Bloodline (25 page)

All the color had drained from Roberto’s face. “But—but it was for the company that I did it,” he protested. “I was only following orders.”

Rhys nodded sympathetically. “Of course. You can explain that to the government at your trial.” He rose to his feet and said to Elizabeth, “We’d better be starting back.”

“Wait a minute,” Roberto yelled. “You can’t walk out and leave me like this.”

Rhys said, “I think you’re confused.
You’re
the one who’s leaving.”

Tumas was mopping his brow again, his lips twitching uncontrollably. He walked over to the window and looked out. A heavy silence hung over the
room. Finally, without turning, he said, “If I stay with the company—will I be protected?” “All the way,” Rhys assured him.

They were in the Mercedes, the thin dark chauffeur at the wheel, driving back to the city. “You blackmailed him,” Elizabeth declared.

Rhys nodded. “We couldn’t afford to lose him. He was going over to a competitor. He knows too much about our business. He would have sold us out.”

Elizabeth looked at Rhys and thought, I have so much to learn about him.

That evening they went to Mirander for dinner, and Rhys was charming and amusing and impersonal. Elizabeth felt as though he were hiding behind a facade of words, putting up a verbal smoke screen to conceal his feelings. When they finished dinner, it was after midnight. Elizabeth wanted to be alone with Rhys. She had hoped they would return to the hotel. Instead he said, “I’m going to show you some of the night life in Rio.”

They made the rounds of nightclubs, and everyone seemed to know Rhys. Wherever they went, he was the center of attenion, charming everyone. They were invited to join couples at other tables, and groups of people joined them at their table. Elizabeth and Rhys were never alone for a moment. It seemed to Elizabeth that it was intentional, that Rhys was deliberately putting a wall of people beween them. They had been friends before, and now they were—what? Elizabeth only knew that there was some unseen barrier between them. What was he afraid of and why?

At the fourth nightclub, where they had joined a table with half a dozen of Rhys’s friends, Elizabeth decided she had had enough. She broke into the conversation between Rhys and a lovely-looking Spanish girl. “I haven’t had a chance to dance with my husband. I’m sure you’ll excuse us.”

Rhys looked at her in quick surprise, then rose to his feet. “I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting my bride,” he said lightly to the others. He took Elizabeth’s arm and led her out to the dance floor. She was holding herself stiffly, and he looked at her face and said, “You’re angry.”

He was right, but it was an anger directed at herself. She had made the rules, and was upset now because Rhys would not break them. But it was more than that, of course. It was not knowing how Rhys felt. Was he sticking to their agreement because of a sense of honor, or because he was simply not interested in her? She had to know.

Rhys said, “Sorry about all these people, Liz, but they’re in the business, and in one way or another they can be helpful to us.”

So he was aware of her feelings. She could feel his arms around her, his body against hers. She thought, It feels right. Everything about Rhys was right for her. They belonged together. She knew it. But did he know how much she wanted him? Elizabeth’s pride would not let her tell him. And yet he must feel something. She closed her eyes and pressed closer to him. Time had stopped and there was nothing but the two of them and the soft music and the magic of this moment. She could have gone on dancing forever in Rhys’s arms. She relaxed and gave herself up to him completely and she began to feel his male
hardness pressing against her thighs. She opened her eyes and looked up at him and there was something in his eyes she had never seen there before, an urgency, a wanting, that was a reflection of her own.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. He said, “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

And she could not speak.

When he helped her on with her wrap, his fingers burned her skin. They sat apart in the back of the limousine, afraid to touch. Elizabeth felt as if she were on fire. It seemed to her that it took an eternity for them to reach their suite. She did not think she could wait another moment. As the door closed, they came together in a wonderful wild hunger that swept through both of them. She was in his arms and there was a ferocity in him that she had never known. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. They could not get their clothes off quickly enough. We’re like eager children, Elizabeth thought, and she wondered why it had taken Rhys all this time. But it did not matter now. Nothing mattered except their nakedness and the wonderful feel of his body against hers. They were in bed, exploring each other, and Elizabeth gently pulled away from his embrace and started kissing him, her tongue moving down his lean, taut body, embracing him with her lips, feeling his velvet hardness inside her mouth. His hands were on her hips, turning her on her side, and his mouth was running down between her thighs, parting them to his tongue and thrusting into the sweetness there, and when neither of them could bear it an instant longer, he moved on top of her and slowly slid inside her, thrusting deep and making gently circling motions and she began to move to his
rhythm, their rhythm, the rhythm of the universe, and everything began to move faster and faster, spinning out of control, until there was a vast ecstatic explosion and the earth became still and peaceful again.

They lay there, holding each other close, and Elizabeth thought joyfully,
Mrs. Rhys Williams.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Williams,” Henriette’s voice said on the intercom, “there’s a Detective Hornung here to see you. He says it’s urgent.”

Elizabeth turned to look up at Rhys, puzzled. They had just returned from Rio to Zurich the evening before, and they had only been in the office a few minutes. Rhys shrugged. “Tell her to send the man in. Let’s find out what’s so important.”

A few moments later the three of them were seated in Elizabeth’s office. “What did you want to see me about?” Elizabeth asked.

Max Hornung had no small talk. He said, “Someone is trying to murder you.” As he watched the color drain from Elizabeth’s face, Max was genuinely distressed, wondering if there might have been a more tactful way he could have phrased it.

Rhys Williams said, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Max continued to address himself to Elizabeth. “There have already been two attempts on your life. There will probably be more.”

Elizabeth stammered, “I—you must be mistaken.”

“No, ma’am. That elevator crash was meant to kill you.”

She stared at him in silence, her dark eyes filled with bewilderment, and some other emotion buried deeper, that Max could not define. “So was the Jeep.”

Elizabeth found her voice again. “You’re wrong. That was an accident. There was nothing the matter with the Jeep. The police in Sardinia examined it.”

“No.”

“I saw them,” Elizabeth insisted.

“No, ma’am. You saw them examine
a
Jeep. It wasn’t yours.”

They were both staring at him now.

Max went on, “Your Jeep was never in that garage. I found it in an auto junkyard at Olbia. The bolt that sealed the master cylinder had been loosened, and the brake fluid had run out. That’s why you had no brakes. The left front fender was still bashed in and there were green markings on it from the sap of the trees you ran into. The lab checked it out. It matches.”

The nightmare was back. Elizabeth felt it sweep through her, as though the floodgates of her hidden fears had suddenly opened, and she was filled again with the terror of that ride down the mountains.

Rhys was saying, “I don’t understand. How could anyone—?”

Max turned to look at Rhys. “All Jeeps look alike. That’s what they were counting on. When she crashed instead of going off the mountain, they had to improvise. They couldn’t let anyone examine that Jeep because it had to look like an accident. They had expected it to be at the bottom of the sea. They probably would have finished her off there, but a maintenance crew came along, found her and took her to the hospital. They got hold of another Jeep,
smashed it up a little and made the switch before the police came.”

Rhys said, “You keep saying ‘they.’”

“Whoever was behind it had help.”

“Who—who would want to kill me?” Elizabeth asked.

“The same person who killed your father.”

She had a sudden feeling of unreality, as if none of this was happening. It was all a nightmare that would go away.

“Your father was murdered,” Max went on. “He was set up with a phony guide who killed him. Your father didn’t go to Chamonix alone. There was someone with him.”

When Elizabeth spoke, her voice was a hollow whisper. “Who?”

Max looked at Rhys and said, “Your husband.”

The words echoed in her ears. They seemed to come from far away, fading in and out, and she wondered if she was losing her mind.

“Liz,” Rhys said, “I wasn’t there with Sam when he was killed.”

“You were in Chamonix with him, Mr. Williams,” Max insisted.

“That’s true.” Rhys was talking to Elizabeth now. “I left before Sam went on his climb.”

She turned to look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He hesitated a moment, then seemed to make a decision. “It’s something I couldn’t discuss with anyone. For the past year someone has been sabotaging Roffe and Sons. It was done very cleverly, so that it seemed to be a series of accidents. But I began to see a pattern. I went to Sam with it, and we decided to hire an outside agency to investigate.”

Elizabeth knew then what was coming, and she was simultaneously filled with a deep sense of relief and a feeling of guilt. Rhys had known about the report all along. She should have trusted him enough to tell him about it, instead of keeping her fears to herself.

Rhys turned to Max Hornung, “Sam Roffe got a report that confirmed my suspicions. He asked me to go up to Chamonix to discuss it with him. I went. We decided to keep it just between the two of us until we could find out who was responsible for what was happening.” When he continued, there was a note of bitterness in his voice. “Obviously, it wasn’t kept quiet enough. Sam was killed because someone knew we were getting on to him. The report is missing.”

“I had it,” Elizabeth said. Rhys looked at her in surprise. “It was with Sam’s personal effects.” She said to Max, “The report indicates that it was someone on the board of Roffe and Sons, but they all have stock in the company. Why would they want to destroy it?”

Max explained, “They’re not trying to destroy it, Mrs. Williams. They’re trying to cause enough trouble to make the banks nervous enough to start calling in their loans. They wanted to force your father to sell the stock and go public. Whoever is behind this hasn’t gotten what he wanted yet. Your life is still in danger.”

“Then you’ve got to give her police protection,” Rhys demanded.

Max blinked and said tonelessly, “I wouldn’t worry about that, Mr. Williams. She hasn’t been out of our sight since she married you.”

Berlin.

Monday, December 1.

Ten a.m.

The pain was unbearable and he had lived with it for four weeks.

The doctor had left some pills for him, but Walther Gassner was afraid to take them. He had to stay constantly alert to see that Anna did not try to kill him again, or to escape.

“You should get right to a hospital,” the doctor had told him. “You’ve lost a good deal of blood—”

“No!” That was the last thing Walther wanted. Stab wounds were reported to the police. Walther had sent for the company doctor because he knew he would not report it. Walther could not afford to have the police snooping around. Not now. The doctor had silently stitched up the gaping wound, his eyes filled with curiosity. When he had finished, he had asked, “Would you like me to send a nurse to the house, Mr. Gassner?”

“No. My—my wife will take care of me.”

That had been a month ago. Walther had telephoned his secretary and told her that he had had an accident and would be staying home.

He thought about that terrible moment when Anna had tried to kill him with the shears. He had turned just in time to catch the blade in his shoulder instead of through the heart. He had almost fainted from the pain and shock, but he had retained consciousness long enough to drag Anna to her bedroom and lock her in. And all the while she was screaming, “What have you done with the children? What have you done with the children?…”

Since then Walther had kept her in the bedroom. He prepared all her meals. He would take a tray up to Anna’s room, unlock the door and enter. She would be huddled in a corner, cringing from him, and she would whisper, “What have you done with the children?”

Sometimes he would open the bedroom door and find her with her ear pressed against the wall, listening for the sounds of their son and daughter. The house was silent now, except for the two of them. Walther knew there was very little time left. His thoughts were interrupted by a faint noise. He listened. And then he heard it again.
Someone was moving around in the hallway upstairs. There was not supposed to be anyone in the house. He had locked all the doors himself.

Upstairs, Frau Mendler was dusting. She was a dayworker, and this was only her second time in this house. She did not like it. When she had worked here on Wednesday the week before, Herr Gassner had followed her around as though expecting her to steal something. When she had tried to go upstairs
to clean, he had angrily stopped her, given her her wages and sent her away. There was something about his manner that frightened her.

Today he was nowhere in sight,
Gott sei Dank.
Frau Mendler had let herself in with the key she had taken the week before, and she had gone upstairs. The house was unnaturally silent, and she decided that no one was at home. She had cleaned one bedroom and had found some loose change lying around, and a gold pillbox. She started down the hallway toward the next bedroom and tried to open the door. It was locked. Strange. She wondered if they kept something valuable inside. She turned the handle again, and a woman’s voice from behind the door whispered, “Who is it?”

Frau Mendler jerked her hand away from the knob, startled.

“Who is it? Who’s out there?”

“Frau Mendler, the cleaning lady. Do you want me to do your bedroom?”

“You can’t. I’m locked in.” The voice was louder now, filled with hysteria. “Help me! Please! Call the police. Tell them my husband has killed our children. He’s going to kill me. Hurry! Get away from here before he—”

A hand spun Frau Mendler around and she found herself staring up into the face of Herr Gassner. He looked as pale as death.

“What are you sneaking around here for?” he demanded. He was holding her arm, hurting it.

“I—I’m not sneaking,” she said. “Today is my day to clean. The agency—”

“I told the agency I didn’t want anyone here. I—” He stopped. Had he telephoned the agency? He had meant to, but he was in such pain that he could no
longer remember. Frau Mendler looked into his eyes and she was terrified by what she saw there.

“They never told me,” she said.

He stood still, listening for sounds from behind the locked door. Silence.

He turned to Frau Mendler. “Get out of here. Don’t come back.”

She could not leave the house fast enough. He had not paid her, but she had the gold pillbox and the coins she had found on the dresser. She felt sorry for the poor woman behind the door. She wished she could help her, but she could not afford to get involved. She had a police record.

In Zurich, Detective Max Hornung was reading a teletype from Interpol headquarters in Paris.

INVOICE NUMBER ON SNUFF FILM RAW STOCK USED FOR ROFFE AND SONS GENERAL EXECUTIVE ACCOUNT. PURCHASING AGENT NO LONGER WITH COMPANY. TRYING TO TRACE. WILL KEEP YOU INFORMED. END MESSAGE
.

In Paris the police were fishing a nude body out of the Seine. She was a blonde in her late teens. She wore a red ribbon around her neck.

In Zurich, Elizabeth Williams had been placed under twenty-four-hour police protection.