Death Trance (39 page)

'Anybody around?’ Wanda whispered.

'Not that I can see.’

'No dogs? I'm afraid of dogs.’

'I don't think so. I must say that after leyaks, the idea of being attacked by dogs seems almost enjoyable.’

Although they left the cover of the bushes as quietly as they could, their footsteps sounded ominously loud in their ears and Randolph stubbed his toe against a small hummock in the tarmac driveway when they were only a third of the way across. But they reached the kitchen wing without anybody's seeing them and they pressed themselves against the white-painted wall, breathing deeply and praying that their luck would hold.

This doesn't say much for Waverley's security,’ Wanda whispered.

Randolph pressed a finger to his lips. 'Don't let's start congratulating ourselves until we're in there.’

He was just about to lead the way around the corner, towards the brightly lit kitchen door, when he heard the door open and the chef speak loudly to one of his assistants.

'First he says out, then he says in. First he wants fish, then he changes his mind and wants veal. First sauce, then no sauce. What's the matter with his brain today? You take a man who can make so much money, you think he get his brain straight. Look at all this snapper, straight in the trash.’

The assistant said something inaudible in reply and then the door was slammed. Randolph listened to hear if the chef locked it but as far as he could tell, the key remained unturned, the bolts unshot. Cautiously, he peered around the corner.

There was a row of garbage cans, then two concrete steps, then the kitchen door. Its glass panes were opaque and it was impossible to see the inside of the kitchen clearly, but Randolph could make out the distorted image of the chef as he crossed from one side of the room to the other. Then abruptly the chef disappeared. One of the kitchen lights was switched off and Randolph heard a brief clatter of pans as they were stacked.

'Come on,’ he breathed to Wanda and together they tiptoed past the garbage cans and up to the door. When Randolph pressed his face against the glass, he could distinguish a large, white-topped table with a rack above it for
bains-maries,
kettles and ladles, and beyond that, an illuminated gas range. To the right of the gas range there was a closet and then the dark rectangle of an open door.

Randolph grasped the door handle and slowly turned it. The door swung open without a sound. Waverley Grace-worthy obviously believed in keeping his hinges well oiled. On soft-soled golf shoes, Randolph stepped into the kitchen and Wanda followed. They closed the door behind them.

'No dogs yet,’ Wanda breathed. 'I hope I don't have to carry this steak around all night.’

They hurried quietly to the open door at the far end of the kitchen. Only one pan was simmering on the gas range. It smelled like chicken broth. Randolph peered around the door to see if there was anyone outside; then he tugged Wanda forward and into the corridor.

'I hope you know your way around,’ she said.

'I'm making this up as I go,’ he told her.

The corridor was twenty yards long, its walls painted with dark green gloss. They made their way along it until they reached a panelled oak door that had been left ajar.

'Probably one of the dining rooms,’ Randolph suggested.

'Let's just hope that Waverley hasn't decided to have a late supper in here,’ Wanda whispered back.

Randolph hesitated and bit his lip. 'Well, if he's in there, he's in there. This looks like the only way into the house.’

Gently he reached forward and eased the door open a few inches. The dining room beyond was dimly lit and panelled with the same pale oak as the door. Randolph could see the glint of reflected light from a gilt frame and the sparkle of a crystal decanter. He pushed the door open all the way and stepped inside.

The table was laid for one. There was a white Brussels-lace placemat, a napkin in a silver-gilt napkin ring, a crystal glass for white wine and a service plate edged in gold. A lone candle dipped and flickered in a tall silver candlestick but there was nobody in the room. Presumably the chef had gone to tell Waverley's butler that the master's dinner was almost ready. Not the snapper, the veal, and without the sauce.

Randolph and Wanda negotiated the dining room, making sure to leave the door behind them open an inch, the way they had found it. Then they went through to the main hallway, the only part of the house Randolph so far remembered from his previous visits. It was in darkness except for a huge chandelier that hung from the main ceiling, its electric candles turned down to a glimmer. There was a strong smell of lavender floor polish, and an electric floor polisher stood on the opposite side of the hallway close to the sitting-room doors. But there was nobody around - at least not for the moment - and Randolph and Wanda were able to make their way to the foot of the stairs undetected.

'We'll search the house from the top down,’ Randolph whispered, looking around anxiously. 'Keep an eye out for locked doors.’

'Suppose we find one?’ Wanda asked.

'Then we tap on it and see who's inside.’

'Isn't that dangerous?’

'Of course it's dangerous. Just coming here is dangerous. But if anybody answers - anybody who isn't Michael - all you have to say is something like, "Sorry, maid," and get the hell out. Just remember that Waverley has a major-domo, a butler and a valet, and maybe ten full-time ladies who don't do anything but clean the place. Even
he
won't know if you're a maid or not unless he gets to take a look at you.’

Wanda took Randolph's hand. 'Randolph, I'm scared. Could we call it a night?’

'Come on,’ Randolph chided. 'We're here. We have to give it our best shot.’

She glanced up the dark, forbidding staircase. 'All right,’ she said at last.

They climbed the stairs side by side until they reached the second-floor landing. There were huge Persian carpets hanging on either wall, and sculptures of women and strange beasts. The upstairs corridor extended directly in front of them, unlit except for a double wall lamp at the far end, which was almost a hundred and fifty yards away. The length of the corridor was carpeted in patterned Stark rugs, and that isolated wall lamp gleamed on what looked like an endless succession of polished brass handles.

'You take the left side, I'll take the right,’ Randolph said.

Slowly, pausing every now and again to listen, they progressed down the corridor, grasping each door handle, holding their breath and then turning it. If the door could be eased open, they would quietly close it again. If it was locked - and almost a third of them were - they would rest their heads against the white-painted panels and call softly, 'Michael? Are you in there? Michael?’

They were two-thirds of the way up the corridor when Randolph thought he heard something from behind one of the doors. Underneath his sweater he was sticky with sweat and he wished to God he had worn a T-shirt. He held up his hand for Wanda to stop turning handles and he listened again.

'Did you hear something?’ Wanda whispered.

'I'm not sure.’ He bent his head closer to the door and called, 'Michael? This is Randolph. Can you hear me, Michael?’

There was an aching quiet. It was so quiet that Randolph could even hear the popping of distant fireworks.

Then there was a scuffling sound somewhere along the corridor behind them and Randolph turned to see Reece standing on the landing, holding two Dobermans on short leashes.

Randolph turned the other way, and into the twin circles of light cast by the wall lamp stepped Waverley Grace-worthy and the mad-looking man, Frank Louv, who had helped Reece kidnap Michael from Days Inn.

Waverley Graceworthy walked forward with a smile and held out his hand. Randolph remained where he was and refused to take it.

'This is an honour,’ Waverley said with the utmost courtesy. 'Mr Randolph Clare, the wealthy, independent cottonseed processor, paying an unheralded midnight visit to the humble home of one of his greatest rivals.’

'I think you can spare the sarcasm,’ Randolph replied. Louv snuffled and let out a grunt of amusement. As the man came closer, Randolph could see that he was swinging a chain-jointed cosh in his hand.

Randolph said, 'I called Dennis but he was unable to help. A little matter of the Cotton Carnival Ball. I'm surprised you didn't go yourself, Waverley. You usually like to make an appearance.’

'I was planning to,’ Waverley said. 'I was just about to have my supper and then go up there to present the awards. Unfortunately, business matters have somewhat delayed me. One must attend to business before one attends to pleasure.’

Randolph said, 'I want you to release Michael Hunter.’

'I beg your pardon?’ Waverley tried to look baffled.

'You know what I'm talking about. Your hired bullies here took Michael Hunter from Days Inn this afternoon. They were seen and identified. If you don't have him here, I'd like to know where he is, and I'd like to have him released.’

Waverley smiled, a smile of pure lemon and vinegar. 'My dear Randolph, I scarcely think that you and Miss Burford here are in any position to make demands, do you? I have caught you red-handed, or red-footed, shall I say, trespassing on my property with intent to commit goodness only knows what kind of theft, or arson, or crime against my person.’

'Waverley, you kidnapped Michael Hunter and I want him back. Otherwise I'm going to call the police straight away and have this palace of yours ripped to pieces from top to bottom.’

Waverley was smiling at Wanda now. He could sense her anxiety about the Dobermans, which were slavering and straining and scratching their claws against the polished floor. 'How would you like me to order those dogs released?’ he asked gently. 'They are attack-trained; they used to work for the SWAT squad before they were discharged as too dangerous. Reece likes them though, don't you, Reece? Reece would do anything for those dogs, and those dogs would do anything for him. Why, if Reece were to point at Miss Burford and say
kill
-’

'That's enough, Waverley,’ Randolph interrupted. 'I think you and I ought to sit down now and have a discussion about this. Let the girl go back to my car; it's parked right outside. Then we'll see what kind of deal we can work out between us.’

Waverley slowly shook his head. 'Not interested, Randolph. Not interested in deals. The time when you and I could make deals together, that's all over. Besides, your car is no longer outside. It's parked in my garage, and your chauffeur is sitting in my cellar with his hands shackled to a drainpipe and a gag over his mouth.’

He smiled again and then said with satisfaction, 'Dennis warned me that you might try something ridiculous, and indeed you have.’

Randolph refused to be impressed. 'You can't hold anybody here against his will, Waverley. It's lunacy. You can't hold Michael, and you can't hold me, and you can't hold Wanda and Herbert. I've never known anything so damned unbelievable.’

He started to move but Reece brought the Dobermans closer and they snarled in echoing stereo, their saliva mottling the corridor walls.

'I think you know something
very
unbelievable,’ Waverley said, completely unfazed. 'I think you know all about this magical Hindu death trance. Now
that's
unbelievable, but I'm assured that it's just as real as the fact that I'm holding you here and that I don't have the slightest intention of letting you go.’

'And what exactly do you hope to achieve?’ Randolph demanded.

Waverley slowly smoothed his hands together as if he were rolling out a thin sliver of clay between his palms. 'I hope merely to tidy up a business that has turned out to be rather messy and complicated. It's all your fault, really. You know, Randolph, you're a stubborn man. When your factory out at Raleigh caught fire, you should have taken the hint right then and there. Orbus did warn you, didn't he? Of course Orbus is not always as persuasive as he might be, but just the same, you're an intelligent man. You should have seen the writing on the wall. Especially after that very unpleasant business with your family.’

'What did you expect me to do? Retire? Abandon my life's work? Commit suicide?’

Waverley shrugged. 'All three of those options were viable, at least from the Cottonseed Association's point of view. Unfortunately,
very
unfortunately, you decided not to take any of them, and so here we are, in a messy and complicated situation, you just as stubborn as ever and me wondering what on earth we can possibly do about it.’

Randolph said, 'You've got Michael here. I want to see him.’

'He's perfectly well,’ Waverley assured him.

'I would still like to see him.’

'Well, as a matter of fact, Randolph, that's exactly what we intended to do now in any case. You see, my dear fellow, Michael has proved almost as uncooperative as you have, and it's quite clear that he's going to need a little persuasion.’

'A little persuasion to do what?’

'To take me into a death trance, of course.’

To take
you
into a death trance?’ Randolph asked in perplexity. 'What do
you
want to go into a death trance for?’