Десмонд Бэгли - Landslide

I wasn’t worried about letting him have his fun. ‘I don’t think I’m down to that yet,’ I said, and stood up.

That didn’t suit Howard; he wasn’t through with grinding my face in the mud. ‘Sit down,’ he said genially. ‘Let’s talk about old times.’

‘Okay,’ I said, and sat down again. ‘Seen anything of Clare Trinavant lately?’

That one really harpooned him. ‘We’ll keep her name out of this,’ he snapped.

‘I only wanted to know if she was around,’ I said reasonably. ‘She’s a real nice woman — I’d like to meet her again some time.’

He looked like someone who’d just swallowed his gum. The idea had just sunk in that I was really interested in Clare Trinavant — and he wasn’t far wrong, at that. It looked as though my tenure of the hotel room would be even shorter than I thought. He recovered. ‘She’s out of town,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘She’s out of the country. In fact, she’s even out of the hemisphere, and she won’t be back for a long time. I’m sorry about that — really I am.’

That was a pity; I’d been looking forward to exchanging insults with her again. Still, she wasn’t the main reason I was back in Fort Farrell, even though she was a possibly ally I had lost.

I stood up again. ‘You’re right,’ I said regretfully. ‘It’s tough all round.’ This time he didn’t try to stop me; perhaps he didn’t like my brand of chatty conversation. I made for the door, and said, ‘I’ll be seeing you.’

‘Are you going to stick around here?’ he demanded.

I laughed at him. ‘That depends if the employment situation is as bad as you say.’ I closed the door on him and grinned at his secretary. ‘A mighty fine boss you’ve got there. Yes, sir!’ She looked at me as though I were mad, so I winked at her and carried on.

Baiting Howard Matterson was childish and pretty pointless, but I felt the better for it; it gave a boost to my flagging morale. I hadn’t had much to do with him personally, and beyond the comments of Clare Trinavant and McDougall, I knew nothing about him. But now I knew he was a brave boy indeed; nothing suited Howard better than to put the boot to a man who was down. His little exhibition of sadism made me feel better and gave added enjoyment to the task of cutting him down to size.

As I walked along King Street I glanced at my watch and quickened my pace. If McDougall still kept to his usual schedule he’d be having his afternoon coffee at the Greek place — the Hellenic Café. Sure enough, there he was, brooding over an empty cup. I went to the counter and bought two cups of coffee which came to me via a chromium-plated monster which squirted steam from every joint and sounded like the first stage of an Atlas missile taking off.

I took the coffee over to the table and dumped a cup in front of Mac. If he was surprised to see me he didn’t show it. His eyelids just flickered and he said, ‘What do you want?’

I sat down next to him. ‘I had a change of heart, Mac.’

He said nothing, but the droop of his shoulders altered to a new erectness. I indicated the Espresso machine. ‘When did that sign of prosperity come in?’

‘A couple of months ago — and the coffee’s godawful,’ he said sourly. ‘Glad to see you, son.’

I said, ‘I’ll make this quick because I have an idea that it would be better all round if we aren’t seen together too often. Howard Matterson knows I’m in town and I suspect he’s mad at me.’

‘Why should he be?’

‘I had a barney with him just before I left — eighteen months ago.’ I told Mac what had happened between us and of my suspicions of young Jimmy Waystrand.

Mac clicked his tongue. ‘The bastard!’ he exclaimed. ‘You know what Howard did? He told Clare you’d boasted to him about spending the night in her cabin. She went flaming wild and cursed you up hill and down dale. You’re not her favourite house guest any more.’

‘And she believed him?’

‘Why wouldn’t she? Who else could have told Howard? No one thought of Jimmy.’ He grunted suddenly. ‘So that’s how he got a good job up at the dam. He’s working for the Matterson Corporation now.’

‘So they’re constructing the dam,’ I said.

‘Yeah. Public opinion was well moulded and Matterson rammed it through over Clare’s objections. They began building last summer and they’re working as though Matterson ordered it finished for yesterday. They couldn’t pour concrete in winter, of course, but they’re pouring it now in a round-the-clock operation. In three months there’ll be a ten-mile lake in that valley. They’ve already started to rip out the trees — but not Clare’s trees, though. She says she’d rather see her trees drowned than go to a Matterson mill.’

‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ I said. ‘But it’s too long and complicated to go into here. I’ll come up to your apartment tonight.’

His face crinkled into a smile. ‘Clare left some Islay Mist for me when she went. You know she’s not here?’

‘Howard took great pleasure in informing me,’ I said drily.

‘Um,’ he said, and suddenly drained his cup of coffee. ‘I’ve just remembered there’s something I have to do. I’ll see you to-night — about seven.’ He rose stiffly. ‘My bones are getting older,’ he said wryly, and headed for the street.

I finished my coffee more leisurely and then went back to the hotel. My pace was quicker than that of McDougall and I’d almost caught up with him on High Street when he turned off and disappeared into the telegraph office. I carried on. There wasn’t any more I wanted to say to him that couldn’t wait until evening and, as I had told him, the less we were seen together the better. In a few days I wouldn’t be too popular around Fort Farrell and any Matterson employee who was seen to be too friendly with me wouldn’t be too safe in his job. I’d hate to get McDougall fired.

I had not been evicted from my room yet — but that was a problem I had to bring up with Mac. Probably Howard didn’t think I’d have the brazen nerve to stay at the Matterson House and it wouldn’t have entered his mind to check — but as soon as I started to make a nuisance of myself he’d find out and I’d be out on my ear. I would ask Mac about alternative accommodation.

I lounged about until just before seven and then went over to Mac’s apartment and found him taking his ease before a log fire. He pointed wordlessly to the bottle on the table and I poured myself a drink and joined him.

For a while I looked at the dancing flames, then said, ‘What I’m going to tell you I’m not sure you’re going to believe, Mac.’

‘You can’t surprise a newspaperman my age,’ he said. ‘We’re like priests and doctors — we hear a lot of stories that we don’t tell. You’d be surprised at the amount of news that’s not fit to print, one way or another.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But I still think it’s going to surprise you — and it’s something I haven’t told another living soul — the only other people who know about it are a few doctors.’

I launched forth on the story and told him everything — the waking up in hospital, Susskind’s treatment, the plastic surgery — everything, including the mysterious $36,000 and the investigation by the private detective. I finished up by saying, ‘That’s why I told you that I didn’t know anything that could help. I wasn’t lying, Mac.’

‘God, I feel sorry about that now,’ he mumbled. ‘I said things to you that no man should say to another.’

‘You weren’t to know,’ I said. ‘No apologies needed.’

He got up and found the file he had shown me before and dug out the photograph of Robert Grant. He looked at me closely and then his eyes switched to the photograph and then back to me again. ‘It’s incredible,’ he breathed. ‘It’s goddam incredible. There’s no resemblance at all.’