The Assassin (23 page)

‘What have you found out?' The fear was in her voice; she was so obvious that he wondered who it was for; he knew the answer to that; she had never been a coward. She was scared to death, but not for herself.

‘King went to the Lebanon for a reason, he took you along as a blind. He fixed up something while he was there. That's what he reported to Druet—whatever it was.' He knew without looking at her that she had tensed visibly while he was talking. He heard the click of the handbag she carried being opened and closed and then opened again. It gave her trembling hands something to do. He was certain she knew what King went to Beirut to arrange. She knew all about it, and he was equally sure she had only just found out, during the weekend at Freemont.

‘You don't know what it was? You've no clue?'

‘We're getting an idea,' Mathews said. ‘And it looks very nasty. Very nasty indeed. It must be, because a couple of people in Beirut have already been murdered, and we think they were connected with it.'

‘Why? Who were they?'

‘Oh, just small fry—an airport tout buys a new car that blows him and his wife and kids sky high, and an Arab girl gets strangled. Both had suddenly got money, big money. They'd been paid off, and then our friends paid them off properly, just to make sure they didn't talk. It's the usual pattern when there's something big. They wipe out the little people first. The girl had a European boy friend, he's disappeared too. Her name was Souha—in Arabic it means “little star”.'

Elizabeth needed fresh air; the feeling of claustrophobia came on her so quickly that she felt physically sick. The dreadful, sinister echo of those words wouldn't stop repeating in her head. An Arab girl was strangled. She had a European boy friend, he's disappeared … her name was Souha … If she could only get the window open.

‘Press the button on the right,' Mathews said. ‘Here,' he reached over and did it for her; the window whined down. ‘Leary believes King had someone smuggled into the States,' he said. She was taking in the air, fighting to get a hold of herself. He pulled the car over to the side of the road; luckily they were off the main highway and he was able to stop. ‘What's the matter Liz? Don't you feel well?'

‘It was hot,' she said. ‘I felt terribly hot, that's all.' She leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment. She had never fainted or lost control of herself in her life, but in the last few minutes she had come very close.

‘You didn't travel back with anyone, did you, Liz?'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.' She turned her head away from him. ‘I came home alone.'

‘Okay.' Mathews started the car up, and nosed the long bonnet out on to the road. ‘I just wanted to be sure. You feeling better now?'

‘I'm all right,' Elizabeth said. The weekend has been a strain; I didn't get much sleep last night.'

Until he had asked her the question, precipitated the moment of truth and been met by a lie, Mathews hadn't been certain how to proceed. Now he saw a way; not the way Leary had suggested, but a better one, which would lead to the destination faster than hours of interrogating a stubborn girl. If he was wrong, he could switch back to Leary's original instructions and no harm would be done. ‘Do you want me to take you back to Freemont, Liz? Maybe you ought to lie down. I won't stay for lunch, I'll tool on home.'

‘No,' she spoke too quickly. ‘No, I don't want to go back there. I can get my things sent up. I'd like to go home, Pete. Will you take me home?'

She looked white and sick. His plan was going to work. He had been sure it would. ‘Sure I'll take you back to your apartment. Maybe if you're up to it we could have dinner tonight.'

‘Maybe,' Elizabeth said. ‘Yes, if I feel better, if I get a rest—that would be nice, Pete.'

She had the car open and was out before he had time to get out of his seat. She leaned through the open window, her long hair hanging on either side of her face; there was a little colour in it now. ‘Thanks,' she said. ‘Don't bother to see me up, I'm fine now. I'll call you after I've had a rest. Mathtws watched her disappear inside the entrance; he slipped the car into gear and moved off. In the driving mirror he noticed the blue Chev which had picked them up outside Freemont park on the opposite side of the street. His man would take over now. He had better put in a call to Leary and tell him what he had done. If his guess was right, Elizabeth Cameron would leave the apartment just as soon as she was sure he had gone. The tail in the Chev would pick her up. Mathews had taken a risk, but in every aspect it was calculated. He had asked her the primary question, and she had lied; he expected that. She hadn't been caught off guard because subconsciously this was the one question she was determined not to answer. This was what would have caused so much delay in Leary's original plan. He had told her enough to frighten her, to make it seem that they knew more than they did, or were certain to find out the rest in a matter of hours. He had told her just enough to panic her. When she came out she would be on her way to warn the man. And she would lead Mathews' people straight to him.

6

It was the maid who came to take the coffee cups away who saw the body lying at the bottom of the pool. By the time Huntley got down from the castle, Dallas had been brought up and laid out on the terrace. One of his security guards was straddled over her, trying resuscitation. She lay face down, her arms outspread, a pool of water by her head; more water flowed out of the open mouth with the rhythmic movements of the man pressing against her flooded lungs.

When Huntley first saw her, he thought it was Elizabeth. She still wore the distinctive swimming cap.

The maid had been having hysterics in a corner by the bar; now she was hustled out of the way. The place was surrounded by Huntley's security guards; an immediate order had been issued to the telephone operator not to put through any outgoing calls. From the moment the body was brought to the surface, Freemont was sealed off from the world, until Huntley Cameron had decided what to do.

‘It's no good, Mr Cameron, she's dead. She's quite cold.' The guard got up, wiping his wet hands on the seat of his pants.

‘How could it happen?' Huntley's voice was thick. It was shock as much as emotion. She was his niece, the only living relative he had. There was something obscene about the wet body, gurgling water on to the terrazzo floor.

‘I don't know, sir. Miss Jay was a very strong swimmer. She must have had a heart attack or something.'

Miss Jay. Huntley straightened up; the sagging jaw snapped shut. ‘It's not my niece? For Christ's sake, why didn't you say so. Turn her over!'

He bent and looked, satisfying himself that it was Dallas. Of course; the bathing cap had fooled him. How could she have drowned; she swam like an eel … He hesitated; this would be a page one accident. Nation-wide coverage. Scandal, suggestions of suicide. But he still had time to present it his way, to slant the facts from his angle. ‘Get Dr Harper up here; don't phone, take a car and get him. And don't say anything, just bring him here!'

One of the guards disappeared. Harper was Huntley's personal doctor. He lived in Freemont because Huntley had bought him the house and established him within half a mile. He attended a children's clinic twice a week for appearances' sake, but he had no private patients except the staff at Freemont. His retainer was enormous.

An hour later he was shown into Huntley's private office on the first floor of the east turret. He was a big man, heavily built, dressed incongruously in city clothes on the weekend.

‘What did you find?'

‘Death by drowning, Mr Cameron. I'd say the poor girl had been dead around an hour and a half, maybe more.'

‘How could she have drowned?' Huntley glared at him. ‘She was as strong as a goddamned bull; you checked her health every six months—what did you miss?'

‘I didn't miss anything,' the doctor explained. ‘She was in perfect health then and there's nothing to suggest any physical malfunction now.' He set his mouth in professional obduracy. He hadn't made any mistake with her and he wouldn't let Huntley infer that he had. What he was prepared to say in public as part of his personal service to Cameron was something different.

‘Then how did it happen? You trying to tell me she just opened her mouth and swallowed water?' While he waited for the doctor's report Huntley had been going through every detail of the previous day, particularly the abrupt end of their night together. It couldn't be suicide. She was stupid and a gabber, but there had never been any sign of unbalance. Only a nut would have got so upset by being sent away that they'd have drowned themselves next morning.

But being Huntley, he hadn't just sat in his office and thought it out. He had personally questioned his staff and three disquieting facts had emerged out of the mass of unimportant details. Eddi King had been seen helping Dallas up the stairs by a patrolling guard; the same guard had found evidence in the library that she had got drunk. He had kept the empty vodka bottle to show his employer. Within minutes King had come down and complained to another guard that his telephone was making noises, and when the phones were checked that morning, nothing was found to be wrong with his set. On the other hand the wire connecting Elizabeth's room phone to the switchboard had been cut through. His niece had gone to the pool with Dallas that morning, and then left with a man who had come down soon after nine o'clock, giving the name of Peter Mathews. This satisfied Huntley, who remembered an old boy friend of Elizabeth's who used to visit Freemont some years back. There was nothing wrong with her taking off with an old beau. It was probably just what she needed to steady her after their talk last night. The absence of Eddi King was very different. He had checked out of the castle twenty minutes after Elizabeth and Mathews left, and he had gone without a word. The gate guard timed his car out at nine-forty. The maid who had brought coffee down to the pool had reported seeing what she thought to be Elizabeth swimming alone at around nine-fifteen. So Dallas was alive when Elizabeth left. The maid's mistake had struck him because it was the same as he had made when he first saw the body. She too had seen that distinctive black and white cap and made the wrong identification.

‘You can see how this is going to look!' Huntley barked at the doctor: ‘Nothing wrong with her, just found drowned? It's going to look like the tramp committed suicide! There'll be an inquest, an enquiry—for Christ's sake, this could be used against the Democrats! The last thing we can afford is a scandal, and, boy, would my enemies make a Roman holiday out of this!' He paused, considering Harper carefully. He paid him twenty-five thousand dollars a year just to be within call. Fees were extra. This might be the one time when he would really earn that massive retainer.

‘You don't think she killed herself?'

‘No.' Harper shook his big head. Of necessity, he was a very good doctor, and in his professional capacity he overlooked nothing.

‘I did find something which might account for it. I made a very thorough examination. There is absolutely nothing I can find without an autopsy, but I did notice one small thing.' He took his time deliberately. The rich expected value for their money and he was going to give Huntley Cameron full value. He was also going to give him an unpleasant shock and this he wanted to prolong on his own account. He disliked being bullied, but he was too lazy to earn his money the regular way.

‘I found a tiny bruise on the side of her neck, near the collar bone.'

‘So?'

‘So it seems pressure was applied to the carotid artery before death,' Harper said. ‘This is one of the nerve centres of the body, Mr Cameron. A blow on that nerve can paralyse or even kill. Quick pressure on the same spot, applied by someone who knew where to locate the nerve, would cause the person to lose consciousness for some minutes.' He cleared his throat; the look on Huntley's face delighted him. ‘It would be very difficult to prove, because a bruise isn't evidence, not just one little mark. But I think Miss Jay was murdered. Somebody with considerable knowledge of such things blacked her out while she was swimming, and left her to drown. Now that,' he cleared his throat a second time, so he could repeat it, ‘that would certainly make a nasty scandal.'

Huntley didn't answer. He had been sitting down behind his desk. Now he got up and went to the cabinet built into the stone wall of the turret room, opened it and drank down one of the largest straight whiskies Harper had ever seen poured out. He knew Huntley drank; he had spent five years watching that cast-iron body for any sign of deterioration due to alcohol, but never found a symptom. Huntley spoke more quietly, almost casually.

‘This mustn't come out,' he said. He refilled the glass. ‘You realise this, Harper. Suicide, murder, whatever the hell really happened, it mustn't make the papers. How much do I pay you every year?'

Harper stiffened. ‘Twenty-five thousand. But you understand I can't possibly cover up anything …'

‘I think it should be forty thousand,' Huntley said. ‘A man's health is the most valuable possession he's got. You're a good doctor. You're worth forty thousand dollars a year to me.'

Harper opened his mouth and then very slowly it began to shut again. Forty thousand dollars. For that much money he'd be worked off his feet in ordinary practice; answering every call, dancing attendance on rich women with nothing but hypochondria to shield them from old age; travelling, consulting, running at full pressure. And of course he'd have to buy a new house for the family. They liked living where they were. His wife had just installed a sauna bath next to their pool; this was the ultimate status symbol and it had cost a lot of money. He looked at Huntley Cameron, but the old man was tossing back his whisky and paid him no attention.