On Dangerous Ground (21 page)

Dillon said to Morgan, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back myself.”

“Now that I am worried about,” Morgan said and Asta reappeared wearing a blue mink coat.

“I’m ready when you are.” She kissed Morgan on the cheek. “I won’t be long.” Then she got in the rear of the estate car with Hannah.

Dillon got behind the wheel, Ferguson joined him in front, and they drove away.

The drive along the side of the loch was pleasantly eerie, the northern lights reflected in the dark water so that they seemed to sparkle with a kind of strange silver fire.

“Wonderful,” Asta said, “I’m so glad I came.”

Dillon changed down to climb the hill up through the trees as they rounded the eastern end of the loch. The old estate car responded well; they went over the crest and started down. It was very steep with a bend or two below. As their speed increased, Dillon put his foot on the brake pedal. There was no response and the pedal went right down to the floor.

“Damn!” he said.

“What is it?” Ferguson demanded.

“The brakes have failed.”

“Good God, man, how? They worked perfectly well on the way here.”

“Since when we’ve been parked outside Loch Dhu Castle,” Dillon told him and desperately tried to change down.

They were going very fast indeed now. There was a grinding of gears as he wrestled with the stick and then he did manage to force it into third as they came to the first bend.

“Hang on!” Ferguson called as Dillon worked the wheel and just managed to scrape round.

“For God’s sake, stop it, Dillon!” Asta cried.

Not that he had any choice and the estate car hurtled down the straight, another considerable bend waiting for them. Again he worked the wheel hard, trying the old racing driver’s technique of driving into the bend and almost made it and then they scraped against a granite wall on the left and bounced away. And it was that which saved them, for Dillon got control again as they went down another slope into a hollow and started up a gentle incline. Gradually the speed slowed, he changed down to bottom gear, and applied the handbrake.

There was silence and Ferguson said, “Now that could have been very nasty indeed.”

“Let’s take a look,” Dillon said.

He found a torch in the dashboard locker and went and raised the estate car’s bonnet, Ferguson at his side. A moment later, Hannah and Asta joined them.

Dillon peered into the engine and nodded. “There you are.”

“What is it?” Hannah asked.

“See that kind of canister there? It holds brake fluid, only it doesn’t any longer. The valve’s been ripped off at the top, probably with a screwdriver. No fluid, no brakes. It’s a hydraulic system.”

“We could have been killed,” Hannah said, “all of us, but why?”

“I think Asta knows why,” Dillon said.

Asta pulled the collar of her mink around her throat and shivered. “But why would Carl do that?”

“More important, why would he do it to you, my dear?” Ferguson asked her. “After all, he made no attempt to stop you coming with us.” And to that she had no reply. He turned to Dillon. “Will it still work?”

“Oh, yes, it’s a straight road to the lodge on the other side of this hill and I’ll stay in bottom gear.”

“Good. Let’s get moving then,” and Ferguson ushered the two women back into the estate car.

“I think you could probably do with this,” Ferguson said to Asta, who was sitting by the fire in the sitting room at the lodge, still hugging her mink around her.

It was brandy he was holding out and she took the large crystal tumbler in both hands, staring into it, then swallowed the brandy down. She sat there, still holding the glass, and Dillon took it from her gently and turned to Ferguson.

“She’s a little in shock,” he said.

She stood up then, took off her mink, and tossed it over a chair. “Shock be damned. I’m angry, Dillon, bloody angry.”

At that moment, Hannah came in from the kitchen with Kim, who started pouring coffee. The Chief Inspector took a cup to Asta. “Just sit down, Asta, and take it easy.”

Asta took the cup of coffee and did as she was told. “The rest of you would make some kind of sense, but why me? I don’t understand.”

“I think you will if you pause and think about it, Asta,” Dillon said.

“His connection with Mafia and all that stuff? You mean I know too much? But I always have.”

“Yes, but something more important than that has cropped up, you know that.”

Hannah Bernstein looked puzzled and Ferguson said, “You signed the Official Secrets Act when you joined me which means anything which takes place during your duties with me is sacrosanct. Am I correct?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Dillon?” he said.

“I found Fergus Munro’s body earlier today in the shallows by Loch Dhu. Asta was with me. By my observation he’d been given a severe beating. I’d say he’d collapsed in the water afterwards and drowned.”

“My God!” Hannah said.

Dillon turned to Asta, who said, “I asked Dillon to let it go.”

“Why?” Hannah said.

“Because in a way it was my fault. It was because of me Carl wanted to teach him a lesson.”

“I see.” Hannah turned to Ferguson. “On the face of it, you’ve condoned a criminal offense, sir, manslaughter at the very least.”

“Absolutely right, Chief Inspector. If you want the sordid details, Dillon and I observed Morgan and the man Marco recover the body in the motor launch
Katrina
. They then disposed of it wrapped in a length of chain in the middle of the loch.”

She said, “You’ve stood by and let him get away with it?”

“You’ve got it wrong, girl dear,” Dillon said. “Retribution can come later.”

“Exactly,” Ferguson told her. “More important things to consider.” He took her hand, sat on the couch, and pulled her down beside him. “I chose you to assist me in my work because you’re one of the most astute brains at Scotland Yard.”

“Now it’s flattery, Brigadier?”

“Nonsense. Look at your background. Your grandfather is a highly respected Rabbi, your father a brilliant Professor of Medicine. You have a Cambridge M.A. in Psychology. You could have been anything. You chose to be a policewoman on the beat in Brixton and have risen because of your own abilities. I need you and I want you, but this isn’t normal police work. This is a rather complicated game, our kind of work. We only have the end in view.”

“Because the end justifies the means?”

It was Dillon who leaned down, took her hands, and pulled her up. “God save us, girl, but he’s right, sometimes it does. It’s called the greater good.”

He actually put an arm round her and she leaned against him. Then she straightened and managed a faint smile. “They must have loved you at the National Theatre, Dillon, you’d have ended up with a Knighthood. Instead you chose the IRA.” She turned to Ferguson. “No problem, sir, anything I can do?”

He inclined his head toward Asta, and Hannah sat beside her and took her hand. “When you told Morgan you wanted to come with us he didn’t say no. Am I right?”

“I suppose so,” Asta said.

“Let’s be logical. He was after us, hadn’t counted on you being involved, but when the chance came, when you said what you did, he didn’t say no.”

Asta sat there staring at her mutely. She moistened her lips. “Why? He loves me.”

“His account with you was full, Asta. Oh, you knew all about the Mafia background and so on, and what you don’t realize is that was always a liability. But Fergus.” Hannah Bernstein shook her head. “Even if he drowned because of the beating, the charge would be manslaughter that would get Carl Morgan seven years at the Old Bailey, and Mafia lawyers don’t enjoy the same kind of success in court in England as they do in America. Seven years, Asta. Seven years for a billionaire polo player used to the good things of life. There was no way he could take that chance. You knew too much.”

Asta jumped up and paced across the room and turned. “He’s always been so good to me. I can’t believe this.”

Ferguson turned to Dillon. “Would you say it’s time?”

“I think so.”

Ferguson said to Hannah, “The Greek file, Chief Inspector.” Hannah went to the desk and he carried on. “You take over, Dillon.”

Dillon took Asta’s hand and brought her back to the sofa by the fire and sat down with her. “What we’ve got to show you now is bad, Asta, as bad as anything could be. It’s to do with Hydra and your mother’s accident scuba diving.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“You will, my dear.” Ferguson took the file from Hannah Bernstein and passed it to her. “Read that.”

Asta put the file to one side and sat there, her hands clenched. “It doesn’t seem possible.”

“You’ve seen the file,” Ferguson told her. “The technical details are beyond dispute. Someone interfered with your mother’s equipment.”

“An accident?” she said desperately.

“No accident.” Dillon sat down beside her and took her hand. “I’m an expert diver, Asta. Believe me, what was done to your mother’s gear was deliberate. Now you tell me who was responsible. Can you think of anyone who wished your mother harm?” He shook his head. “Only Carl, Asta. We think she knew too much and that’s the truth of it.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and when she opened them again she was remarkably in control. “I can’t let him get away with that — not that. What can I do?”

“You could help us,” Ferguson said. “Keep us informed of the situation up there at the castle. Most important thing of all, you could let us know the moment he finds the Bible.”

She nodded. “Right. I’ll do it.” She took another deep breath. “Could I have another brandy?”

“Of course, my dear.” Ferguson nodded to Dillon, who got up and went to the drinks cabinet. He returned with the brandy and Asta took it from him.

Hannah sat beside her. “Look, Asta, are you sure you can go through with this? I mean, you’ve got to go back and smile in his face and act as if nothing’s changed.”

Asta said, “We buried my mother back home in Sweden, flew her body there from Athens, and do you know something? He stood at the side of my mother’s grave and he cried.” She emptied the brandy glass with a single swallow. “I’ll see him pay for that if it’s the last thing I do.” She placed the brandy glass on the coffee table and got up. “I think I should go back now.”

“I’ll take you,” Dillon said.

She walked toward the door, picking up her mink and pulling it on. She turned. “All right. So far, the search for the Bible isn’t getting very far in spite of the fact that Carl has offered a substantial reward for anyone who finds it.”

“Thank you for that,” Ferguson said.

“As regards future moves, we’re supposed to put in an appearance at the Ardmurchan Fair and Games tomorrow. I don’t think there’s anything else.”

Dillon said, “I’ll take you now, Asta.”

She turned at the door. “I’ve just remembered, Angus the gardener, he’s on Carl’s payroll now.”

“We’ll bear that in mind,” Ferguson said.

She went out and Dillon followed her.

On the way back to the castle in the Range Rover she sat beside him, clutching the collar of her mink coat around her neck, saying nothing.

“Are you all right?” he asked as they neared the gates.

“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “Don’t worry about me, Dillon. I’ll play my part.”

They drove along the drive and he braked to a halt at the steps. Before they could get out, the front door opened and Morgan appeared.

“I was beginning to get worried,” he said as Dillon went round and opened the door for Asta.

“Sorry, Carl,” she said as she went up the steps. “But we nearly had a nasty accident.”

He was immediately all concern. “What happened?”

“The brakes failed on the estate car,” Dillon said. “Some sort of rupture in the canister, so we lost the hydraulic fluid. It’s been around a few years, that car.”

“Dillon was wonderful,” she said. “Drove like Nigel Mansell going down the hill. I really thought we’d had it.”

“My God!” He gave her a squeeze. “How can I thank you, Dillon?”

“Self-preservation,” Dillon told him. “I always struggle to survive, Mr. Morgan.”

Asta said, “I’ll go in, Carl. I think I’ll go to bed.”

She went inside and Morgan turned as Dillon got in the Range Rover. “Thanks again. Will you be at the fair tomorrow?”

“I should imagine so.”

“Good, we’ll see you then.” He went in and closed the door.

“And I’ll see you, you bastard,” Dillon said as he drove away.

ELEVEN

THE FOLLOWING DAY WAS A LOCAL HOLIDAY, Ardmurchan Village awash with people from the surrounding district and others who had driven many miles to see the fair and take part in the games. And there were the tinkers and the gypsies with their ponies and horses to trade. Ferguson, Dillon, and Hannah arrived just before lunch, parked the Range Rover at the church, and walked down to the Campbell Arms.

“A little bracer, I think, then all the fun of the fair,” Ferguson said.

“Ten minutes short of noon, Brigadier,” Hannah reminded him. “That counts as morning drinking.”

“If the booze was going to get me, Chief Inspector, it would have done so long ago, the Korean War to be exact as a twenty-year-old subaltern. I sat in a trench in the snow, twenty degrees below, with the Chinese attacking ten thousand at a time. Only the rum kept me going.”

He pushed open the door and led the way in. The saloon bar was packed, nowhere to sit, but he shouldered his way through cheerfully to the bar where Molly worked feverishly with four local women to aid her.

“Guinness,” Ferguson called, “three.” He turned to Hannah. “Extremely nourishing.”

Molly served them herself. “Were you hoping to eat, Brigadier?”

“It’s an idea,” he said.

“Nothing fancy today, just hot Cornish pasties.”

“A unique thought as we’re in Scotland, but why not? We’ll have one each.”

“Right. There’s someone moving from the settle by the fire right now. You sit yourselves down and I’ll bring them.”

She was right, three men getting up at that moment and moving off, and Ferguson pushed through the crowd to secure the places. He sat down and rubbed his hands. “Nothing like a day out in the country.”