James Chase - Mission to Siena

Crantor had been hiding in the back of the car. He had risen up and hit Gina with a sock filled with wet sand. He had struck her on the top of her head, very hard and viciously. She had slumped against Lorelli. Shuddering, Lorelli had pushed her away from her, ancl Crantor, leaning over the front seat, had shoved Gina’s unconscious body off the seat on to the floor.

“Okay,” he said. “Straight ahead. I’ll tell you where to go.”

It had taken them half an hour to reach Risings Lock. It was now a quarter past one. The tow-path was deserted. Crantor got out of the car and stood listening for some moments to the sound of the rain, the gentle movement of the river and the wind in the trees. Then he dragged Gina’s body out of the car, letting it slide on to the wet, muddy tarmac.

“Wait for me,” he said and picking up the unconscious girl, he threw her over his shoulder and walked away into the darkness.

Lorelli waited, her hands pressed to her ears. She couldn’t bear to hear the splash that she knew would follow when Crantor threw Gina into the river. After an interminable time Crantor returned to the car. He was breathing heavily. The front of his dirty trench coat was wet.

“Move over,” he said curtly. “I’ll drive.”

Lorelli slid along the bench seat. Crantor got in under the steering wheel, started the car, turned on the parking lights and drove along the tow-path. After a hundred yards or so, he turned left on to the main road.

He drove fast, heading for London. Neither he nor Lorelli said anything until they came to the main London road, then Crantor said abruptly, “What will you do now?”

“The job’s finished,” Lorelli said. “I’ll go back. I’ll catch the ten o’clock plane to Rome.”

“Is it safe? They’ll be watching the airports.”

“My papers are in order. They won’t recognize me. Of course it’s safe.”

“Don’t be too sure. The cops here are smart.”

“They won’t worry me.”

“You’ll tell Felix I did a good job?” Crantor said.

“Yes, I’ll tell him,” Lorelli said indifferently.

Crantor looked sideways at her.

“You don’t sound enthusiastic. It is important he should know how I handled it.”

“You were well paid,” Lorelli said, staring through the windscreen at the beams of the car’s headlights as they raced ahead of them.

Crantor grunted. He drove for ten minutes or so without speaking, then he said, “Do you want to stay at Polsen’s for the night?”

“I may as well,” she returned.

Again he glanced at her. Then his big, hairy hand dropped on to her trousered knee.

“You and I could be useful to each other,” he said.

She hit the back of his hand hard with her handbag. The steel clip cut the skin. He jerked his hand away, cursing.

“Every man I have had to work with comes out with that proposition,” Lorelli said angrily. “Can’t you be different?”

“Why?” Crantor snarled as he sucked at his bleeding hand. “I’m a man, aren’t I? Just because my face…”

“Oh, shut up!” Lorelli snapped. “You flatter yourself. What’s your face got to do with it?”

Crantor’s hands gripped the steering wheel viciously. He imagined his ringers’ were sinking into her white throat.

They drove on in silence.

It wasn’t until half-past two the following afternoon that Don came down to his study.

Marian was sitting at his desk, busying herself with a pile of unanswered correspondence. She concealed a smile as she watched him amble to his favourite armchair and lower himself into it with a groan.

“What a night!” he exclaimed, clasping his head in his hands.

“I didn’t get to bed until half-past eight this morning. If this goes on much longer I’ll finish up in a home for incurables.”

“It wasn’t so long ago that you told me you didn’t need any sleep,” Marian said, getting up and coming over with a number of letters in her hand. “Will you see your mail now?”

“Most certainly not!” Don said firmly. “I’m not doing a stroke of work today. Put those letters away and sit down. I want to talk to you.”

With a resigned sigh, Marian put the letters on the desk and sat down.

“How’s Julia?” Don asked, struggling with a gigantic yawn.

“She’s better. The doctor says she can see the police tomorrow, and if she continues to make progress she can go home in a week.”

“That’s fine. I’m going to offer her the villa at Nice. She shouldn’t go back to the Hampstead house after what has happened. The change and sun will do her good. I won’t leave London until this murder has been cleared up. Right now, we don’t seem to be getting anywhere.” He went on to tell Marian what had happened the previous night. “So now Gina has vanished. The police are hunting for her, but they haven’t got a thing to go on. Except for the hotel clerk, no one seems to have seen her. This woman with the red hair haunts me. She turns up and vanishes like a ghost.”

“Why was Shapiro murdered?” Marian asked.

“The police had his description. He had to keep under cover. Dicks thinks the gang — he’s convinced there is a gang over here decided he was too big a danger, so they wiped him out.” He reached for a cigarette and lit it. “I’m hanged if I can see how we are going to get anywhere unless we get a lead on the Tortoise himself. Dicks thinks he is in Italy, and I’m inclined to agree with him. The facts

point to it. He uses an Italian weapon. He only attacks Italians, and the red-headed woman is an Italian. Dicks wants me to go to Italy and hunt around for information. He has a pathetic faith in my abilities after the Tregarth business. It’s a cock-eyed idea.’ f can’t go tramping over the whole of Italy in the hope of running into the Tortoise. If I could narrow the hunt down to a town or even a district I’d go, but I just don’t know where to start.”

“I think Siena would be a good starting place,” Marian said.

Don stared at her.

“Siena? Why Siena of all places?”

“I’ve been doing some research,” Marian said quietly. “You told me you couldn’t understand why this extortioner calls himself the Tortoise, and that there must be a reason. I began going through books on history and symbolism, trying to find a connection between Italy and a tortoise. In the history of Siena I found that the tortoise is the crest of one of the seventeen wards of Siena.”

“Wards? What wards?”

“Siena is divided into seventeen districts or wards: each ward has its name, its chapel and its flag. Most of the wards are named after animals or birds. There’s the she-wolf, the owl, the goose, and the tortoise…”

“Well, I’ll be hanged!” Don said. “Isn’t this something to do with the festival of the Patio: the annual horse race?”

“Yes, that’s right. There has always been rivalry between the wards, dating back to the tenth century. They keep up their rivalry by racing a horse blessed by their church, against the other horses representing the other wards.”

“My stars!” Don said, starting to his feet. “This could be the clue we’re looking for. It would explain why the knife is a copy of a medieval weapon. This killer could be a crackpot who has borrowed from medieval history. I must tell Dicks.

He’ll know if the Italian police have worked this line or not. Find out if he can see me right away, will you?”

Marian called up Dicks’ office.

“He’ll be waiting for you,” she said when she had hung up.

“Then I’ll get off. Marian, go and buy yourself a hat: money’s no object and charge it to my account. You are an exceedingly bright and clever young woman.”

“Thank you, but that’s what I’m paid for,” Marian said, smiling.