Дональд Уэстлейк - Forever and a Death

Greetings were breathless, and incoherent at first, until they got away from the deplaning crowds, and then her dad said, “I rented a car, just follow me. Is that all your luggage?”

She held up the new string bag she’d bought this morning in Brisbane. “It’s all I’ve got.”

Dad turned to Jerry and Luther, saying, “We’ll give you a lift to the hotel.”

Kim’s mom put her arm through Kim’s, leaning in to say, “When I thought you were dead, Kim, it was the worst day of my life.” Kim pulled her close. Her chest still ached, but she didn’t care.

She’d tell them about Singapore later. They’d try to argue her out of it, like Luther had, and she’d stand her ground, and maybe there’d be tears or shouting. But that would be later. Right now she just felt so good to have her mom’s hand in hers and to squeeze it tight.

By Sunday afternoon, Manville was edgy, tense, frustrated. He was also desperately bored. He knew his best move right now was not to move at all, to stay here at Kennison as though he intended to stick to his bargain with Curtis, but it wasn’t easy. Still, if he did stay put, just for a few days, if he gave the impression he intended to make no trouble, then Curtis should have no reason to go on pursuing Kim, and the clearing of Manville’s name would not be interrupted, and when the time was right he could still do his best to stop Curtis from whatever scheme the man had in mind.

But it was hard, it was very hard. Manville was active by nature, a doer, not a contemplater. There was nothing to do here at Kennison, and beyond that, he was absolutely alone now, since Curtis had clearly said something to the Farrellys; they were cold now, distant, utterly unlike the friendly couple at dinner the first night. Now he ate his meals alone, served by silent staff members in their tan pantsuits.

He had access to almost the entire house — he stayed away from what was clearly the Farrellys’ quarters, and they kept the downstairs office locked when they weren’t in it — and he was permitted to roam the nearby countryside as well. At times, he sat and watched television, without absorbing any of it, or he leafed through books in the library without taking in the words. And every minute was interminable.

His room wasn’t locked at night, and the servants treated him as though he were an ordinary houseguest. But the vehicles in the garage had had their ignition keys removed, and whenever he went for a walk he was aware of Steve or Raf, some distance away, keeping an eye on him. And, worst of all, there were no telephones.

It had to be deliberate. There wasn’t a telephone to be seen, not even in the kitchen, though there were phone outlets here and there, and it seemed to Manville he remembered a telephone on a particular end table in the living room when he’d had his first surreal conversation with Curtis.

So Curtis didn’t want him making contact with the outside world, which wasn’t a surprise. But he needed to. He needed to know when the time was right to get out of here, and more than that, he needed to try to reach Kim.

He’d had no contact with Kim since he’d gone to see the lawyer, Brevizin. She’d escaped from Curtis’s men then, but was she safe now? Had she managed to contact her friends at Planetwatch?

Also, she probably knew by now that Curtis had taken back his charges against Manville, which would have to look as though Manville had despite everything gone back to work for Curtis, had become her enemy again. He wanted her to know that wasn’t true.

But how could he reach her, how could he reach anybody in the outer world, without a telephone? Kennison was a huge sprawling estate in the middle of nowhere. The nearest neighbor, supposedly, was more than fifty miles away.

The frustration was grinding him down. What if he just gave up this whole plan? He was faking agreement with Curtis, going along with him as though their differences were settled, only to find out what the man was up to; but what if he stopped? What if he managed to escape, though he didn’t yet see how he could do that, and made his way back to Brisbane? Found Kim, went with her to the lawyer, then went to the police? What would Curtis do then?

Three things, that Manville could think of. He would bury Manville and Kim under a horde of lawyers. He would turn Pallifer and the others loose again, to hunt Manville and Kim down and rid himself of them forever. And he would go on with his plan, whatever it was, with no one left to stop him.

Sunday afternoon. Manville roamed the house. In the game room, trying to distract himself, he shot a little pool, and found he had to resist the urge to smash something with the cuestick. On a side wall in here stood a glass-doored gun rack; it was unlocked, and it was empty.

No more pool. He roamed again, and came to the door of the office, which was shut and locked, the Farrellys being away in their own quarters or somewhere else on the grounds. Beyond this door would be telephones, and guns, and keys to the various cars. He touched the knob, waggled it. Tonight, could he manage to break in here?

“Oh, sir, please be careful.”

He turned, and it was the woman who’d brought him the change of clothes his first night. He said, “Yes?”

She came toward him down the hall, smiling in a friendly way, but looking concerned. “You must be careful with that door,” she said. “There’s a very loud alarm, when it’s locked. If you break the circuit, it would be terribly embarrassing.”

Manville took his hand away from the knob. “Embarrassing,” he said. “Yes, I suppose it would.”

It was becoming a joke, but not one Curtis appreciated. Every time he tried to get to Singapore, it seemed, he wound up back in this same penthouse suite in the Heritage in Brisbane. This time, he was waiting to be interviewed by some local policeman named Fairchild, and the subject, stupidly enough, was Captain Zhang.

Killed himself. The man killed himself. Why in God’s name did he have to go and do that? And at this time of all times, when the last thing Richard Curtis wanted was official attention. What he planned to do was going to be very loud and very obvious and very destructive, and half the police officers in the world would be looking for the person who’d put it together. Curtis intended to keep himself well in the clear, before, during and after. He wanted not the slightest suspicion pointed in his direction. He was a businessman, he had a solid reputation, he was already rich; who would look at Richard Curtis?

Unfortunately, there were now two people who could cause the police to at least glance in the direction of Richard Curtis. They didn’t know enough to stop him ahead of time, but they could certainly finger him afterward, and Curtis had no desire to be a man in hiding the rest of his life. So those two people had to be dealt with, and then no one else could be permitted to learn anything at all about what was to come.

But at least he had a plan. Pallifer would get rid of the girl in the next couple of days, and Manville would remain on ice at Kennison, to be useful if necessary during the operation, and to be dispatched immediately after. So the situation was tricky, but it could be handled. It would be handled.

And now, in the middle of it, damn Zhang has to kill himself! The police would want to know why, of course, and Curtis would have no explanation, nothing but baffled sorrow and sympathy. Zhang had been a good employee, Curtis had had no idea anything was wrong; maybe at home? Without answers, the police would keep asking questions, but Curtis knew better than to make something up. Remain baffled, and wait for it to blow over.

Would Zhang have confided in anybody else on the crew?