrol car was parked by the entrance to the drive. He got out of the Cooper and walked across and the driver wound down his window.

“Anything?” Miller asked.

“Not a thing, sarge. Some bird came out of the door about five minutes ago and took a walk in the garden, that’s all. She must be nuts in this weather.”

“Okay,” Miller said. “I’ll take over. You can shove off now.”

The patrol car moved away and he got back into the Cooper and drove up to the house. As he got out, a voice hailed him and he turned to find Harriet crossing the lawn. She was wearing an old trenchcoat of her father’s and a scarf was bound around her head peasant-fashion.

“I saw the police car at the gate when I came downstairs,” she said, her face grave. “What is it, Nick?”

“Maybe we’d better go inside.”

“No, I’d rather not. Jenny’s in the kitchen…”

“And she doesn’t know what you and your father have been up to, is that it?”

She turned away, an angry flush staining her cheeks, and he pulled her round to face him. “You said your father had gone away for a few days. Is that the truth?”

“Of course it is.”

“And you didn’t know what he was up to last night?”

She shook her head, her eyes anxious. “Please, Nick — I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He looked at her searchingly for a moment and then nodded. “All right — I believe you.”

He sketched in the events of the night briefly and when he finished, she looked pale and drawn. “I can’t believe it.”

“But you knew about the other things.”

She gazed up at him searchingly. “Are you here as a friend, Nick, or as a policeman?”

“As a friend, damn you.” He took her hands and held them fast. “You must believe that.”

She nodded. “Yes, I knew about the other things. It seemed wrong somehow that Max Vernon should get away with what he did.” She looked up at him fiercely. “I’m not sorry.”

“You will be if he gets his hands on your father.”

“You think that’s possible?”

“Not really, he’s too many other problems facing him at the moment, but you never can tell what a man like Vernon might pull. We’d better give your father a ring just in case.”

“But there isn’t a ’phone,” she said. “He’s staying in our houseboat on the river at Grimsdyke.”

“In the marshes?”

“That’s right, he goes for the shooting.”

“That’s about twenty miles, isn’t it?”

“Eighteen on the clock.”

“Good — we’ll drive down and see him. It’s early yet and the roads will be quiet. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”

She nodded briefly. “I’d better tell Jenny. I’ll only be a moment.”

She turned and ran across the lawn to the terrace and Miller walked back to the car.

It was no more than ten minutes after they had left when the ’phone rang and Jenny answered it on the kitchen extension.

“Colonel Craig’s residence.”

The voice was smooth and charming. “Good morning — my name’s Fullerton. Gregory Fullerton. I’m a colleague of Colonel Craig’s. He told me he was going away for a few days and gave me his address so that I could get in touch with him if anything came up. Damned stupid of me, but I’ve mislaid it.”

“It’s the houseboat you’ll be wanting, sir,” Jenny said. “That’s on the river at Grimsdyke in the marshes about a mile south of Culler’s Bend.”

“So kind of you.”

“Not at all.” She replaced the receiver and went back to her work.

When Max Vernon emerged from the telephone box at the end of the small country lane he was grinning wolfishly. He opened the door of the brake and climbed into the passenger seat next to Carver.

“Right, Benny boy, we’re in business,” he said. “Let’s have a look at that map.”