Desmond Bagley - The Spoilers / Juggernaut

DESMOND BAGLEY

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

The Spoilers first published in Great Britain by Collins 1969 Juggernaut first published in Great Britain by Collins 1985

Copyright © Brockhurst Publications 1969, 1985, 2009

Desmond Bagley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of these works

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007304806

Ebook Edition © JUNE 2012 ISBN: 9780007347674

Version: 2018-04-03

‘I’ve read all Bagley’s books and he’s marvellous, the best.’

ALISTAIR MACLEAN

‘Sizzling adventure.’

Evening Standard

‘Bagley has become a master of the genre – a thriller writer of intelligence and originality.’

Sunday Times

‘Compulsively readable.’

Guardian

‘From word one, you’re off. Bagley’s one of the best.’

The Times

‘The best adventure stories I have read for years.’

Daily Mirror

‘Bagley has no equal at this sort of thing.’

Sunday Mirror

‘Tense, heroic, chastening … a thumping good story.’

Sunday Express

‘The detail is immaculately researched – the action has the skill to grab your heart or your bowels.’

Daily Mirror

‘Bagley in top form.’

Evening Standard

‘Bagley is a master story-teller.’

Daily Mirror

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

The Spoilers

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Juggernaut

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Keep Reading

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

This one is for Pat and Philip Bawcombeand, of course, Thickabe

She lay on the bed in an abandoned attitude, oblivious of the big men crowding the room and making it appear even smaller than it was. She had been abandoned by life, and the big men were there to find out why, not out of natural curiosity but because it was their work. They were policemen.

Detective-Inspector Stephens ignored the body. He had given it a cursory glance and then turned his attention to the room, noting the cheap, rickety furniture and the threadbare carpet which was too small to hide dusty boards. There was no wardrobe and the girl’s few garments were scattered, some thrown casually over a chair-back and others on the floor by the side of the bed. The girl herself was naked, an empty shell. Death is not erotic.

Stephens picked up a sweater from the chair and was surprised at its opulent softness. He looked at the maker’s tab and frowned before handing it to Sergeant Ipsley. ‘She could afford good stuff. Any identification yet?’

‘Betts is talking to the landlady.’

Stephens knew the worth of that. The inhabitants of his manor did not talk freely to policemen. ‘He won’t get much. Just a name and that’ll be false, most likely. Seen the syringe?’

‘Couldn’t miss it, sir. Do you think it’s drugs?’

‘Could be.’ Stephens turned to an unpainted whitewood chest of drawers and pulled on a knob. The drawer opened an inch and then stuck. He smote it with the heel of his hand. ‘Any sign of the police surgeon yet?’

‘I’ll go and find out, sir.’

‘Don’t worry; he’ll come in his own sweet time.’ Stephens turned his head to the bed. ‘Besides, she’s not in too much of a hurry.’ He tugged at the drawer which stuck again. ‘Damn this confounded thing!’

A uniformed constable pushed open the door and closed it behind him. ‘Her name’s Hellier, sir – June Hellier. She’s been here a week – came last Wednesday.’

Stephens straightened. ‘That’s not much help, Betts. Have you seen her before on your beat?’

Betts looked towards the bed and shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

‘Was she previously known to the landlady?’

‘No, sir; she just came in off the street and said she wanted a room. She paid in advance.’

‘She wouldn’t have got in otherwise,’ said Ipsley. ‘I know this old besom here – nothing for nothing and not much for sixpence.’

‘Did she make any friends – acquaintances?’ asked Stephens. ‘Speak to anyone?’

‘Not that I can find out, sir. From all accounts she stuck in her room most of the time.’

A short man with an incipient pot belly pushed into the room. He walked over to the bed and put down his bag. ‘Sorry I’m late, Joe; this damned traffic gets worse every day.’

‘That’s all right, Doctor.’ Stephens turned to Betts again. ‘Have another prowl around and see what you can get.’ He joined the doctor at the foot of the bed and looked down at the body of the girl. ‘The usual thing – time of death and the reason therefore.’

Doctor Pomray glanced at him. ‘Foul play suspected?’

Stephens shrugged. ‘Not that I know of – yet.’ He indicated the syringe and the glass which lay on the bamboo bedside table. ‘Could be drugs; an overdose, maybe.’

Pomray bent down and sniffed delicately at the glass. There was a faint film of moisture at the bottom and he was just about to touch it when Stephens said, ‘I’d rather you didn’t, Doctor. I’d like to have it checked for dabs first.’

‘It doesn’t really matter,’ said Pomray. ‘She was an addict, of course. Look at her thighs. I just wanted to check what her particular poison was.’

Stephens had already seen the puncture marks and had drawn his own conclusions, but he said, ‘Could have been a diabetic.’