Jack Higgins - Brought in Dead

Nick Miller and his brother were having a final drink in front of the fire when she looked in. “It’s for you, Nick. He wouldn’t say who he was. I do hope you don’t have to go out.”

“On a night like this? Not on your life.” He went out into the hall and picked up the ’phone.

“That you, Miller?”

“Yes, who is it?”

“Never mind that. Chatsworth Iron & Steel — they usually keep a couple of hundred thousand in their vault on a Wednesday night, don’t they? You’d better get down there quick. They almost lost it.” There was a hoarse chuckle. “Poor old Maxie. Talk about the best-laid schemes…”

But Miller had already cut him off and was dialling the best-known telephone number in England furiously.

The main C.I.D. office was a hive of industry when Grant entered at two a.m. and Miller got up from his desk and went to meet him.

“Well, this is a turn up for the book and no mistake,” Grant said.

“You’ve had a look at Chatsworth’s, sir?”

“Never seen anything like it. Any chance of a cup of tea?”

Miller nodded to a young D.C. who disappeared at once and they went into Grant’s office.

“What about the guard?”

“I’ve just had a ’phone call from the man I sent with him to the Infirmary. Apparently his coffee was laced with enough chloral hydrate to put him asleep for twelve hours so he still hasn’t come round.”

“Who have we got in the bag?”

“Joe Morgan for one.”

“Have we, by George?” Grant’s eyebrows went up. “We certainly don’t need a scratch sheet on him. One of the best petermen in the game. Was Johnny Martin with him?”

Miller nodded. “That’s right.”

“I thought so — they usually work together. Who else?”

“We found a nasty-looking piece of work lying in the basement passageway. He’d taken quite a beating.”

“Is he okay now?”

“Alive and kicking, but making things awkward for us. Jack Brady’s running his fingerprints through C.R.O. now. We found their transport, by the way, parked in a monumental mason’s yard in Brag Alley at the other end of the tunnel which they used to gain access. No sign of a wheelman.”

“Maybe they didn’t use one.”

“Could be — I’ve put out a general call anyway, just in case.”

The tea arrived and Grant drank some gratefully, warming his hands around the cup. “Fantastic, Nick — that’s the only word for it. This thing was planned to the last inch, you realise that don’t you? They’d have been in London by morning. God knows where after that.”

“Except for an elusive someone who shut the strongroom door on Morgan and Martin and left this other bloke lying unconscious in the passageway.”

“Your informer, presumably. And he mentioned Vernon?”

“As far as I’m concerned he did. Vernon’s the only Maxie I know and planning a job like this would be right up his street.”

Grant emptied his cup and sighed. “I suppose you think it’s Craig?”

“I can’t see who else it could be.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Do I pull him in for questioning?”

“On what charge?” Grant spread his hands. “We’d have to think up a brand-new one just for him.”

“What about accessary before the fact? He knew the caper was coming off — he should have passed on the information to us.”

“I can’t imagine a judge giving him more than a stern wigging for that. Anyway, how could Craig have obtained such detailed information?”

“Simple,” Miller said. “He’s an electronics expert. Directional microphones, transistor transmitters the size of matchboxes, fountain pen receivers. You name it, he’s got it.”

“Nothing illegal in that considering the nature of his business.” Grant shook his head. “Proof, Nick — real proof. That’s what you need. You haven’t got it and you never will have unless I miss my guess.”

“All right,” Miller said. “You win. What about Vernon? Do we bring him in?”

Grant hesitated. “No, let him stew for a while. He’s always covered his tracks perfectly in the past so there’s no reason to think things will be any easier for us this time. If we’re going to get him, it must be through Morgan and his boys. Put two men on watch at his club and leave it at that for the moment.”

Brady knocked on the door and entered, a sheaf of teletype flimsies in his hand. “I thought I’d get the facts on all of them while I was at it. Our awkward friend is a bloke called Jack Fallon — a real tearaway. He’s even done time for manslaughter.”

“He certainly met his match this time,” Grant said.

Miller was reading the reports quickly and he suddenly frowned. “Cable Diamonds — that has a familiar sound.”

“It should have,” Brady said. “It was mentioned in that confidential file on Vernon that we got from C.R.O. in London. Another of the jobs he was supposed to be behind.”

Miller grinned. “You’re going to love this, sir,” he said to Grant and passed one of the flimsies across. “Joe Morgan was nicked for that job after getting clean away. He did five years, but the diamonds were never recovered.”

“He doesn’t seem to be having much luck with Max Vernon, does he?” Brady said.

Grant nodded and got to his feet. “Let’s go and remind him of that fact, shall we?”

From one-thirty onwards Max Vernon knew in his heart that something had gone badly wrong. By two-fifteen he was sure of it. He poured himself a large brandy, went to his desk and flicked one of the switches on the intercom.

“Get in here, Ben.”

The door opened a few moments later and Carver entered. “Yes, Mr. Vernon?”

“Something’s up — they’re way over time. Take the car and go for a drive past Chatsworth’s. See if you can see any action.”

Carver nodded obediently and left and Vernon lit a cigarette and moved across to the fire. He stared down into the flames, a frown on his face. What could have possibly gone wrong? It didn’t make any kind of sense. The thing was foolproof.

The door swung open behind him and Carver came in looking pale and excited. “A couple of coppers out front, Mr. Vernon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain — I can smell ’em a mile away. I’ll show you.”

Vernon followed him out into the corridor and Carver turned into the cloakroom and paused by the window. “I came in for my overcoat. Lucky I didn’t turn on the light.” He pointed across to the sycamore on the other side of the fence beyond the first street lamp. “There, in the shadows.”

“Yes, I’ve got them.”

“What do you think?”

“I think it stinks to high heaven,” Vernon said, and the telephone started to ring in the other room.

He moved back quickly, Carver at his heels, and stood by the desk looking down at the ’phone.

“It’s Morgan,” Carver said. “It has to be. Who else would be ringing in at this time in the morning?”

“We’ll see shall we? You take it on the extension.” Vernon lifted the receiver. “Max Vernon here.”

“That you, old man?” Craig’s voice rang mockingly in his ear. “I’m afraid Joe Morgan and his boys won’t be able to join you after all. They ran into a little trouble.”

Vernon sank down in his chair. “I’ll kill you for this, Craig.”

“You’ve had it,” Craig said cheerfully. “Joe Morgan and his boys are being squeezed dry at this very moment. How long do you think it will be before one of them spills his guts? You’re on borrowed time, Vernon.”

“As long as I’ve enough left for you that’s all I ask,” Vernon said.

“Sorry, old man. I’ve decided to take myself off into the country for a couple of days’ shooting. Nothing like a change of pace. If you want me, you’ll have to come looking.”