Brian Freemantle - Here Comes Charlie M

Again the underwriter made the gesture of helplessness. Another repeated question.

‘There was an address abroad … Switzerland …’

‘The Zurich police have already checked, on our behalf,’ said Hardiman. ‘There hasn’t been anyone at the apartment for several days.’

‘Then sorry, no,’ said Willoughby. So far, he knew he’d kept the concern from his voice. But it was becoming increasingly difficult.

‘You will tell us, the moment there is any contact, won’t you?’ said Law.

‘Of course,’ Willoughby agreed. ‘And I’d appreciate any news that you might get. I don’t like the thought of my being involved in something that could be questionable.’

‘We will,’ said Law, finally opening the door. He paused, looking back at the underwriter.

‘The moment there is any contact,’ he reiterated.

‘I understand,’ said Willoughby.

‘Well?’ demanded the superintendent, as they settled into the back of the car that had brought them from Brighton.

‘I don’t know,’ said Hardiman, reflectively. ‘According to the checks we asked the Fraud Squad to make, the firm is so straight you could draw lines by it.’

Law nodded.

‘Exactly the sort of screen you’ try to hide behind if you were a villain,’ said Law.

‘Exactly,’ agreed Hardiman. ‘But without the principals being aware of it.’

‘So we’re not much farther forward,’ said the superintendent.

‘What are we going to do?’

Law considered the question.

‘Request a meeting with the Chief Constable and if he’s agreeable, tomorrow call as big a press conference as possible and name our mystery man as someone to help in our inquiries. It will be the only way to bring him out.’

‘The only way,’ concurred Hardiman, dutifully.

John Packer was always ready to move at short notice; regarded it as part of being a professional. He’d been late learning of the Faberge recovery, getting the first hint from a newspaper poster about a jewel haul and then confirming it from the car radio.

He’d approached the house cautiously, alert for any signs that the police were waiting for him. Satisfied, he hadn’t bothered to turn off the ignition while he collected his share of the Brighton and Mayfair bank robbery money from the concealed floor-mounted safe in the basement and packed a case.

He’d go north, he decided. He wasn’t known in Manchester and it was a big enough place in which to get lost. He was surprised that none of the reports had referred to arrests; he’d have to watch the newspapers closely for the next few days, to establish if he were safe, before attempting a quick flight to the Continent Amsterdam, he decided. Nice people in Amsterdam.

What had happened to the man with the star-shaped scar? he wondered. He must have been nicked, Pity. He’d been bloody good. Odd. But still good.

The meal had been unexciting, but neither Charlie nor Edith had noticed. There had been long periods without conversation, when they’d just stared at each other and twice, aware of the waiter’s amused attention, Edith had looked away embarrassed, telling Charlie to stop.

There was still wine left in the half-bottle that he had ordered as the meal began and when the waiter enquired about brandy with the coffee, Charlie refused.

Edith smiled, gratefully.

‘Seems like everything has turned out all right,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ agreed Charlie, holding the glass in front of him. ‘That’s over too.’

‘You are sure, aren’t you, Charlie?’ she asked, expanding the question with sudden urgency. ‘Nothing can go wrong now, can it?’

Charlie reached across, squeezing her hand. She was still frightened, he decided, remembering the doubt with which she had given him the passports at the hotel.

‘Willoughby’s firm was one of the major Lloyd’s insurers,’ he said. ‘So he was able to be present when the collection was returned to the Russians … to ask questions without the interest appearing strange. He’s never known such official embarrassment.’

‘But …?’ she started.

‘And I personally saw the surveillance lifted from you.’

She gazed at him, coffee suspended before her.

‘What?’ she said. Her voice was hollowed out with nervousness.

‘There was a team of men assigned to you,’ he said gently. ‘American. I followed them back to the airport … they’ll be gone by now.’

‘I never knew.’

‘You weren’t supposed to.’

Edith shivered.

‘Let’s get away from here, Charlie.’

‘There’s still the Brighton robbery,’ he said, calmly. ‘And Mayfair, too, although I’m not linked with that as far as the police are concerned.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘That we can’t get out, not immediately. I know who did them, apart from Snare. We can leak the man’s name to the police through Willoughby’s insurance outlets, like we did that of Wilberforce and Snare with the Faberge collection.’

‘It won’t be long, will it, Charlie?’

‘Just days, that’s all,’ he said. ‘A week at the most.’

‘Then what?’

‘Anywhere you choose,’ he said. He put the wine glass down, feeling for her hand again.

‘Let’s go home to bed,’ he said.

She answered the pressure of his fingers.

‘And I won’t fail you there, either,’ he added. ‘Not this time.’

‘That’s not important,’ said the woman. ‘Having you safely back with me, that’s important.’

His training had been never to leave a vehicle in a car park, where there was a risk of being boxed in and trapped and Charlie had responded automatically, putting the mini on the edge of an annexe area, immediately adjoining the main road.

He had had to wait at the exit of the restaurant, to receive his change and tip the waiter and so Edith was about five yards ahead of him, walking towards the car, when he left the hotel.

She turned for him to catch up and because it was darker than in the main parking area he didn’t at first see the terror spreading over her face. Fear drained the strength from her voice, so the warning came out as little more than a gasp, hardly reaching him at first.

‘Charlie,’ she said. ‘Please God, no, Charlie.’

She came towards him, arms thrown out pleadingly and it was the movement that completely alerted him. She was staring beyond him, eyes bulged, Charlie realised. He turned back towards the hotel as the woman reached him and saw perfectly in the brighter light Garson Ruttgers spread over the bonnet of the car, his whole body supported, arms triangled out in the officially taught shooting position, left hand clamped against the right wrist to minimise the recoil from the gun.

It took seconds but seemed to unfold in an agonisingly slow motion. The need to snatch up Edith and run fixed itself firmly in his mind and stayed there, isolated, and he wondered why he couldn’t react and do such a simple thing.

Then Edith collided with him from behind and he reached out to support her, recognising as he did so that Ruttgers was going to shoot.

The lined, sharp face that Charlie remembered so well from the Kalenin affair tightened against the expected noise and the gun moved up slightly and Charlie even identified it as a heavy weapon, a.375 Magnum.

The explosion and the shock of the impact appeared simultaneous and almost immediately there was the roar of a second shot. Charlie tried to breathe, but couldn’t because of the biting pain which numbed his lungs from smashing backwards against the bordering stones of the forecourt. Edith was lying on top of him and he didn’t see Ruttgers move. He heard the sound of the car engine, though, and tried to get out from beneath the woman’s body and it was then he realised that she was quite motionless and stopped pushing at her.