Алистер Маклин - Bear Island

‘Poor little Judith,’ Lonnie said. ‘And what do we tell Otto she died of? Alcohol and sleeping tablets – it’s a pretty lethal combination, isn’t it?’

‘Frequently.’

They looked at each other uncertainly, then turned and left. Mary Stuart said: ‘What can I do?’

‘Stay there.’ The harshness in my voice surprised me almost as much as it clearly surprised her. ‘I want to talk to you.’

I found a towel and a handkerchief, wrapped the gin bottle in the former and the barbiturate bottle in the latter. I had a glimpse of Mary watching me, wide-eyed, in what could have been wonder or fear or both, then crossed to examine the dead woman, to see whether there were any visible marks on her. There wasn’t much to examine – although she’d been in bed with blankets over her, she’d been fully clothed in parka and some kind of fur trousers. I didn’t have to look long. I beckoned Mary across and pointed to a tiny puncture exposed by pushing back the hair on Judith Haynes’s neck. Mary ran the tip of her tongue across dry lips and looked at me with sick eyes.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Murdered. How do you feel about that, Mary dear?’ The term was affectionate, the tone not.

‘Murdered!’ she whispered. ‘Murdered!’ She looked at the wrapped bottles, licked her lips again, made as if to speak and seemingly couldn’t.

‘There may be some gin inside her,’ I conceded. ‘Possibly even some barbiturate. I’d doubt it though – it’s very hard to make people swallow anything when they’re unconscious. Maybe there are no other fingerprints on the bottles – they could have been wiped off. But if we find only her forefinger and thumb round the neck – well, you don’t drink three-quarters of a bottle of gin holding it by the finger and thumb.’ She stared in fascinated horror at the pin-prick in the neck and then I let the hair fall back. ‘I don’t know, but I think an injection of an overdose of morphine killed her. How do you feel about it, Mary dear?’

She looked at me pitifully but I wasn’t wasting my pity on the living. She said: ‘That’s the second time you said that. Why did you say that?’

‘Because it’s partly your fault – and it may be a very large part – that she’s dead. Oh, and very cleverly dead, I assure you. I’m very good at finding those things out – when it’s too damn late. Rigged for suicide – only, I knew she never drank. Well?’

‘I didn’t kill her! Oh, God, I didn’t kill her! I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t!’

‘And I hope to God you’re not responsible for killing Smithy too,’ I said savagely. ‘If he doesn’t come back, you’re first in line as accessory. After murder.’

‘Mr Smith!’ Her bewilderment was total and totally pathetic. And I was totally unmoved. She said: ‘Before God, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Of course not. And you won’t know what I’m talking about when I ask you what’s going on between Gerran and Heissman. How could you – a sweet and innocent child like you? Or you wouldn’t know what’s going on between you and your dear loveable Uncle Johann?’

She stared at me in a dumb animal-like misery and shook her head. I struck her. Even although I was aware that the anger that was in me was directed more against myself than at her, still it could not be contained and I struck her, and when she looked at me the way a favourite pet would look at a person who has shot it but not quite killed it, I lifted my hand again but this time when she closed her eyes and flinched away, turning her head to one side, I let my hand drop helplessly to my side, then did what I should have done in the first place, I put my arms around her and held her tight. She didn’t try to fight or struggle, just stood quite still. She had nothing left to fight with any more.

‘Poor Mary dear,’ I said. ‘You’ve got no place left to run to, have you?’ She made no answer, her eyes were still closed. ‘Uncle Johann is no more your uncle than I am. Your immigration papers state that your father and mother are dead. It is my belief that they are still alive and that Heissman is no more your mother’s brother than he is your uncle. It is my belief that he is holding them as hostage for your good conduct and that he is holding you as hostage for theirs. I don’t just think that Heissman is up to no good, I know he is, for I don’t just think he’s a criminal operating on an international scale, I know that too. I know that you’re not Latvian but strictly of German ancestry. I know too that your father ranked very highly in the Berlin councils of war.’ I didn’t know that at all, but it had become an increasingly safe guess. ‘And I know too that there’s a great deal of money involved, not in hard cash but in negotiable securities. All this is true, is it not?’

There was a silence then she said dully. ‘If you know so much, what’s the good in pretending any more.’ She pushed back a little and looked at me through defeated eyes. ‘You’re not a real doctor?’

‘I’m real enough, but not in the ordinary way of things, for which any patients I might have had would probably feel very thankful as I haven’t practised these past good few years. I’m just a civil servant working for the British Government, nothing glamorous or romantic like Intelligence or counter-intelligence, just the Treasury, which is why I’m here because we’ve been interested in Heissman’s shenanigans for quite some time. I didn’t expect to run into this other bus-load of trouble though.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Too long to explain, even if I could. I can’t, yet. And I’ve things to do.’

‘Mr Smith?’ She hesitated. ‘From the Treasury too?’ I nodded and she went on: ‘I’ve been thinking that.’ She hesitated again. ‘My father commanded submarine groups during the war. He was also a high Party official, very high, I think. Then he disappeared–’

‘Where was his command?’

‘For the last year, the north – Tromso, Trondheim, Narvik, places like that, I’m not sure.’ I was, all of a sudden I was, I knew it had to be true.

I said: ‘Then disappearance. A war criminal?’ She nodded. ‘And now an old man?’ Another nod. ‘And amnestied because of age?’

‘Yes, just over two years ago. Then he came back to us – Mr Heissman brought us all together, I don’t know how.’

I could have explained Heissman’s special background qualifications for this very job, but it was hardly the moment. I said: ‘Your father’s not only a war criminal, he’s also a civil criminal – probably an embezzler on a grand scale. Yet you do all this for him?’

‘For my mother.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve given you. Do you think my mother will be all right?’

‘I think so,’ I said, which, considering my recent disastrous record in keeping people alive, was a pretty rash statement on my part.

‘But what can we do ? What on earth can we do with all those terrible things happening?’

‘It’s not what we can do. I know what to do. It’s what you are going to do.’

‘I’ll do anything. Anything you say. I promise.’

‘Then do nothing. Behave exactly as you’ve been behaving. Especially towards Uncle Johann. But never a word of our talk to him, never a word to anyone.’

‘Not even to Charles?’

‘Conrad? Least of all to him.’

‘But I thought you liked–’

‘Sure I do. But not half as much as our Charles likes you. He’d just up and clobber Heissman on the spot. I haven’t,’ I said bitterly, ‘been displaying very much cleverness or finesse to date. Give me this one last chance.’ I thought a bit about being clever, then said: ‘One thing you can do. Let me know if you see anyone returning here. I’m going to look around a bit.’