Десмонд Бэгли - Landslide

‘I took Susskind’s advice,’ I said. ‘Roberts, the surgeon, had a copy of that and used it as an example of what not to do.’

‘Robert Grant — Robert B. Grant,’ he murmured. ‘Why in hell didn’t I have the sense to find out what that initial stood for? A fine reporter I am!’ He put the photograph back in the file. ‘I don’t know, Bob. You’ve put a lot of doubt in my mind. I don’t know whether we should go through with this thing now.’

‘Why not? Nothing has changed. The Trinavants are still dead and Matterson is still screwing the lid down. Why shouldn’t you want to go ahead?’

‘From what you’ve told me, you stand in some personal risk,’ he said slowly. ‘Once you start monkeying about with your mind anything could happen. You could go nuts.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t like it.’

I stood up and paced the floor. ‘I’ve got to find out, Mac — no matter what Susskind said. While he was alive I was all right; I leaned on him a lot. But now I have to find out who I am. It’s killing me not to know.’ I halted behind his chair. ‘I’m not doing this for you, Mac; I’m doing it for me. I was in that car when it crashed, and it seems to me that this whole mystery stems from that crash.’

‘But what can you do?’ asked Mac helplessly. ‘You don’t remember anything.’

I sat down again. ‘I’m going to stir things up. Matterson doesn’t want the Trinavants talked about. Well, I’m going to do a lot of talking in the next few days. Something will break sooner or later. But first I want to get some ammunition, and you can supply that.’

‘You’re really intent on going through with this?’ asked Mac.

‘I am.’

He sighed. ‘All right, Bob. What do you want to know?’

‘One thing I’d give a lot to know is where old man Matterson was when the crash happened.’

Mac grimaced wryly. ‘I got there ahead of you. I had that nasty suspicion, too. But there’s no joy there. Guess who’s his alibi?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Me, goddam it!’ said Mac disgustedly. ‘He was in the office of the Recorder for most of that day. I wish I couldn’t vouch for it, but I can.’

‘What time of day did the crash happen?’

‘It’s no good,’ said Mac. ‘I thought of that, too. I’ve juggled the time factors and there’s absolutely no way in which Bull Matterson can be placed at the scene of the accident.’

‘He stood to gain a lot,’ I said. ‘He was the only gainer — everyone else lost. I’m convinced he had something to do with it.’

‘For God’s sake, when did you hear of one millionaire killing another?’ Mac suddenly went very still. ‘Personally, that is,’ he said softly.

‘You mean he could have hired someone to do it?’

Mac looked tired and old. ‘He could — and if he did we haven’t a hope in hell of proving it. The killer is probably living it up in Australia on a fat bank-roll. It’s nearly twelve years ago, Bob; how in hell can we prove anything now?’

‘We’ll find a way,’ I said stubbornly. ‘That partnership agreement — was it really on the level?’

He nodded. ‘Seemed so. John Trinavant was a damn’ fool not to have revoked it when he got married and started a family.’

‘No possibility of forgery?’

‘There’s a thought,’ said Mac, but shook his head. ‘Not a chance. Old Bull dug up a living witness to the signatures.’ He got up to put another log on the fire, then turned and said despondently, ‘I don’t see a single thing we can do.’

‘Matterson has a weak point,’ I said. ‘He’s tried to lose the name of Trinavant and he must have had a good reason for it. Well, I’m going to get the name of Trinavant talked about in Fort Farrell. He must react to that in some way.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then we play it as the chips fall.’ I hesitated. ‘If necessary, I’ll come right into the open. I’ll announce that I’m Robert Grant, the guy who was in the Trinavants’ car. That should cause a tremor.’

‘ If there was any jiggery-pokery about that car crash, and if Matterson had anything to do with it, the roof will fall in on your head,’ warned Mac. ‘If Matterson did kill the Trinavants you’ll be in trouble. A three-time murderer won’t hesitate at another.’

‘I can look after myself,’ I said — and hoped it was true. ‘That’s another thing. I won’t be able to stay at the Matterson House once I start stirring the mud. Can you recommend alternative accommodation?’

‘I’ve built a cabin on a piece of land just outside town,’ said Mac. ‘You can move in there.’

‘Hell, I can’t do that. Matterson will tie you in with me and your head will be on the block.’

‘It’s about time I retired,’ said Mac equably. ‘I was going to quit at the end of summer, anyway; and it doesn’t matter if it’s a mite sooner. I’m an old man, Bob — rising seventy-two; it’s about time I rested the old bones. I’ll be able to get in the fishing I’ve been promising myself.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘But batten down the hurricane hatches. Matterson will raise a big wind.’

‘I’m not scared of Matterson,’ he said. ‘I never have been and he knows it. He’ll just fire me and that will be that. Hell, I’m keeping a future Pulitzer prizewinner out of a job, anyway. It’s time I packed up. There’s just one story I want to write and it’ll hit headlines all over Canada. I’m depending on you to give it to me.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ I said.

Lying in bed that evening, I had a thought that made my blood run cold. McDougall had suggested that Matterson could have hired someone to do his dirty work and the terrifying possibility came to me that the someone could have been an unscrupulous bastard called Robert Grant.

Supposing Grant had boobed on the job and become involved in the accident himself by mischance. Supposing that Robert Boyd Grant was a triple murderer — what did that make me, Bob Boyd?

I broke into a cold sweat. Maybe Susskind had been right. Perhaps I’d discover in my past enough to drive me out of my mind.

I tossed and turned for most of the night and tried to get a grip on myself. I thought about every angle in an attempt to prove Grant’s innocence. From what Susskind had told me, Grant had been on the run when the accident happened; the police were after him for an assault on a college student. Was it likely, then, that he would deliberately murder just because someone asked him?

He might — if his total getaway could thereby be financed.

But how would Bull Matterson know that Grant was the man he wanted? You don’t walk up to the average college student and say, ‘I’ve got a family of three I want knocked off — what about it?’ That would be ridiculous.

I began to think that the whole structure McDougall and I had built up was nonsensical, plausible though it might appear. How could one accuse a respectable, if ruthless, millionaire of murder? It was laughable.

Then I thought of my mysterious benefactor and the $36,000. Was this the pay-off to Grant? And what about that damned private detective? Where did he fit into the picture?

I dropped into an uneasy sleep and had the Dream, slipping into the hot snow and watching my flesh blister and blacken. And there was something else this time. I heard noises — the sharp crackle of flames from somewhere, and there was a dancing red light on the snow which sizzled and melted into rivulets of blood.

I was in no good mood when I went down to the street next morning. I was tired and depressed and I ached all over as though I had been beaten. The bright sunshine didn’t help, either, because my eyes were gritty, and I felt as though there were many grains of sand under my eyelids. Altogether I wasn’t in any good shape.