James Chase - You Have Yourself a Deal

Girland drew in a long, slow breath.

“Think you would get it?”

“It is possible.”

“The whole affair would be arranged without publicity?”

“That is also possible.”

“It would have to be.”

Again Yew regarded Girland.

“My friend,” he said, “I can’t believe you are wasting your time talking this way unless you know more than you are telling me. Why not be frank? You can trust me. I am your friend. Are you acting for Kung? Does he really want to sell his pearl?”

Girland got to his feet.

“Don’t let’s rush this, Jacques,” he said. “Thanks for the information. If you had the pearl, you could sell it for three million dollars... right?”

Yew touched his temple with a silk handkerchief.

“Yes.”

“Fine... I’ll be seeing you.” Girland shook hands and walked out of the shop.

He was in a very thoughtful mood as he drove back to Eze.

... In the shabby villa at Cagnes, Malik paced up and down.

“What is happening to the fool?” he demanded, his voice vicious with rage. “He has been gone three hours! What is he doing?”

Smernoff sighed and dragged his eyes away from a suntanned girl in a white bikini who was running down to the sea.

“The traffic is bad,” he said. “It would take an hour to get up the Corniche and an hour to get back. Don’t be so impatient.” He pointed. “That girl... look at the length of her legs. She is really very pleasing. I would like to...”

“Shut up!” Malik barked. “Go and look for him, Boris. Go up to the Corniche and find out what he is doing!”

Smernoff recognised the dangerous note in Malik’s voice. He got to his feet and moved to the door.

“It will take me some time, but I will go,” he said.

Impatiently, Malik waved him away. When Smernoff had gone, Malik sat in the chair Smernoff had been using. He looked out onto the beach. The girl in the white bikini was walking along the beach, swinging her bathing cap.

Malik watched her.

O’Halloran came into Dorey’s office. He carried a blue and white suitcase which he put on a chair.

“This is hers,” he said as Dorey put aside a file and got to his feet. “The hotel had it in their left luggage office. She told them she would collect it later.”

“I thought you said there were two suitcases?” Dorey said.

“There were. I haven’t traced the other yet. There’s nothing of interest in this one. Just clothes. I’ve been through it. Good, expensive stuff, but nothing to help us.”

Dorey showed his disappointment. He shrugged and sat down.

“How about the second suitcase?”

“Could be anywhere. We are working with Dulay and he is having every left luggage locker checked and is checking all left luggage offices. It’s a big job. Could take days.”

“How did she register at the hotel?”

“As Naomi Hill from Los Angeles. There is no doubt she is the woman. I showed the staff at the hotel her photograph. They immediately recognised her.”

“How about her passport?”

“The reception clerk didn’t see it. She told him her passport was in her luggage. She took the police card and filled it in herself. I’m checking the passport number. It’s certain to be a false one.”

“Doesn’t look as if she had lost her memory at that time, does it?” Dorey said thoughtfully. “Looks as if she was on the run.”

“I suppose we are sure she really has lost her memory?” O’Halloran said.

“Dr. Forrester seems certain about it. She might be faking.” Dorey sat for a moment in thought. “I’ll talk to Girland. In the meantime if you are sure there is nothing in the suitcase of value, you had better put it on a plane and let her have it.”

“There’s nothing.”

“Well, then do that.” Dorey reached for the telephone. Ten minutes later, he was talking to Girland. He told him one of the suitcases had been found.

“There’s nothing of interest in it for us,” Dorey went on. “I’m having it sent down to the Nice Airport. You can get someone to collect it. O’Halloran and I have been talking about this woman.” He went on to tell Girland that she had registered under the name of Naomi Hill of Los Angeles. “We are wondering if she really has lost her memory or is faking. I want you to lay a trap for her.”

“Such as how?” Girland asked, reaching for a cigarette.

“Call her Naomi. Watch her closely. See if you get any reaction,” Dorey said. “Do you want me to send someone down there to handle it?”

Girland, thinking about the Black Grape, said, “No. I can handle it. Give me an hour or so. I’ll think what is best to do. I have an idea she isn’t faking, but you might be right,” and he hung up.

Ginny, who had been listening to all this, said, “She isn’t faking, Mark. I am quite sure of it. I’ve had a loss of memory case before now. There is this lost, vague look m the eyes that can’t be faked.”

Girland smiled at her.

“I don’t think she is faking. My boss was born suspicious. I’m going up to talk to her. Why don’t you go out on the terrace and top up your beautiful suntan?”

Ginny looked at him, then nodded.

“All right.” She paused, then went on, “She is lovely, isn’t She?”

He crossed the room and put his arms around her.

“So are you, Ginny. You have something she hasn’t.”

Ginny touched his cheek with her finger.

“What is that?”

“I’ll tell you tonight.”

She moved away from him. Girland watched her. She wandered to the french windows leading out onto the terrace, paused, then looked at him.

“All right... then tell me tonight,” she said and walked out into the hot sunshine.

Jo-Jo was feeling the heat. He had already drunk half the bottle of wine Ruby had given him, and he now decided it had been a mistake to drink wine. It only made him hotter. He should have brought Coca Cola. He had taken off his dirty, cotton coat and had rolled up his black shirtsleeves. Sweat sparkled on his narrow forehead as he shifted further into the shade. He had been up on the mountain now for four hours and the terrace had been deserted for all this time. He pulled the haversack towards him, looked into it and took out a demi — bagette, split in two and filled with ham and garlic sausage. He gnawed a piece off, wiped the sweat from his face and began chewing. The rifle across his knees felt hot. Suddenly he stiffened. He spat out the half-eaten lump of bread and lifted the rifle.

Here she was, and at last! he thought as far below him a blonde girl came out onto the terrace. She had on a skimpy sun suit and she sat on one of the lounging chairs. She began to spray her arms with a suntan bomb.

Jo-Jo, his mouth now dry, his body tense, lifted the rifle and peered at the girl through the telescopic sight. He had been told the woman was blonde. He knew the nurse was brunette. So this must be Erica Olsen. His lips came off his discoloured teeth and he held his breath as the cross section of the sight centred on the girl’s forehead. She had paused and was looking down into the garden, motionless. Jo-Jo knew he was being offered the perfect target. Very gently, still holding his breath, he squeezed the trigger.

Had Pfc Willy Jackson not been a light heavyweight champion, his life could easily have been made unbearable by the kidding and leg-pulling of his companions. But since Jackson could lick any man in his battalion, and since he was in an ugly and sullen mood, no one attempted to kid him about the way he had let the Commies walk off with this Swedish chick.

Jackson had recovered consciousness with a bruised and swollen jaw in the Bois. He had been reprimanded and was now on sentry detail at Dorey’s villa, the bruise on his jaw turning a pale yellow and green.