Jack Higgins - Brought in Dead

“You’re late,” Harriet said.

“Sorry about that. I must be getting old.”

She chuckled. “That’ll be the day. Everything go off okay?”

“Couldn’t be better. I won’t be home just yet, by the way. I want to finish the details on the vibrator modification in time for the staff conference tomorrow.”

“How long will you be?”

“Another couple of hours should do it.”

“I’ll have some supper waiting.”

He replaced the receiver, went into the washroom, scrubbed the filth from his body and changed quickly. He had hardly returned to the other room when there was a knock on the door and George came in.

“Hell of a fuss going on up the road, sir. Don’t know what it’s all about, but everybody seems to be there. Fire, police — the lot.”

“Go and have a look if you like,” Craig said.

“Sure you don’t mind, sir?”

“Not at all. I’d be interested to know what’s happening myself.”

He sat down at the drawing board and picked up his slide-rule and George went out quickly.

Miller and Grant stood by the ashes of the fire and surveyed the scene. The Fire Brigade had left, but the big black van that was known throughout the Department as the Studio was parked just inside the gates and the boys from Forensic were already getting to work on the truck.

“So no one was around when the first car got here?” Grant asked, for he had only just arrived on the scene and was seeking information.

“That’s right, sir. Whoever was here must have cleared off pretty sharpish. Of course the fire was bound to attract attention.”

“What about the truck?”

“Hi-jacked two days ago on the A1 near Wetherby. Carrying a consignment of export Scotch to the London Docks. Valued at £30,000.”

Grant whistled softly. “That’s going to bring the county’s crime figures down a bit. And you say you didn’t recognise the informer’s voice?” he added incredulously.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, all I can say is you’ve got a good snout there, by God.”

Jack Brady emerged from the factory and came towards them, an open document in one hand. “We’ve found the lease on this place in a filing cabinet in the office, sir,” he said. “It’s made out in the name of Frank O’Connor. The property’s been made the subject of a demolition order so it’s owned by the city. O’Connor’s a citizen of Eire by the way.”

“And probably on his way back there as fast as he can run at this very moment,” Grant observed and turned to Miller. “You’re sure the snout mentioned Vernon’s name?”

“Absolutely.”

“Doesn’t make sense then, does it?”

“It does if O’Connor was just a front man.”

“I suppose so. Just try proving that and see where it gets you. I know one thing — if it is Vernon’s place then someone certainly has it in for him.” He glanced at his watch. “My God, it’s almost eleven. Too late for me. See you two in the morning.”

He moved away and Brady turned to Miller. “Ready to go, Nick? Not much more we can do here.”

“You know, Grant’s right,” Miller said. “Whoever set this little lot up for us must really have it in for Vernon. Hang on a minute. I want to make a ’phone call.”

“Checking on someone?”

“That’s right — Duncan Craig.”

“Not that again, Nick,” Brady groaned. “Why don’t you leave it alone?”

Miller ignored him and went to the ’phone box on the corner. Harriet Craig sounded cool and impersonal. “Harriet Craig speaking.”

“Nick Miller.”

“Hello, Nick.” There was a new warmth in her voice. “When are you coming round to finish your supper?”

“Almost any day now. I’m just waiting for the crime figures to fall. Is your father in? I’d like a word with him.”

“I’m sorry, he isn’t. He’s working late tonight. Was it important?”

“Not really. I’ve got a rest day Saturday and I thought he might be interested in a game of golf.”

“I’m sure he would. Shall I tell him to give you a call?”

“Yes, you do that. I’ll have to go now, Harriet, we’re having a hard night.”

“Poor Nick.” She laughed. “Don’t forget to keep in touch.”

“How could I?”

He replaced the receiver and went back to Brady. “Now there’s a thing — guess where Craig is at this very moment? Working late at the factory.”

“Gulf Electronics is only just down the road,” Brady said. “The big new block. You can see it from here. There’s a light in one of the top-floor offices.”

As Miller turned, the light went out. “Let’s take a look.”

“Suit yourself,” Brady said as they moved to the car. “But I think you’re making a big mistake.”

As they drove away there was a low rumble of thunder in the distance and quite suddenly, the light rain which had been falling steadily for the past hour turned into a solid driving downpour. The main gates of Gulf Electronics stood open and Miller pulled into the side of the road and switched off.

At the same moment, the glass entrance doors opened and Duncan Craig appeared, the night guard at his side with the Alsatian.

“That’s old George Brown,” Brady said. “Sergeant in ‘B’ Division for years. Got himself a nice touch there.”

Brown went back inside, locking the doors, and Craig stood at the top of the steps, belting his raincoat and pulling on his gloves. He turned up his collar, went down the steps and hurried into the darkness of the car park. A second later, two men moved out of the shadows at the side of the door and went after him.

“I don’t like the look of that one little bit,” Miller said, wrenching open the door. “Come on!”

He turned in through the gates, running hard, and from somewhere in the darkness of the car park there came a scream.

Duncan Craig had almost reached his car when he heard the rush of feet through the darkness behind and swung round. A fist lifted into his face as he ducked and he staggered back against the car, flinging himself to one side. One of his assailants raised an iron bar two-handed above his head and brought it down with such force that he dented the roof of the Jaguar.

A razor gleamed in the diffused light from the street lamps on the other side of the railings and he warded off the descending blow with a left block, and kicked the man sharply in the stomach so that he screamed in agony.

There was another rush of feet through the darkness and Miller and Brady arrived. The man with the iron bar started to turn and Brady delivered a beautiful right to the jaw that had all his fourteen stone behind it.

There was a sudden silence and Craig laughed. “Right on time. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

Miller snapped the cuffs on the man who was lying on the ground and hauled him to his feet. “Anyone you know, Jack?”

Brady held the other one against Craig’s car. “They’re not off our patch, that’s certain. Specially imported I shouldn’t wonder.”

Miller turned on Craig savagely. “Maybe you’ll listen to reason from now on.” He sent his prisoner staggering into the darkness in front of him. “Come on, Jack, let’s take them in.”

Craig stood there in the darkness without moving until the Cooper had driven away and then he unlocked the door of the Jaguar and climbed behind the driving wheel. He knew something was wrong the moment she refused to start. He tried several times ineffectually, then took a flashlight from the glove compartment, got out and raised the bonnet. The rotor arm had been removed, an obvious precaution in case he’d beaten them into the car. He sighed heavily, dropped the bonnet and moved across to the main gates.

It was only twenty past eleven and there were plenty of late buses about, but in any case, he would be able to get a taxi in City Square. He crossed the road quickly, head down against the driving rain.