Rendezvous With Danger (8 page)

The sun was already on its way to the west as I stepped out into the street and walked briskly to my waiting car. The light that had been so piercing was now golden and gentle. It bathed the ancient Town Hall in a warm glow, and danced on the peonies that grew thickly massed in troughs at either side of its front door. In the distance I could see the glint of the slow-moving water beneath the bridge, throwing back reflections of blue and green on to the crumbling stone.

I had reached the car and was already easing it over the cobbled stones when, above the bustle and chatter of everyday street noises, came the sharp squeal of tyres from the far side of the bridge. A terrible scream nearly drowned the simultaneous sound of a car accelerating at great speed.

I froze, skin ice-cold. Then pandemonium broke out as other shouts and cries followed in quick succession and people began running in the direction of the river.

To the left of me, the Burgermeister ran down the steps of the Town Hall, to be joined by a shirt-sleeved man carrying the black bag of a doctor. Together they raced down the street, pushing their way through the crowd who had surged forward, mercifully blocking my view.

After a few long, dreadful minutes, the watching women slowly began to move back across the bridge, standing in small groups in the village street, crossing themselves as they did so. Unwillingly I saw the silent procession approach. The Burgermeister, surrounded by white-faced villagers, was walking back over the bridge, the inert body of a girl in his arms.

It was obvious she was dead. The legs hung at a deformed, improbable angle, the white of the bone showing, her bodice and skirt were saturated in blood. Her head lolled grotesquely, like that of a rag-doll, the scarlet headsquare still knotted beneath her chin. Mechanically I noticed, as the grim cavalcade passed me by, that someone had closed her eyes. Then they were gone; and I was left, sick and terrified, behind the wheel of the car.

‘Pardon, Fraulein?' The elderly man from the coffee-bar stooped low, peering concernedly at me. He crossed himself.

‘Mother of God. He did not stop.' He repeated it disbelievingly. ‘He did not stop.'

‘Did you … see?' I managed at last.

‘Nein. The women say she was walking up the Ohringen Road. This maniac drove into her.' His voice shook. ‘But not to stop. It does not seem possible.'

I was vaguely aware of horrified voices outside the car, echoing his words, discussing, speculating. The old man was saying, ‘ If only she had stayed a little longer in my shop.'

But it would have made no difference. At whatever time Christina had left, wearing my headsquare and looking so much like me, the driver of the car would have followed. Would have killed her …

Dimly I heard the old man wish me goodbye and turn to join one of the whispering cliques that now thronged the street. I went through the motions of starting the car. Turned the key in the ignition, pressed my foot on the accelerator. Hardly aware of my actions I motored slowly over the bridge and past the spot where Christina had been murdered in full view of half the population of Niedernhall. Her bag and its contents lay scattered pathetically in the blood-stained dust and dirt of the country road.

Driving crazily I left the village, hills and trees speeding past in an unseen blur. That it should have been my body lying in Niedernhall's Town Hall I hadn't a minute's doubt. And when they found out that it wasn't mine …

I gripped the steering wheel hard with clammy hands, forcing myself to be calm. I mustn't panic. A little way ahead I could see the gentle hills and vineyards of Kunzelsau. With a great effort I slowed down, and with Niedernhall lost to view, and Kunzelsau on the horizon, I drew up at the roadside bathed in sweat. I must think. Think.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, struggling to get my thoughts in order. I didn't know who had been driving the car that had killed Christina. I didn't know how many people, besides Stephen Maitland and the two men at the farm, were involved. I had seen no one suspicious as she walked away from the safety of the coffee-bar and down the village street, but someone, somewhere, had been watching. One thing I was sure of: I daren't drive openly into Kunzelsau and to the police station. I didn't fancy the odds against my making it. By now, her killer—whoever he was—must have realized his mistake and be looking for me with even more determination than before.

With shaking hands I unfolded my large map of southern Germany and propped it up on the wheel in front of me. To my fevered brain it seemed that all roads led to Oberammergau and under no condition was I going to expose myself and my little Morris on any one of them. Not if Stephen Maitland was making his way to Oberammergau.

I hunted in my shoulder-bag for the leaflet extolling the virtues of the surrounding hamlets and villages as quiet holiday retreats. On the back was a detailed map of the country roads connecting Niedernhall, Kunzelsau, Ohringen and, some miles to the south-east, Schwabisch Hall.

If I took that road, and on reaching Schwabisch Hall phoned Gunther, either at the police station or at his home, then he would come for me and escort me in safety.

Nervously I looked behind me, but the road, flanked by apple trees and summer flowers, was empty, the whole countryside peaceful and still. If I could make it to the right turning for Schwabisch Hall then I was safe. No one would ever think of looking for me there. Hastily I folded the map and started the car. About a hundred yards ahead was the junction, and with a feeling of overwhelming relief I swung the car over, disappearing down it like a rabbit into its hole.

The road was quiet, the only other traffic being farm vehicles and one or two commercial vans. No menacing car loomed up behind me. I stopped at the first telephone box I saw and dialled Gunther's number. The relief when he answered was overwhelming.

‘Gunther. Oh, Gunther, thank goodness you're in!'

‘Susan! Where are you? You promised to stay at Frau Schmidt's. I've been most worried.'

I said weakly, ‘I'm on the outskirts of Schwabisch Hall. I had to leave. Someone … killed … Christina, the girl from Stephen Maitland's guest-house, in mistake for me.'

I heard his quick intake of breath, then he said,
‘Lieber Gott.
So that's it. The whole village is talking of nothing else. But I don't understand. Why should they think she was you?'

‘She was wearing my headsquare.'

‘I see,' he said slowly. He hesitated for a second then said: ‘Susan, listen to me carefully. Drive into Schwabisch Hall and make your way to the Waldlust Bar—it is in the main street, just after the traffic lights. I'll meet you there.'

‘Yes,' I said waveringly. ‘And, Gunther, please hurry.'

‘Don't worry,
meine Liebe,
I'll be there in ten minutes.'

Numbly I put down the receiver and walked back to my car. All the time I was driving through the tree-lined streets I tried to ignore what so far had been left unsaid.

Only Stephen had seen me wear the scarf. Only Stephen … I slammed on the brakes to avoid an oncoming car. The driver wound his window down, shouting unpleasantly as I backed out of the one-way street.

Determinedly I concentrated on my driving and five minutes later parked in a quiet side street some yards from the bar. I picked up my shoulder-bag and map. I could ponder over the quickest and safest route either to Austria or to home, while waiting for Gunther.

A short flight of steps led down into the small and dimly-lit bar. High-backed wooden seats separated each table from its neighbour, but all were unoccupied. I ordered a cognac from a disinterested young man behind the bar who was immersed in a book and obviously resented my interruption, and sat in the corner, shielded by the high back and arm of the chair.

I spread the map out in front of me and tried to concentrate. But superimposed on the roads, railways and towns of Germany, was Stephen Maitland's face. Two dark brown eyes under their black brows stared up at me as I tried vainly to plot a route south. It was impossible. Time and time again I began tracing the bright red lines on the map with a pen, only to find I was sitting with my hand stationary and my thoughts in turmoil. In the end I gave up trying and drank my cognac, bravely interrupting the barman from his book to ask for another.

‘Susan!' Gunther ran down the steps, and in front of the slightly more interested barman took me in his arms.

‘Thank God you're all right! When Frau Schmidt told me you had gone I didn't know what to think.' He stepped away from me, holding me at arms' length. ‘You're trembling, Susan. Here, take your drink and sit down.'

I sat down gratefully, and he joined me, removing one of my hands from the glass I held, taking it in his and holding it tightly.

‘If you knew how worried I've been these last few hours, Susan.'

‘And if you knew how scared I've been …'

‘There's no need to be scared any more. The police have arrested them.'

‘All … of them?'

He nodded grimly. ‘Maitland as well. You were quite right. He was in it up to his neck.'

I concentrated very hard on not being sick. ‘And Christina?' I asked faintly. ‘Do the police know who killed her?'

‘The hit and run car was parked at the farm. There's no need to worry about anything now. It's all over.'

I wanted to ask whose car it had been, but the words stuck in my throat.

‘I've kept you out of this affair, at least as far as the police are concerned, Susan. You're quite free to continue your holiday.'

I squeezed his hand gratefully. ‘Gunther, I don't know what I would have done without you. You've been marvellous.'

‘Are you going to stay here a little longer? I would like it if you did.' The blue eyes held mine. I shook my head.

‘No, Gunther. I couldn't. Not after what's happened. I'd keep seeing her there.'

‘And if I suggested that I come south with you?'

I fingered the glass, trying to think of the right words to say.

‘I see,' he said. ‘Well, never mind, Susan. One cannot win all the time.' White teeth flashed in a sudden smile. ‘But one thing you do owe me is your company for the rest of today. Why not settle for Augsburg? I could drive there with you, book you into a hotel, and then we could have dinner and spend the rest of the evening together. We'll be there by seven. Naturally, I shall depart promptly at the stroke of twelve.'

I laughed. ‘All right.'

He rose from the table. ‘Then come along, there is no time to lose. It's five o'clock already.'

I picked up my things and followed him into the street.

‘It might be a good idea if we telephoned from here and booked you a room,' Gunther said. ‘ I know just the hotel.'

I was quite happy to let him make all the arrangements, and leaned against the wall in the warmth of the late afternoon sun while he rang Augsburg from the telephone kiosk, trying desperately not to think of Stephen Maitland.

Gunther emerged smiling. ‘Dinner for two tonight. Bed and breakfast for one. Where did you park your car?'

‘Heavens, I'd nearly forgotten it! It's round the back.'

Gunther's Mercedes straddled the street. I looked at it doubtfully.

‘Will I be able to keep up with you?'

‘Not for a minute. However, with willpower I shall be able to slow down to your speed. You collect your car and follow me.'

Obediently I hurried for my old Morris and joined him a few minutes later. He leaned a blond head out of his window.

‘Ready?'

‘You bet.'

He laughed and started up the car, and I followed closely behind as we sped through Schwabisch Hall, taking the main road south that led through Nordlingen, Donauworth and to Augsburg. I glanced at the map spread out on the seat beside me, noticing with bitter irony that from Augsburg the road led straight south to Oberammergau.

With an effort I pushed Stephen Maitland to the back of my mind. The whole affair was finished with. I could forget him completely. In time I might even be able to pretend that nothing had happened at all. That is, I could have done if it hadn't been for Christina. Tears pricked my eyelids and I swore out loud. Damn. Damn everything. I forced myself to concentrate on the road ahead, forced myself to think of anything, anything at all, but the nightmare events of the afternoon.

As it happened, following Gunther required all my attention. My car was used to pottering along at thirty-five to forty miles an hour, a speed Gunther would have thought of as stationary. He may have considered he was travelling steadily, but my Morris was flat out with the effort of keeping him in sight.

Within a very short space of time the medieval buildings of Nordlingen, gleaming white against a backdrop of dark fir trees, loomed up ahead of us, Nordlingen's high tower rising splendidly above its walls and bastions, the steps of its street fountains crowded with young people sitting in the sun. I would have liked to slow down and take a closer look at this Imperial Free city which had remained unchanged for centuries, but Gunther was speeding through it, totally oblivious to its charms. I needn't have worried. Fate gave me my wish. The cobbled streets proved too much for the Morris, and with strained noises issuing from beneath the bonnet, she gave an ominous shudder and began to lose speed. I pressed my foot down harder but it was useless. We ground ignominiously to a halt.

Gunther was already lost to view, but a few minutes later the red Mercedes reconnoitred the narrow street, drawing up opposite me. Dejectedly I opened the car door and sat there waiting for him, wondering what else could possibly go wrong.

‘She just stopped,' I explained.

Judging by the expression on his face, his thoughts were exactly the same as mine. Exercising admirable self-control he refrained from making any remark and swung the bonnet open, while I tapped my feet listlessly on the cobbles and gazed my fill at the medieval timbered buildings on either side of the street. He slammed the bonnet down impatiently.