Jack Higgins - Dark Side of the Street

"Now please go, young man," Rosa Hartman said.

Chavasse paused, frowning, the card between his fingers. There was something wrong here-something very wrong and then the dog stood up and growled softly. Chavasse took a cautious step backwards. If there was one dog on earth capable of killing a man, it was a Dobermann Pincher. Once launched on target, only a machine gun would stop it.

"You can let yourself out," she said. "Karl will see you to the door."

The Dobermann moved forward at once as if it understood every word she said and Chavasse took the hint. "I'd like to thank you, Madam Hartman. You've been of very real assistance to me."

"That remains to be seen, young man," she said calmly. "Now go."

There was a public telephone box at the end of the lane and he went inside and dialled Bureau headquarters in London quickly. He was through within a matter of seconds and asked for Mallory. A moment later, Janet Frazer's voice sounded on the line.

"I'm afraid Mr. Mallory isn't available. This is his secretary speaking. Can I help?"

"Janet-Paul here." There was a sudden sharp intake of breath at the other end. "Where is he?"

"Foreign Office-a NATO intelligence conference. Where are you?"

"Shrewsbury and hot on the trail. Ever heard of a place called Phenge?"

"No, but I can soon look it up for you." She was back within a couple of minutes. "Just outside Gloucester."

"That's where we're making for now. The whole thing's going perfectly so far. From now on I must have Mallory standing by. Next time I ring, it could be to give him the news he's been waiting for and I'll probably only have seconds."

"I'll tell him."

"Good girl. I'll have to be off."

"Look after yourself."

"Don't worry about me. I'll challenge the gods and make a date with you for next Wednesday. We'll do a show and go on to the Saddle Room afterwards."

"I'll look forward to that."

He dropped the receiver and hurried along the road through the heavy rain. When he reached the lay-by, the girl was sitting in the van and Youngblood was standing by the truck smoking. He moved to meet Chavasse quickly.

"What happened?"

"Nothing much. She gave me this card."

Youngblood read it and looked up quickly. "Was she on the level?"

"How in the hell would I know?"

"Then we could be walking into trouble."

"Naturally."

Youngblood nodded thoughtfully. "On the other hand they're not going to scream for a copper, are they? That's the last thing they'll want to do."

"Exactly," Chavasse said. "Which makes it a nice private fight."

There was an old A.A. book in the Ford and Youngblood leafed through it quickly. "Phenge is just outside Gloucester," he announced. "That's about seventy-five miles. We could be there in a couple of hours if we used the Ford."

"Just what I was thinking," Chavasse said. "I noticed a gate barring a cart track into a wood a little way back. If we ran the truck in there, it could stand for a day or two before anyone discovered it, especially in this weather."

"Fine," Youngblood said. "I'll handle this. You follow on in the Ford."

He was suddenly like a kid on an outing, cheerful and smiling as he clambered up into the truck and drove away.

"He's certainly pleased with life, isn't he?" Chavasse said as he slid behind the wheel of the Ford.

The girl blushed, looking for a moment almost pretty and he was suddenly reminded of an old Breton saying. Love makes even an ugly woman beautiful ….

My God, as if this business wasn't complicated enough. He sighed heavily as he released the handbrake and drove away.

As the front door closed behind Chavasse, Simon Vaughan stepped from behind the floor length velvet curtain at the window and came towards the table.

"Glad you were sensible, old girl. I think the whole thing went off very well, don't you?"

"That depends entirely on your point of view."

"He was lying of course-about being on his own, I mean. That was quite obvious. I suppose Youngblood was waiting at the end of the lane to see what happened. Do you mind if I use the phone?"

"You used me. How can I stop you using my phone?"

"Now don't be like that." He dialled a number, long distance on STD and cut in the moment he heard a voice at the other end. "Hugo? Just to confirm your two packages are on the way. Yes, the full treatment. I'll see you later."

He put down the telephone, took out his gloves and pulled them on. "I must be off. I'll be seeing you, Rosa."

The Dobermann brushed past him like a dark shadow and nuzzled her hand. She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Now don't be silly," he said. "You've been living here on a false passport since 1946-on a false identity, which is even worse. A word in the right quarter …"

"You mistake me," she said. "It isn't that I've grown brave all of a sudden. I'm too old for the kind of courage that would take. I simply meant that you wouldn't be seeing me again."

He was obviously curious. "May I ask why?"

"Because you are going to die," she said simply.

He stared at her, that slight fixed smile firmly in place. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"I have another kind of sight, Mr. Smith or whatever your name is. Death has already marked you out. I can feel it."

And he believed her, that was the strange thing. She knew quite suddenly that he believed her completely and a shiver ran down her spine as he started to laugh.

"You're bad luck, old woman. Why shouldn't I send you on before me?"

He produced the spring blade knife with which he had murdered Crowther and the blade jumped out of his fist with an audible click.

The Dobermann growled, the hair lifting on its neck and she patted it soothingly. "Because Karl would kill you first."

"Proving your prediction in the process? What an admirable pet." Vaughan chuckled as he folded the knife and slipped it back into his pocket. "No, Rosa, we mustn't make it too easy for you. Death must find me-I'll not go looking for him. We've met before. He knows my face."

She heard him go along the corridor outside, whistling tunelessly to himself and the door banged. Somewhere, a small trapped wind circled the room looking for a way out, then died in a corner.

It was very quiet in the embalming room and Hugo Pentecost worked alone, his rubber apron smeared with blood. There was no need for him to engage in the more practical work of the establishment, but he liked to keep his hand in and in any case, there was always a certain pleasure to be derived from a job well done.

The cadaver on which he was engaged was that of a young woman and he was in the process of withdrawing her viscera. It was usual to wear rubber gloves, but Pentecost never could, preferring the additional sensitivity to be found in bare hands.

He had successfully removed the contents of the abdomen and was now on the throat, whistling softly, his arms dappled with blood up to the elbows.

The door opened behind him and a tall gaunt man with sunken cheeks and dull eyes came in. Like Pentecost he wore a heavy rubber apron.

"Anything I can do, Mr. Pentecost?"

"I'm all through here for tonight, George," Pentecost said. "Her cranium will have to wait till tomorrow. I've got rather a lot of paperwork to get through. Help me put her in the tank, will you?"

He hosed the body down quickly, flushing away the blood and they lifted her between them into a large glass tank of formaldehyde. The body slid under the surface with a soft splash and turned over several times before settling a foot or so from the bottom, the long hair fanning out in a most lifelike manner.

"A shame, isn't it, Mr. Pentecost?" George said. "She was really beautiful."