Jack Higgins - Brought in Dead

It was all there, beautifully detailed by a steeltrap mind which had assessed the situation in a matter of seconds and had come up with the only possible counter with the speed of a computer.

“When did you first meet her?”

The answer came without the slightest hesitation. “About four months ago. Someone brought her along to one of my parties. I discovered she was a very talented artist. I wanted some murals for the club and she agreed to accept the commission. It was as simple as that.”

“And that was all — just a business arrangement?”

“The murals are on the wall of the main casino, you can see them for yourself,” Vernon said. “Anything else that was between us is no damned business of yours. She wasn’t a child. She had a good body and she liked the pleasures of the flesh as much as the rest of us.”

“So you did have an affair with her?”

“If you mean by that did she ever sleep with me, the answer is yes. If you’re really interested, so do lots of other women, though I can’t see what in the hell it has to do with you.”

“Did you know she was a junkie — that she was mainlining on heroin?”

“Good heavens, no.”

“Not good enough. You didn’t even bother to look surprised.” Miller shook his head. “You’re a liar.”

Something glowed deep in Vernon’s eyes. “Am I?”

Miller gripped the edge of the desk to keep his hands from shaking. “I know this girl, Vernon. The first time I clapped eyes on her, she was floating off the central quay two feet under the surface and yet I know more about her now than I do about my own sister. She was a sweet, shy girl, a little bit introverted, interested only in her work. To use an old-fashioned word for these times, she was a lady — a term that wouldn’t mean a damned thing to you in spite of Eton, Sandhurst and the Guards.”

“Is that a fact now,” Vernon said softly.

“You’re from under a stone, Vernon, did you know that?” Miller said. “Now let me tell you what really happened between you and Joanna Craig. She was brought to one of your parties by an old student friend and she must have looked as fresh as the flowers in spring compared to the usual rubbish you keep around. You wanted her, but she didn’t want you and that wasn’t good enough for the great Maxwell Vernon because what he wants he takes. You got her boozed up and gave her a fix and from then on she was hooked because she had to have one every day of the week and that meant coming to you — accepting your terms. That’s the terrible thing about addiction to heroin. There’s no degradation to which the victim won’t stoop to get the stuff and you must have been just about as low as she could get.”

Vernon’s face was white, the eyes burning. “Have you quite finished?”

“I’ll let you know when I have. When you’d had enough, you threw her out and then last night she forced her way into your party to beg you to help her because she was going to have a baby. You laughed in her face, Vernon. You told her there was always the river and she took you at your word.” Miller straightened up and took a deep breath. “I’m going to get you for that.”

“Are you now?” Vernon said calmly. “Well let me tell you something, Mr. Bloody Miller. I knew a girl called Joanna Craig just like I know a hell of a lot of other girls. She painted some murals in the main casino downstairs. You or anyone else can see them whenever you like. Anything else is pure phantasy. You try bringing it out in an open court and I’ll knock you down so hard you’ll never get up again. Now I’m giving you one minute to get out of here or I’m calling my lawyer and you know what that means.”

“Perfectly,” Miller said. “It means you’re frightened to death.” He smiled coldly. “See you in court, Vernon.”

He turned and nodded to Brady who opened the door and they went out. For a while Vernon sat there staring into space and then he lifted the ’phone and pushed a button.

“Is that you, Ben?” he said. “Send Stratton up right away. I’ve got a little job for him.”

Monica Grey came out of the bathroom listlessly. She’d hoped a good hot tub would make her feel better. Instead, she felt depressed, drained of all energy. How she was going to get through the long night at the Flamingo, she didn’t know.

The knock, when it came, was so faint that at first she thought she’d imagined it. She hesitated, fastening the belt of her robe quickly, and it sounded again.

When she opened the door, she had a vague impression of someone standing there, of an arm sweeping up and then liquid splashed across her face. She staggered back, a scream rising in her throat, her hands covering her eyes as they began to burn. She was aware of the door closing and then a hand slammed against her shoulder, spinning her round so that she fell across the bed.

Someone laughed coldly and fingers fastened in her hair, jerking her head back painfully. “Come on now, dearie, open up for Uncle Billy.”

She opened her eyes, aware that the smarting had somehow eased, and looked into Billy Stratton’s white, bloodless face. Only his lips had any colour and he smiled showing a row of sharp, even teeth.

“Water, dearie, mixed with a little disinfectant to make your eyes sting. Just imagine what it could have been — vitriol, for instance.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “You’d have been blind now.”

She was absolutely terrified and lay there staring up at him in horror as he patted her on the cheek. “You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you? You’ve been talking to the wrong people. Mr. Vernon doesn’t like that — he doesn’t like that at all. Now get your clothes on. You’re coming with me.”

It was almost dusk when Miller turned the Cooper in through the gates of the house in Grange Avenue and braked to a halt at the bottom of the steps leading up to the front door. It had been a long day and he was so tired that he sat at the wheel for a moment before getting out.

When he rang the bell, the door was opened by Jenny, the young maid, and her eyes were red and swollen from weeping. “Sergeant Miller,” she said. “You’d better come in.”

“There was a message for me at Headquarters,” Miller said. “Apparently Colonel Craig called at the Mortuary to view his daughter’s body. I understand he’d like to see me.”

“The Colonel and Miss Harriet are out walking in the garden,” Jenny said. “I’ll get him for you.”

“That’s all right,” Miller told her. “I’ll find him for myself.”

It was cold in the garden and rooks cawed uneasily in the bare branches of the beech trees as he crossed the lawn already damp with the evening dew. Somewhere there was a low murmur of voices above the rattle of a small stream over stones and then a familiar voice called to him on the quiet air. “Over here, Sergeant Miller.”

Harriet Craig leaned against the rail of a tiny rustic bridge. The man who stood with her was perhaps a shade under six feet in height with iron grey hair cut close to his skull.

The eyes were very calm above high cheekbones. For a moment they considered Miller and then he held out his hand. “It was good of you to come so quickly.”

There was an extraordinary impression of vitality about him, of controlled force that Miller found strangely disturbing. He must have been at least forty-eight or — nine and yet he carried himself with the easy confidence of a man half his age.

“Your message said that you’d like to talk things over with me,” Miller said. “I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

“I’ve seen your Superintendent Grant,” Colonel Craig said. “He gave me as comprehensive a report as he could, but felt that the full details would be better coming from you.” He hesitated and then went on, “I believe Harriet gave you some indication of the trouble we were having with Joanna.”