Rendezvous With Danger (12 page)

The thought of how I had been manhandled filled me with a blind, consuminganger that left no room for fear. I heard myself saying, ‘How
dare
you! How
dare
you treat me like this. Untie me this minute.'

The man watching me threw back his head, his large body convulsed with laughter as he wiped genuine tears of mirth from his eyes. At last he recovered himself sufficiently to say jeeringly, ‘And what will you do? What dreadful fate will befall us if we do not do as you ask? You are going to teach us both a lesson, eh?'

The very idea caused a fresh explosion of laughter in which the driver joined. I struggled in vain to sit up.

‘You'll be laughing on the other side of your face before I've finished,' I said furiously, twisting first one way then another in an effort to reach a sitting position. The laughter ceased as suddenly as it had begun. He thrust his head forward, eyes like beads, the pitted flesh of his cheeks hanging loosely like an ageing bulldog's.

‘You had better learn some manners, young lady. You had better be careful.'

At the menace in his voice, I shrank back and tried desperately not to show the fear that at last filled me. For what seemed like several minutes he glared at me, his face only inches away, cold eyes probing mine. I stared back as contemptuously as I could.

He shook his head slowly. ‘Be
very
careful. You have caused far too much trouble already. People are getting tired of you.
Very
tired. You would find it greatly to your advantage if you co-operated. For instance, that cord. If you were to be a sensible girl …'

‘Don't be a bloody fool,' the man called Harvey said sharply.

Ignoring the interruption the other continued, ‘If you were to promise to be a sensible girl, we might untie you.' He eyed my chaffed wrists and ankles which were already beginning to swell painfully. ‘ You don't look very comfortable, or—' he slobbered—‘ladylike.'

‘Go to hell!' I said, in the most unladylike manner possible.

His smile vanished abruptly and for an instant I thought he was going to strike me.

‘For Christ's sake don't let her antagonize you. Things are bad enough already,' the driver said angrily. ‘Ignore the stupid bitch.'

With an agreeing grunt my tormentor turned his back on me and we continued in silence. I lay inert on the back seat of the car, trying to get my panic-stricken thoughts in some sort of order. From where I lay I could see very little of the passing countryside but what I could see suggested we were travelling north, not south.

Back to Niedernhall? And if so, why? And who had the German police arrested for the killing if both these men
and
Stephen Maitland were still at large?

It didn't make any sense at all. I stared at the backs of the men's necks, wondering with rising hysteria if one of them had been driving the car that had killed Christina. That I was to have the same fate seemed obvious. Somehow, despite all that had happened, they were free. It could only mean that the police didn't know their identities after all, else they would never be taking the risk of driving openly on the highway. I was still the only one who knew. I would have to be silenced. My only chance was Gunther. When he arrived at the hotel and found me missing he would suspect what had happened. I shivered. That was if Gunther hadn't been taken care of too.

If I was to get away, then I would have to do it before we reached our destination, and I stood no chance while bound hand and foot. With a struggle I swallowed my pride and said, ‘Are you going to untie me then or not?'

He turned. ‘Are you going to be sensible?'

I nodded. Again the man driving made a sound of protest but it was swept aside and the big man leaned over the back of his seat, taking a penknife from his pocket. His heavy body hung sweatily over mine as he seesawed at the thick twine. Finally it snapped, and breathing heavily, he slid back into his seat. I rubbed my swollen wrists in an effort to get the circulation moving again.

He watched me, a wet smile on his lips, as I gingerly began massaging my ankles.

‘You will find it always easier if you cooperate.'

The man at the wheel gave a short laugh. ‘ You're a fool, Ivan. Being nice to her will get you no favours.'

Ivan swung round in his seat with a scowl.

Tentatively I sat up. Ivan spoke with an accent but the man at the wheel was English and was the same florid-faced, tweeded and brogued figure I had followed through the streets of Niedernhall. Despairingly I stared out of the window. My earlier surmise was confirmed. The countryside we were passing through wasn't that of the south. We were travelling north.

Ahead of us were a few scattered cottages, the sun shining on white plastered walls, and a few minutes later we were driving through the outskirts of a small market town. Hope surged through me. A town meant people. If I could only draw attention to my plight, if there were any police about …

As if reading my thoughts, Ivan turned. ‘ I wouldn't bother if I were you. If you cause us any trouble we shall have no alternative but to shut you up.' He leered. ‘Permanently.'

He said it as casually as if he were making an observation about the weather. I closed my eyes, not wanting him to see the defeat that must be showing in them.

None of this could possibly be happening to me. It was a bad dream, a nightmare from which I must soon, surely, wake …

The car slowed down as it reached the busy streets of the town centre. I opened my eyes as it stopped altogether. Before us was a queue of traffic and a policeman on point duty. Slowly we inched forward and I surreptitiously edged my hand towards the door handle. This might be the one and only chance I would get. Around us cars and cyclists hooted impatiently and I steeled myself to make the break, to fling the door open at the exact moment we passed the policeman. The sun gleamed on his helmet and we were now so near that I could see the beads of sweat on his face. I gripped the handle with clammy hands …

‘You do, girl, and you're dead.'

Ivan had half-turned, his right hand rested on the edge of his seat, and in it, pointing directly at me, was a small black pistol.

I froze. He could be bluffing but it was a risk I wasn't taking. The policeman raised his arm waving us on and we edged past him, swinging to the right down the main thoroughfare, picking up speed as we did so. My chance had gone. The signpost at the next crossroads indicated Stuttgart to the north, Augsburg to the east, Reutlingen to the west. We went straight on, towards Stuttgart.

I tried to recreate a map of southern Germany in my mind. Stuttgart could not be more than thirty-five to forty miles away from Niedernhall. If the village was to be our destination we would be there in under an hour.

Outside the sun shone hotly down on the hills and fields that fled past with sickening speed. The small towns of Geislingen and Goppingen came and went. Then we were enmeshed in the mean suburban streets of Stuttgart and still there had been no opportunity to escape. Suddenly the man at the wheel, the man named Harvey, spoke.

‘I imagine you will have plenty to say to Mr Maitland when you see him again.'

‘That,' I said, flushing with anger, ‘is the understatement of the year.'

He frowned. ‘You have caused us all a lot of inconvenience, Miss Carter. I would be careful of your attitude.'

I didn't deign to reply, and he gave a shrug, returning his attention to the road.

I stared at his reflection in the mirror stonily. The red-veined cheeks and thick, well tended handle-bar moustache didn't look as if they belonged to a man who was a killer. I wondered what his reaction would be if I told him I had no intention of going to the police, that if only he would let me go, I would forget all about them, never mention the affair to a living soul. He glanced up and his eyes held mine for a second. Looking into their cold, green depths, even that hope faded. I would get no help from that quarter.

The road began to run parallel with a river, straddled at intervals by soft pink bridges. The trees lining its banks were reflected in the still, deep waters as it flowed gracefully down to the Rhine. Another town, small and insignificant, came and went, leaving an impression of small courtyards decked with ivy and a statue of Kaiser Wilhelm II in the market square. The signposts on the outskirts indicated Heilbronn.

Sweat broke out on my forehead. We were nearly there.

I breathed deeply. Scared to death I may be, but I was damned if I was going to let these men see it. The landscape became uncomfortably familiar. Before long I could see the pointed steeple of Niedernhall's small church, the sun gilding the roofs of the houses that clustered beneath its protection. But that protection did not extend to me and we turned abruptly to the left, heading down the narrow lane that led towards the farm. At the end of the lane the car turned right on to the roughly beaten track that climbed between the trees until we emerged on the bare hillside below the farm. Here the track levelled out, leading through iron gates to the front of the house.

My heart beat painfully as we halted in the corner of the paved yard. Ivan turned. ‘Come on. Out. And don't make a run for it. You won't get very far.'

I opened the door and stood shivering in the warm sunlight. The whole house had an aura of desolation and emptiness, with darkgreen tentacles of ivy stretching across the small-paned windows.

It was completely isolated. There was no other house in sight, only the thickly-wooded lower slopes stretching down into the valley, hiding the road and the nearby village from view. Our footsteps rang out hollowly on the stone flags as I allowed myself to be led towards the large, oak door. Here was where my journey came to an end. Perhaps literally, I thought with horror.

I stood hemmed in between them as Harvey knocked loudly on the door. From the rooftop came the sound of pigeons cooing and the flutter of their wings as they flew out from under the eaves to the outbuildings that edged the far side of the yard. Vaguely I was aware of the birds singing in the distance, of the warm sun on my back and the light breeze pulling at my hair, but it seemed to be someone else who stood in front of the closed door, held firmly with unfriendly hands.

With a curse Harvey fumbled in his pocket for a key. I was dimly aware of him saying, ‘Where the bloody hell is he?' as I was led, nearly insensible, across the threshold and into a flagged hallway.

The sound of the heavy door slamming shut behind us jolted me out of my numbed reverie. Of all the conflicting emotions that welled up inside me at the thought of meeting Stephen Maitland again, the strongest was hatred. True I was frightened, desperately frightened, and I was humiliated too at the way I had been treated, but over and above all this was the recollection of the impression he had made on me in those few brief hours before the nightmare had begun, and for that I couldn't forgive him.

I pulled myself from the restraining hands and said angrily, ‘Yes, where is he? Where is Mr High and Mighty Maitland? It's about time he showed his face and his true colours. Or does he always send you two to do his dirty work, all his fetching and carrying, murdering and kidnapping? And for what? What possible, earthly reason …'

‘Shut up or I'll …'

I swung round. ‘Shut me up? Oh yes, you'll do that without a second thought, won't you? But it's too late. I've already talked. Other people know who you are and where you are. Shutting me up will do you no good whatsoever.'

My anger filled me with courage. I felt I could face a den of lions.

‘Shut
up!
' said Harvey threateningly, gripping my arm once more.

I took no notice. ‘You don't think you can abduct me in broad daylight and get away with it, do you?' Not waiting for a reply I continued with a flourish, ‘I was being met at Augsburg this morning by someone who knows all about you. When he finds me missing he'll go straight to the police
and
be able to tell them where I am.'

I stared from one to the other, trembling but triumphant, waiting to see what shattering effect this piece of information would have. It was minimal. Neither of them appeared in the least perturbed and my bravery ebbed away as rapidly as it had arrived. Harvey led me upstairs and opened the door of a small bedroom, pushing me inside. Then he said in a bored voice, ‘Save your information for Maitland, it doesn't interest us.'

The door closed behind them and there was the ominous click of a key turning.

The room swam round, and I sat weakly on the edge of the bed, struggling to remain calm. For the first time I was conscious of my shoulder-bag hanging loosely over my arm and I groped inside it, feeling with relief the smooth silver of my cigarette-case. I leaned back against the bed-head, fumbling with my lighter. Dimly I was aware of the freshlymade bed in a room that otherwise bore little signs of occupation. There was a small chest of drawers, a hard-backed chair with a blue and white wash-basin and jug beside it and very little else.

I kicked off my shoes, swinging my feet on to the bed, toying nervously with the strap of my bag. Before I'd had time to collect my thoughts there came the soft pad of feet along the corridor.

I stiffened as they halted, then the door opened abruptly and the Englishman came in. He waved his hand, motioning me to stay where I was, and still without speaking, pulled open the bottom drawer in the tiny chest and withdrew a glass and a bottle of whisky.

He gulped a glassful down then poured another, cupping it in his hands. He said in a completely different manner from that he had used previously: ‘You've made a damned mess of things, haven't you?'

The change of tone—the hint of sympathy—was all I needed. I began to cry oblivious of him, oblivious of everything. He stood silently for a while then sat down on the chair, saying, ‘If you don't make less noise, we'll have Ivan for company.'