Colin Forbes: Terminal

`No. Should I?'

'Surprising Linda didn't mention him. Grange was on a lecture tour of the States – drumming up business was my impression. And from the moment Linda met him she treated him as her guru.'

`Guru?' Newman looked at the kindly but shrewd face of Rosen. 'I thought you used that word for some Indian fakir who offers salvation – provided you obey the gospel…'

`That's right,' agreed Rosen. 'Grange is into cellular rejuvenation – something the Swiss have practised for years. We're still not convinced. Maybe we're old-fashioned. But Grange certainly gathered in some disciples on that tour – always rich, of course.'

Newman turned sideways to study his guest. `I'm sorry, I'm not sure I'm following this. You're trying to tell me something, is that it?'

`I suppose so.' Rosen accepted a refill. He seemed to mellow outside the Medical Center. Maybe it was the relaxing atmosphere of the Tack Room, Newman thought. Rosen went on. 'Some of what I'm saying may not be strictly ethical – could even be taken for criticism of a professional colleague – but we are talking about a foreigner. I suspect Grange's clinic is full of wealthy patients he attracted during his tour. Two carrots – one for relatives, one for the seriously ill patient.' He smiled ruefully. 'You know something, Newman? I think I'm talking too much…'

`I'm still listening. Sometimes it's good to get things off your chest.'

Newman watched Rosen with an attentive expression. It was part of his stock-in-trade as foreign correspondent – people often opened out to him when they wouldn't say the same things to their wives or colleagues – especially their wives.

`Linda Wayne,' Rosen continued, 'went overboard with Professor Grange the way a drowning woman grasps at a floating spar. He was the answer to her prayer – to get Jesse Kennedy far away, as far away as possible. The carrot Grange offers is to take sick relatives off the hands of their nearest and dearest. The price is high, but like I said, he deals only with the very wealthy. The carrot to the sick patient is the hope of cellular rejuvenation, a new chance at life. I suppose it's a brilliant formula.'

`The carrot worked with a man like Jesse Kennedy?'

`There you put your finger on the key, what's worrying me.' Rosen sipped at his drink and Newman carefully remained silent. 'If Jesse had leukaemia he'd face up to it – but no way would he be into cellular rejuvenation. Did you know he once did a job for the CIA? It was over ten years ago when we had German pilots being trained by our people at a secret air base out in the desert. A very tough CIA operative came down to cooperate with Jesse. Can't recall his name. Linda Wayne fooled around with him. Now I am talking too much…'

`What exactly did Jesse do?'

`He used to ride his horse for miles by himself in the desert every day. They gave him a camera. One morning he spotted a German pilot handing an envelope to a stranger who stopped his car on 1 10 – Interstate Highway 10 which runs all the way from LA to Florida. The stranger came after Jesse with a gun…' Rosen smiled, a dreamy look on his face.

`That was very foolish of him. Jesse rode him down with his horse, the CIA man turned up and one German pilot disappeared for ever. The CIA man shot the stranger. Jesse told me about it years later..

`You said "If Jesse had leukaemia…" '

`Slip of the tongue. You think a man like Jesse would crawl off to Switzerland when he loved the desert? A man who started from nothing and parleyed a bank loan into twelve million dollars?'

`Just how did he do it?'

`Vision. He was a crystal ball gazer – he looked into the future. When he came to Tucson from Texas over twenty years ago he guessed Tucson would expand one day. He bought options on land outside the city limits – and when that increased in value he used the extra collateral to buy more and more land further and further out.

`So,' Newman commented, 'Linda is worth eight million dollars when Jesse goes and Nancy gets four million?'

`His will is common knowledge. He made no secret of it. And if anything happened to Nancy first, then Linda collects the whole twelve million. Maybe you see why it worries me – that kind of money at stake.' Rosen played with his empty glass. 'No thanks. Two is my limit. You know, Newman, I thought you'd be just the man to check out this mystery. You cracked the Kruger espionage case in Germany – I read the book you wrote afterwards. That must have made you a pile…'

`Not four million dollars,' Newman said shortly.

`Oh! Now I get it – I sensed you couldn't make up your mind about marrying Nancy. The money worries you, which is to your credit. I still think you ought to go to Berne…'

`Now you sound like Nancy. She never stops…'

`Argue against her and it will just make her more determined.' Rosen smiled again. 'Or maybe you've found that out?'

`We've had our moments. Jesus, look what just walked in…'

`Harvey Wayne, Linda's husband. He's into electronics, as you doubtless know. He's another one greedy for a dollar…'

Rosen stopped talking as a fat, pasty-faced man in his early forties came over to them. He was wearing a cream-coloured dinner jacket, dark trousers and the oily smile Newman found so distasteful. He put an arm round the Englishman's shoulder.

`Hi, pal! Hear you and that cute sister-in-law of mine will soon be in Berne. Give my regards to that old coot, Jesse.. `You heard what?'

Newman's tone was cold. He glanced at his shoulder and Harvey reluctantly moved his hand. He gave Rosen a throwaway gesture of resignation with his hand, then shrugged.

`Did I say something I ought not to have?'

`You haven't answered my question,' Newman replied.

`You're not rousting Dr Rosen the way you did Frank Chase, I hope.' Harvey looked towards the entrance and smiled again. 'We have company. You have the opportunity- of getting a direct answer to your question.

Linda, wearing an off-the-shoulder cocktail dress and a come-hither smile, had entered the Tack Room and was heading towards them, her innocent eyes staring straight at Newman. Beside her walked Nancy, a few inches shorter, dressed in a cream blouse and a midnight blue skirt. Heads turned as the two women progressed across the room. Newman stood up, his expression bleak.

`Let's go somewhere quiet,' he said to Nancy. 'We have to talk and I do mean now…'

The blazing row took place in the lobby, carried on in low tones so the receptionist couldn't hear them. Newman opened the conversation, treading warily at first.

`I'm sure that creep, Harvey, has got it wrong. He's just told me we're going to Berne…'

`I have the tickets, Bob.' Nancy produced two folders from her handbag and handed them to him. 'It's a very direct route. An American Airlines 727 from Tucson to Dallas. One hour stopover in Dallas. Then an eight-hour flight – again American Airlines – to Gatwick in England from Dallas. The last lap is by Dan-Air from Gatwick to Belp. That's the airport just outside Berne…'

`I have actually heard of Belp,' Newman replied with deceptive calm.

`We take off on tomorrow's flight…'

`I can actually read an airline ticket…'

`Somebody had to take a decision.' She looked pleased with herself. 'And I've just got out of Linda that Jesse didn't go that route. He was flown to Belp by private jet…'

`So?'

`Jesse was careful with money. If he'd agreed to go he'd have travelled in a wheelchair on a scheduled flight rather than hire a jet. Don't you think I've done rather well'?'

`You'd have done a bloody sight better to consult me first. How do you think I felt when your louse of a brother-in-law comes up to me in front of Rosen to give me this news?'

`Really? Linda must have phoned him at the office. He was working late. She's planned a farewell dinner for us here…'