The Tightrope Men / The Enemy (13 page)

Denison slept, was interviewed by the police, and slept again. He got up at four, bathed and dressed, and went downstairs. Crossing the lobby he saw the receptionist stare at him, then turn and say something to the porter with a smile. Dr H. F. Meyrick was evidently the hotel celebrity.

He looked into the lounge, saw no one he knew, and then investigated the bar where he found Diana Hansen sitting at a table and reading a paperback. She looked up as he stood over her. ‘I was wondering when you’d show.’

‘I had to get some sleep. Yesterday was a bit wearing.’ He sat down and picked up the ashtray to inspect its underside.

Diana laughed. ‘No bugs—I checked.’

He put it down. ‘Where’s Lyn?’

‘Out.’ At his raised eyebrows she elaborated slightly. ‘Sightseeing.’

A waiter came up.
‘Mittö otatte?’

‘A olutta, olkaa hyvä,’
said Denison. He looked at Diana. ‘And you?’

‘Nothing for me,’ she said. ‘Your Finnish is improving.’

‘Only enough to order the necessities of life. Has Carey come to any conclusions about yesterday?’

‘Carey isn’t here,’ she said. ‘I’m to tell you to sit tight until he comes back.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He’s gone to Sweden.’

‘Sweden!’ His eyes were blank. ‘Why has he gone there?’

‘He didn’t tell me.’ She stood up and picked up her book. ‘Now that I’ve passed on the word I’ll get about my business.’ Her lips quirked. ‘Don’t take any wooden saunas.’

‘Never again,’ he said fervently. He bit his lip. ‘But they might take another crack at me.’

‘Not to worry,’ she said. ‘You’re under Ian Armstrong’s eye, and he’s well named. He’s sitting at the bar now. Don’t acknowledge him—and don’t move so fast he can’t keep up with you.’

She went away as the waiter came up with his beer. He drank it moodily and ordered another bottle. Over at the bar Armstrong was making a single beer stretch a long way. Why Sweden? What could possibly have happened there to drag Carey away? No answer came.

He was half-way through the second bottle when Lyn entered the bar. She sat at his table and looked at his beer. ‘You look dissipated.’

He grinned at her. ‘I feel dissipated. I was up late.’

‘So I’m told,’ she said unsmilingly. ‘I heard a strange story this morning—about you.’

He regarded her warily and decided to riposte. ‘And I’ve heard something pretty odd about you. Why did you quarrel with Diana?’

Pink spots came into her cheeks. ‘So she told you.’

‘She didn’t say anything about it,’ said Denison truthfully. Lyn flared up. ‘Then who did if she didn’t? We were alone.’ She tugged viciously at the strap of her bag and looked down at the table. ‘It doesn’t feel nice to be ashamed of one’s own father. I never really believed anything Mother said about you, but now I can see she was telling the truth.’

‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘Have a drink. What will you have? A Coca-Cola?’

Her chin came up. ‘A dry Martini.’

He signalled to the waiter, suppressing a smile, and gave the order. When the waiter had gone, she said, ‘It was disgusting of you.’

‘What’s so disgusting about Diana Hansen?’

‘You know what I mean. I’ve heard the jet set gets up to some queer things but, my God, I didn’t expect it of you. Not my own father.’ Her eyes were unnaturally bright.

‘No, I don’t know what you mean. What am I supposed to have done?’ he asked plaintively.

A hurt look came into her eyes. ‘I know you went out with that woman last night because she told me so. And I know how you came back, too. You must have been disgustingly drunk to do that. Did
she
have any clothes on? No wonder they had to send for the police.’

‘Oh, my God!’ said Denison, appalled. ‘Lyn, it wasn’t like that.’

‘Then why is everyone talking about it? I heard it at breakfast this morning. There were some Americans at the next table—you ought to have heard them. It was…dirty!’ She broke into tears.

Denison hastily looked about the bar and then put his hand on Lyn’s. ‘It wasn’t like that; I’ll tell you.’

So he told her, leaving out everything important which would only complicate the issue. He was interrupted once by the waiter bringing the Martini, and then he bore in again to finish his story.

She dabbed at her eyes with a small handkerchief and sniffed. ‘A likely tale!’

‘If you don’t believe me, would you believe the police?’ he said exasperatedly. ‘They’ve been on my neck all morning.’

‘Then why did Diana tell me you were going out with her?’

‘It was the best thing she could have done,’ said Denison. ‘She didn’t want you worried. And about your quarrel—I heard a bit of it on the tape.’ He explained about that, and said, ‘The police have the tape now.’

Lyn was horrified. ‘You mean everyone is listening to that quarrel?’

‘Everyone except me,’ said Denison drily. ‘Have your Martini.’

Something else occurred to her. ‘But you might have been hurt—he might have
killed
you!’

‘But he didn’t—and all’s well.’

‘Who could it have been?’

‘I suppose I’m a fairly important man in some respects,’ said Denison tiredly. ‘I told you yesterday that I don’t babble about my work. Someone wanted information and took direct action.’

She straightened her shoulders and looked at him with shining eyes. ‘And didn’t get it.’

He brutally chopped the props from under the hero worship. ‘As for Diana Hansen, there’s nothing in it—not the way you think. But even if there were it’s got nothing to do with you. You’re behaving more like an affronted wife than a daughter.’

The glow died. Lyn hunched her shoulders a little and looked down at the Martini glass. Suddenly she picked it up and drained the contents at a swallow. It took her breath away and she choked a little before putting down the empty glass. Denison grinned. ‘Does that make you feel better?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said miserably.

‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘No harm done. Let’s go for a walk.’ He signalled to the waiter and paid the bill and, as he got up from the table, he glanced over at the bar and saw Armstrong doing the same. It was comforting to have a bodyguard.

They left the bar and went into the lobby. As they approached the entrance a porter came in loaded with baggage, and a burly figure followed. ‘Hey, Lucy; look who’s here,’ boomed a voice. ‘It’s Harry Meyrick.’

‘Oh, hell!’ said Denison, but there was no escape.

‘Who is it?’ asked Lyn.

‘I’ll introduce you,’ said Denison grimly.

‘Hi, Harry!’ shouted Kidder, advancing across the lobby with outstretched hand. ‘It’s great to see you, it sure is.’

‘Hallo, Jack,’ said Denison without enthusiasm, and allowed his hand to be pulped.

‘It’s a small world,’ said Kidder predictably. ‘I was only saying that to Lucy the other day when we bumped into the Williamsons in Stockholm. You remember the Williamsons?’

‘Of course,’ said Denison.

‘I guess we’re all on the same Scandinavian round, eh? I wouldn’t be surprised if the Williamsons don’t turn up here, too. Wouldn’t it be great if they did?’

‘Great!’ said Denison.

Lucy Kidder popped out from behind her husband. ‘Why, Harry; how nice to see you. Did Jack tell you we saw the Williamsons in Stockholm?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘It’s a small world,’ said Lucy Kidder.

‘It sure is,’ said Jack. ‘If the Williamsons get here—and that nice friend of yours, Diana Hansen—we could get down to some poker. That gal is a mean player.’

Lyn said, ‘Diana Hansen? Why, she’s here.’

Surprise and pleasure beamed from Kidder’s face. ‘Now, isn’t that just great? Maybe I’ll be able to win some of my dough back, Lucy.’

‘Lose it, more likely,’ she said tartly. ‘Jack really believes he can play poker.’

‘Now then, Momma,’ he said good-humouredly. ‘Don’t knock the old man.’ He looked down at Lyn. ‘And who’s the little lady?’

‘Excuse me,’ said Denison. ‘Jack Kidder—my daughter, Lyn—Lucy Kidder.’

They shook hands and Kidder said, ‘You didn’t tell me you had a daughter, Harry. You certainly didn’t tell me you had a beautiful daughter. Where you been hiding her?’

‘Lyn’s been at University,’ said Denison. ‘She’s now on vacation.’

Lucy said, ‘I don’t want to break things up, Jack, but I guess we gotta register. The desk clerk’s waiting.’

‘Sure,’ said Kidder. ‘I’ll be seeing you around, Harry. Tell Diana to break out that deck of cards—we’ll be playing poker.’

‘I’ll do that,’ said Denison and, taking Lyn by the arm, he steered her out of the hotel. Under his breath he said, ‘Over my dead body.’

‘Who was that?’ asked Lyn.

‘The biggest bore from the North American continent,’ said Denison. ‘With his long-suffering wife.’

Carey and McCready were being violently seasick. They clung to the rail of the small boat as it pitched in the summer gale which had blown up from the south and whistled up the narrow channel between the Swedish mainland and the island of Oland. There was but one significant difference between them—while Carey thought he was dying McCready
knew
he was dying.

They both felt better when they set foot ashore at Borgholm. There a car awaited them, and a police officer who introduced himself with a jerky bow as ‘Hoglund, Olof.’

‘I’m Carey and this is McCready.’ The wind blew off the sea and riffled his short grey hair. ‘Shall we get on with it?’

‘Certainly. This way.’ As Hoglund ushered them to the car he said, ‘Your Mr Thornton arrived an hour ago.’

Carey stopped dead in his tracks. ‘Has he, indeed?’ He glanced sideways at McCready, and muttered, ‘What the hell does he want?’

They were silent as they drove through the streets of Borgholm. It was not the time yet for talk; that would come later after they had seen what they had come to see. Carey’s mind was busy with speculations arising from the presence of Thornton, and even if he wanted to discuss it
with McCready he could not do so in the presence of Hoglund.

The car pulled up in front of a two-storey building and they went inside, Hoglund leading the way. He took them into a back room where there was a trestle table set up. On the table was a long shape covered with a white cloth. Behind the table stood a short young man with a neat vandyke beard, who wore a white coat. Hoglund introduced him as Dr Carlson. ‘You already know Mr Thornton.’

Thornton was a tall, dark man of cadaverous features, smooth unlined skin and indecipherable expression. He was a young-looking sixty or an aged forty—it was hard to determine which and Thornton was not going to tell anybody. It was not his habit to tell anyone anything that did not concern him and he was chary of doing even that. He could have been Carey’s boss but he was not; Carey was proud and pleased to be in another department.

He lifted yellowed, dyspeptic eyes as Carey and McCready entered the room. Carey nodded to him curtly, and turned to Carlson. ‘Good afternoon, Doctor,’ he said in a weary voice. He was very tired. ‘May I see it?’

Carlson nodded without speaking and drew back the cloth. Carey loked down with an expressionless face and motioned for the cloth to be drawn back farther. ‘This is how he was found?’

‘The body has been cleaned externally,’ said Carlson. ‘It was covered with oil. And the manacles have been removed, of course.’

Carey nodded. ‘Of course. There was no clothing?’

‘The man was naked.’

McCready looked at Carey and raised his eyebrows. ‘The same as…’

Carey was unaccountably clumsy. He turned and trod heavily on McCready’s foot. ‘Sorry, George.’ He turned to Carlson. ‘What was the cause of death, Doctor?’

Carlson frowned. ‘That will have to await the autopsy,’ he said cautiously. ‘At the moment it is a question of whether he was drowned or poisoned.’

Thornton stepped forward. ‘Did you say poisoned?’ Carey analysed the tone of voice. In spite of Thornton’s habitual flatness of expression he thought he detected a note of genuine surprise.

‘I’ll show you,’ said Carlson. He opened the jaws of the corpse and took a long spatula and thrust it down the throat. McCready winced and turned away. Carlson withdrew the spatula and held it out. ‘A scraping from the inside of the throat.’

Carey inspected the blackened end of the spatula. ‘Oil?’

When Carlson nodded Thornton said, ‘I don’t think it really matters if he drowned in oil or if it poisoned him.’ His attitude was relaxed.

‘I agree,’ said Hoglund. ‘Do you make the identification, Mr Carey?’

Carey hesitated. ‘At this moment—no.’ He nodded at Thornton. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ve never seen the man before in my life,’ said Thornton.

A grim expression settled on Carey’s face. ‘The body will have to be…preserved. Do you have facilities?’

‘Not on Oland,’ said Carlson.

‘We can take it to the mainland as soon as Dr Carlson has completed the autopsy,’ said Hoglund.

‘No,’ said Carey forcibly. ‘I need a positive identification before the body is touched. That means the body must go to England or someone must come to Sweden. In any case, I want one of our own pathologists to assist at the autopsy.’

‘This comes within our jurisdiction,’ said Hoglund sharply.

Carey rubbed his eyes tiredly; the inside of his eyelids seemed to be covered in sand. This would have to be handled
carefully considering the Swedish tradition of neutrality. He said slowly, ‘As far as we are concerned this has now become a matter of State. I am going to push the question upstairs, and I suggest you also consult your superiors. Let our masters argue the question of jurisdiction, my friend; it will be safer for both of us.’ As Hoglund considered the suggestion Carey added, ‘In any case, the incident took place in international waters.’

‘Perhaps that would be best,’ said Hoglund. His manner was stiff. ‘I will do as you suggest. Would you like to see the manacles?’ When Carey nodded he strode to a shelf and took down a pair of handcuffs.

Carey examined them. ‘British,’ he commented. He handed them to Thornton. ‘Wouldn’t you think so?’

Thornton shrugged. ‘It means little.’ He turned to Hoglund. ‘Is it established he did not come from the tanker?’

‘The crew of the tanker are all accounted for,’ said Hoglund. ‘One man was killed but the body was recovered.’ Carlson was replacing the sheet over the body as Hoglund gestured at it. ‘This man probably came from the other boat. The captain of the tanker says it must have been running without lights.’

‘He would say that,’ said Carey cynically. ‘He could be right, though. It has not been identified yet?’

‘Not yet. No boat has been reported missing; no insurance claim has been made. We are making inquiries, naturally.’ Hoglund frowned. ‘Apart from the body there is the matter of the oil. It will cost a lot to clean the coasts of Gotland and someone must pay.’

‘That’s something I don’t understand,’ said McCready. ‘If the oil is drifting on to Gotland how is it that the body turned up here on Oland? They are a long way apart.’

‘The body was taken from the sea south of Gotland,’ said Hoglund. ‘But the ship was coming here.’

Carey cleared his throat. ‘What have you got to go on in your inquiries?’

‘Not a great deal. The captain of the tanker was not on the bridge at the time, and the boat sank within minutes. The captain estimated it as something between three hundred and four hundred tons. He derives this figure from the damage done to the bows of the tanker and its speed at the time of impact.’

‘A small coaster,’ said Carey thoughtfully. ‘Or a biggish fisherman.’

Hoglund shrugged. ‘We will soon find out.’

I wouldn’t hold your breath, my friend,
thought Carey. He turned to Carlson. ‘There is no reflection on your ability as a pathologist, Dr Carlson. I hope you understand that. Will you begin preparations for the preservation of the body?’

Carlson looked warily at Hoglund, who nodded. ‘I understand. I will do as you ask.’

‘Then there’s nothing more we can do here,’ said Carey. ‘Unless Mr Thornton has anything further to add.’

‘Nothing,’ said Thornton. ‘I’ll leave the details of the identification to you.’

They left the room. At the entrance of the building Carey paused to button up his coat, and turned to Thornton. ‘Your arrival was unexpected. What brought you here?’

‘I happened to be at the Embassy in Stockholm,’ said Thornton easily. ‘About another matter, of course. They’re a bit short-handed so when this thing blew up I volunteered to come here and look after the British interest.’

Carey turned up his collar. ‘How did you know there
was
a British interest?’ he asked blandly.

Thornton was equally bland. ‘The handcuffs, of course.’ He nodded back towards the room they had come from. ‘Who was he?’

‘We’ll know that when he’s been identified.’

Thornton smiled. ‘Your department has a vested interest in mysteries, I know—but you shouldn’t let it become an obsession.’ He pointed. ‘Hoglund is waiting for you at the car.’

‘Aren’t you coming?’

‘I came by helicopter,’ said Thornton. ‘Sorry I can’t offer you a lift back, but I don’t know where you came from, do I?’ His smile was malicious.

Carey grunted and walked towards the car. Again there was silence in the car because Hoglund was there but, as they drew up to the quay side, Carey said abruptly, ‘Was the British Embassy informed of the country of origin of those handcuffs?’

Hoglund furrowed his brow. ‘I don’t think so. Not by me.’

‘I see. Thank you.’

The wind had moderated and the passage back to the mainland of Sweden was easier. Carey and McCready stayed on deck where it was possible to talk with some privacy. ‘I didn’t expect to see Thornton,’ said McCready. ‘What’s he up to?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Carey broodingly. ‘He tried to spin me a yarn. Can you imagine a Whitehall mandarin like Thornton volunteering for an errand boy’s job which any Embassy whippersnapper could do? The mind boggles.’ He thumped the rail with his fist. ‘Damn these interdepartmental rivalries! We’re all supposed to be on the same side, but I spend more time guarding my back against people like Thornton than I do on my job.’

‘Do you suppose he knows about the switch on Meyrick?’

‘I don’t know. According to what he said back there he doesn’t even know Meyrick.’ Carey looked down at the grey sea. ‘Somebody’s luck ran out.’

‘Meyrick’s certainly did.’

‘I was thinking of the people who snatched him. They got him to Copenhagen and put him on a boat to take him…where? And the boat was run down by a tanker travelling westwards.’

‘So it was probably going east,’ said McCready. ‘Suggestive—to say the least.’

‘Let’s not jump to any fast conclusions,’ said Carey irritably.

‘I agree,’ said McCready. ‘Especially let’s not jump to the conclusion that this oil-poisoned stiff is Meyrick. We’ve been had before.’

Carey gave him a withering look, and said abruptly, ‘I want Iredale present at the autopsy to check for any signs of plastic surgery. I want the fingerprints of the corpse taken and a check made at Meyrick’s home for matching prints. For legal identification I suggest one of Meyrick’s ex-wives.’

‘What’s wrong with his daughter?’

‘I’m trying to work that one out,’ said Carey with a sigh. ‘If I can do it before we get to the plane then maybe I can get some sleep on the flight back to Helsinki.’ He did not sound too sanguine.