Dressed To Kill (A Kate O'Donnell Mystery) (21 page)

Kate bit back a sharp retort at that. ‘Do you know Andrei’s address on the coast?’ she asked. ‘If he’s not on the phone I suppose Ken Fellows could write to him and ask him to get in touch. Or I could.’

Tatiana reached into her capacious bag, which was flung amongst the patterns and fabrics on the table, and pulled out a notebook. ‘There you are,’ she said, copying out a few lines on to a scrap of paper. ‘I’m not sure he’s there but it’s the obvious place for him to hole up for a few days. But I’m sure he’ll be back soon, anyway. He’s built up something of a business I suppose, and he won’t want to lose it, whatever’s happened to Ricky. Perhaps he’ll offer you a job, but I warn you, you’ll end up doing all the work for very little of the money, just like Ricky.’

‘Ricky never seemed short of a bob or two,’ Kate said.

‘Ah, well, Ricky had a lot of irons in the fire, didn’t he? He was a very enterprising chap, was Ricky and didn’t have many scruples if there was money in it. Surprising really that he didn’t get on better with my Roddy. They’d have made a good team. But it looks as if one of Ricky’s schemes has gone a bit awry and annoyed someone very nasty. We’ll probably never know. Now I must get on. Nice to see you, dear, and I’ll let you know when the next designs are ready. And about the party. Promise, darlink. You can tell your boss that.’

Kate strolled slowly back along Oxford Street wondering whether she should try to contact Andrei Lubin herself or leave it to Ken Fellows. And should she, she wondered, tell Harry Barnard where Andrei Lubin could be holed up? Perhaps she would leave that decision to Ken.

It was lunchtime before DS Harry Barnard found time to chase up Ray Robertson. When he had hung up his coat in the CID office that morning, and parried the usual raucous ribbing about his latest tie, he had found DCI Keith Jackson breathing down his neck.

‘This report you left me about the American jazz player,’ he said. ‘We need words.’

Barnard followed the DCI back to his office and took the hard chair he was waved into.

‘Right,’ Jackson said. ‘It’s very clear that the yanks want him back pretty badly. The man you saw, Saprelli?’

‘Lieutenant Saprelli,’ Barnard said. ‘He seems to hold some sort of a watching brief for GIs who never went home. You wouldn’t think they’d bother after all this time, but apparently they do. They certainly want Muddy Abraham back, or whatever they think his real name is.’

‘They’ve not wasted any time. They’ve written to the Yard asking permission to interview Abraham, with a view to his eventual extradition to face a murder – or, as they call it, a homicide – indictment. And remember it’s still a capital offence over there. I want you to liaise with Saprelli and Brixton Prison and sit in on the interview. You’d better make sure he has a brief as well. We don’t want to be accused of any infringement of the rules when it comes to court. By the book on this one, Sergeant. Strictly by the book. I don’t want any bleeding-heart lawyer getting him off somehow.’

‘Guv,’ Barnard said, his face impassive. ‘I never asked Saprelli whether the incident happened in this country. Would that make a difference?’

‘The American forces over here were responsible for their own military law. It wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference to Abraham’s situation. If they can prove he’s who they think he is and provide
prima facie
evidence at an extradition hearing, he’ll be on his way. If he’s an American and his victim was an American, and they were both US soldiers, then the trial will be American. So let’s get the process started, shall we.’

Jackson’s expression was implacable and Barnard knew there would be no budging him. He knew his prejudices and they ran deep.

‘I’ll get straight on to it, guv,’ Barnard said and had set off to do just that, silently aware of how reluctant he felt to consign a black Muddy Abraham to US military justice and a possible death sentence. I must be getting softer than I thought, he told himself as he picked up the phone back in CID and dialled the American embassy’s number.

It was almost lunchtime by the time the arrangements had been finalized for Barnard and Saprelli to interview Abraham at Brixton the next day. Only then could Barnard put on his hat and coat again and make his escape from the nick, and stroll through the pale winter sunshine to the Delilah Club. He found Ray sitting in his comfortable executive chair behind his huge desk, smouldering cigar in one hand, a beatific smile on his face and his eyes closed.

‘G’morning, Flash,’ he said, without opening his eyes in spite of being obviously aware of Barnard’s arrival. ‘Take a seat,’ he said. ‘Have you arrested any likely gangsters this morning? Doing your job of protecting the great British public from the likes of me, are you? Or are you more interested in getting your own sticky fingers into the till?’

Robertson’s eyes suddenly opened wide and his blue eyes flashed without any sign of warmth. What’s bugging him? Barnard wondered, not expecting to have moved from one antagonistic environment to another.

‘How’s tricks?’ Robertson asked grudgingly, before opening a desk drawer and pulling out a bottle of Scotch and two glasses into which he poured generous measures and pushed one across the desk to Barnard.

‘Not too bad, thanks,’ Barnard said as Robertson settled back in his seat again. ‘Cheers.’

‘Someone seems to be annoying my Mediterranean buddies and I don’t like it. Have you got any idea who?’ Robertson asked.

‘We did have a couple of possibles but one’s scarpered and the other’s got his throat cut, possibly by the first fella,’ Barnard said lightly. ‘We’re working on it.’

‘That would be Ricky Smart,’ Robertson said. ‘I’d had heard some whispers about him, as it goes. Picking up girls for modelling. As if. What are their pathetic parents thinking of? So maybe Falzon’s solved the problem without my help. Do you reckon?’

‘Could be,’ Barnard said cautiously. ‘I’ll keep you in the picture. That wasn’t why I popped in, as it happens.’

Robertson took a sip of his drink and smiled the smile of a tiger sizing up dinner. ‘Out with it then,’ he said.

‘I saw you yesterday with Reg Smith,’ Barnard said cautiously. ‘I just happened to be passing as you came out of the club.’

‘Yeah, I thought you did,’ Robertson said unabashed. ‘I caught a glimpse of you as we got into the car. And so?’

‘And so,’ Barnard said. ‘What are you plotting with that toe-rag? By rights he should have been hanged years ago when it was still an option, but no one will testify against him. Half of London south of the river is terrified of him. What the hell are you up to?’

‘We’re just having a friendly exchange of views,’ Robertson said. ‘Nothing for you and your DCI to get worried or upset about.’

‘I think I need to get worried, Ray. The sort of thing Smith is into gets the whole weight of Scotland Yard thrown at it. It’ll not be just the vice squad. They’re still pursuing him for that armed robbery in Lewisham where two cashiers were shot. This isn’t the sort of thing you want to get involved in, is it? If it is, you can’t count on me to help if the Yard come sniffing round, poking their noses into your affairs here up West or in the East End. This is big time, nothing to do with vice in Soho. It’s way over my head. Just remember how quickly the great train robbers came to grief. Not so great in the end, that lot. They’ll spend the rest of their lives banged up.’

‘You’re a good lad, Flash,’ Robertson said. ‘But life doesn’t stand still, you know. Things move on. You have to be ambitious in this life or you start to slide backwards. I’ve got one or two new projects on the go at the minute, business and pleasure. You should be doing the same yourself, going for Inspector, moving onwards and upwards, as you do. Getting a ring for that pretty little girl you’ve been chasing. I’ll be all right, Harry. I can look after myself, always have, always will.’

‘But better not with Smith,’ Barnard said. ‘Believe me.’ He sighed. There was a limit to how far he could push Ray without provoking a fit of rage that, while it would pale in comparison to his brother Georgie’s outbursts, was still not to be ignored. Telling him that Smith was a force of nature he would be unlikely to cope with risked an eruption that he really did not want and quite possibly could not handle.

‘Don’t blame me if he takes you for a ride,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t say you weren’t warned.’

‘It’s good of you to worry, Flash, but you really don’t need to, boy.’ Robertson stubbed out the glowing end of his cigar and sat up straight in his chair. ‘There’s really no need at all. I’m moving up a league, that’s all. You should do the same. We’ve both been stuck in a rut too long.’

Kate O’Donnell got back to the flat early that evening and helped Tess cook a meal before her friend settled down to a pile of exercise books to mark. Kate was restless. She watched the television news on their newly acquired black-and-white set and smiled faintly at pictures of the Beatles being mobbed outside the Cavern by a crowd of young girls on one of their increasingly rare trips back to Liverpool. But it only occupied half her mind, which returned again and again to the fate of Ricky Smart and Andrei Lubin’s disappearance. Was it guilt or fear that had driven him away from the studio, she kept asking herself? Had he killed Ricky or did he fear that he would be next? She wondered whether to ring Harry Barnard, who would probably be at home by now. She was sure that not telling him where Andrei might be probably constituted some sort of crime and she was sure that the police would be able to track him down in a small seaside town. But still she hesitated, partly because she did not want to give in to her own secret desire to see the importunate policeman again, and partly because she was anxious to talk to the photographer again herself before he possibly disappeared into police custody for good.

She was still debating with herself when the phone rang, still able to make her jump with its unfamiliarity.

‘I’ll get it,’ she said to Tess. The fact that it was Andrei Lubin’s voice, slightly muffled, at the other end, set her heart racing.

‘Andrei, where are you?’ she asked. ‘Do you know the police are looking for you?’

‘I know, I know,’ Lubin said. ‘But they’re not the only people looking for me, so they’ll have to wait. What are you doing tomorrow?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t think Ken has anything lined up for me because he didn’t know I would be there . . .’

‘Well, you can do me a favour then,’ Lubin went on quickly, not giving her a chance to interrupt. ‘Call in sick or something. Then I want you to get a train to a place called Diss – D.I.S.S.’ He spelled it out. ‘Liverpool Street station, or maybe Kings Cross, you’ll have to check. Get there as near midday as you can. There’s a sort of lake in the town centre, the Mere I think it’s called. I’ll meet you there. You can’t miss it. There are seats and ducks and things, mothers with kids, no one will think it’s odd of you to hang around. There’s no station where I am so I’ll drive there. I’ve been trying to get hold of June, because she has a key to the studio, but she’s not on the phone, silly cow, so you’ll have to help me. I’ll give you my key. I want you to go to the studio and sort out a few things for me.’

‘I wanted to get into the studio myself because I’ve left some of my stuff there,’ Kate said faintly. ‘But won’t the bizzies – the police – have been in already?’

‘They will have had to break the door down,’ Lubin said. ‘I don’t see why they should have done that. Whatever Ricky was up to – and I’m sure he was up to something – is nothing to do with me or the studio.’

‘So why did you run away?’ Kate asked.

‘I haven’t run away,’ Lubin snapped back. ‘If you just sort a few things out for me – nothing to do with Ricky, I promise – I’ll get in touch with the police and tell them anything they want to know about him. Come on, Kate. I’ve done a lot for you. This is just a small favour. And if anyone sees you, you just say you went in to fetch some stuff of your own. That’s a perfect cover. Come to Diss in the morning and I’ll give you the key.’

Kate sighed. ‘OK, OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll meet you in Diss, la. But don’t blame me if the police turn up at the studio. I’m not going to lie to them if they do. I don’t want to end up in a cell, ta very much.’

‘Just tell them you’re picking up your own stuff,’ Lubin said. ‘You don’t need to say you’ve seen me. That’s perfect.’

In the end, and against her better judgement, Kate agreed to meet Lubin in Diss, promising herself that if he didn’t talk to the police on his own initiative she would tell Harry Barnard what she knew and leave it to him to track him down. When she hung up she found Tess staring at her across the room with a worried expression on her face.

‘Was that who I think it was?’ she asked. ‘What on earth have you agreed to do for him?’

Kate told her the gist of the conversation, which only seemed to increase her friend’s anxiety.

‘If the police are looking for him you must be crazy to meet him without telling them,’ Tess said. ‘You’ll end up getting arrested yourself.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Kate said. ‘I’ll tell Harry Barnard that Tatiana knows where Andrei is when I get back to London. Even if he doesn’t keep his promise to get in touch with them, they’ll soon find him if they know where to look. I really want to get back to the studio to pick up my own stuff. Amongst other things, I left the film I shot at the Jazz Cellar there. I never got round to developing it, I’d so many other things to do.’

‘I think you’re taking a crazy risk,’ Tess said. ‘Why don’t you talk to Harry Barnard now, tonight?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Kate said. ‘I promise. After I get back.’

D
S Harry Barnard had met the American officer, Lieutenant Saprelli, in smartly pressed uniform, outside the jail at eight thirty that morning, a raw dark November dawn only just working itself into daylight. They were signed in and led through locked doors and down long corridors to an interview room close to the governor’s office where Muddy Abraham was already sitting at a table with a warder on duty just inside the door. He looked up as the door opened and although his expression did not change as the two officers came in, Barnard noticed that his fists clenched slightly as if prepared to defend himself.