The Avenue of the Dead (26 page)

‘She's dead,' Colin said flatly. ‘Doesn't it bother you?'

‘No,' she said calmly. ‘It doesn't. I was shocked when I heard, but now I'm frankly curious. Shall we go upstairs?'

He nodded, not sure what to say. Under all the fluffy feminity there was a very cool streak. She had more in common with her sister Davina than people might imagine. He led the way upstairs; he knew which was the Flemings' bedroom because he'd searched the house with Fleming the night Elizabeth disappeared.

‘This is pretty,' Charlie remarked, standing in the middle of the bedroom. ‘Much more Elizabeth's style than downstairs. That's her sleep pillow.'

‘Her what?' Lomax asked.

‘Her sleep pillow, there on the bed.' She picked up the little lace-covered satin cushion shaped like a neck rest. ‘She always had one, she said she couldn't sleep without it. That must be the bathroom. I won't be a minute.'

Lomax glanced round the room, remembering the despairing search that night, with Fleming opening and shutting doors and calling her name. The post-mortem revealed that she was probably lying in the boot of the car in the garage while they were looking for her. He went over to the bed and picked up the wedge-shaped cushion by its lace edge.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and Ellen came in. Her dark face was pinched and the skin had a greyish tinge. She had some clothes over one arm and a pair of high-heeled shoes. ‘These came back from the dry clean yesterday and her shoes from the menders. I don't know what to do with her things.'

‘Put them away, Ellen,' Lomax said. ‘You had a very nasty shock. How are you feeling now?'

‘Not too bad, thank you. They gave me something last night and I slept through. They won't let me out of the house, or call home.' The dark eyes filled with tears; she blinked them back. ‘I can't believe it,' she said. ‘I can't believe he did it.' She turned quickly as the bathroom door opened and Charlie came out.

‘This is Miss Graham's sister, Mrs Kidson,' Lomax said. ‘It's all right, Ellen. We'll put Mrs Fleming's clothes away. Maybe you could make us some coffee.' Ellen nodded and quickly left the room.

Charlie opened one of the closets. ‘Christ,' Lomax exclaimed. ‘She had enough clothes! And shoes – there must be sixty pairs!' Charlie took the dresses from him and hung them up. He held out the shoes and she hesitated.

‘They can't be Elizabeth's,' she said. ‘They're far too small. Never mind, we'll put them with the others … She did buy a lot of shoes, didn't she? And I thought I was extravagant!'

There were shoes in dark shades and pastels, rows of evening shoes – gold, silver, shoes dyed to match dresses, shoes glittering with diamonds – country shoes and flimsy sandals, elegant courts with high heels. Charlie stooped and picked out one after another.

‘I don't understand this,' she said to Lomax. ‘Elizabeth had enormous feet. These are size five, they can't possibly be hers.'

Lomax didn't answer. He picked up a shoe and turned it over; the size was on the sole, 5aa. A tiny, narrow foot. ‘Mrs Kidson,' he said slowly. ‘I think we'd better check.'

‘She was terribly self-conscious about her feet,' said Charlie. ‘They were the only thing that spoiled her. She couldn't have worn these in a million years.'

When Davina arrived, they all went back to the bedroom, and Ellen opened the closets. She took out dresses, a mink coat, and Charlie nodded. ‘They're the right size,' she said.

‘And all these shoes belonged to Mrs Fleming?' Davina asked.

‘Yes, Miss Graham. They're all hers. She was forever buying more – she was mighty proud of her feet.'

‘Thank you, Ellen,' Davina said. ‘You've been a great help.'

They went back down the elegant staircase in silence. Lomax closed the study door behind them. Davina had a shoe in her left hand, hanging from her fingers by an ankle strap. ‘You realize what this means? Whoever Edward Fleming married, it wasn't the Elizabeth Carlton we knew! Oh, God, it's so obvious when you think of it – why, why didn't I see it before?'

‘Wait a minute,' Lomax interrupted. ‘We've got to be sure.'

‘I am sure,' Davina said. ‘It looked so convincing on the surface. But there was always something wrong. Now all the inconsistencies make sense. Give me a cigarette, love, will you?'

‘Me too,' Charlie said. ‘I can't believe it's possible. But Davy's right. Feet can get bigger, but there's no way you can come down two sizes in shoes … What about fingerprints? Wouldn't they prove it?'

‘They'll check with the body,' Lomax said. ‘They'll be all over the house here.'

Davina wasn't listening; she was talking almost to herself.

‘She was a plant,' she said. ‘God knows how they worked it, but they switched a double for the real Elizabeth … Don't you see, it all makes sense now? The personality change, the drinking – and the dog! Liz adored dogs, you reminded me this morning, Charlie, and I still couldn't pin it down – she had that awful terrier Rusty when we were at school, and two dachshunds in London. She had dogs instead of children. You remember what that German said in Mexico? Even the dogs followed her? Of course they did – that was the real Elizabeth. The one in Washington wouldn't let Ellen keep her dog. Fleming fell in love with Elizabeth Carlton – sweet-natured, placid, didn't sleep around, hardly touched a drink – what did the old Senora Veranez say? Sometimes a glass of wine! All that is typical. The one in Washington was drunk at eleven in the morning! The woman who came to New York and married Fleming was another person.' Davina began to pace up and down the room. ‘The double slept with men behind Fleming's back. That wasn't Elizabeth either. She used filthy language when they quarrelled. Liz never said more than damn in her life. Why didn't I think of that before? The one here swore like a trooper. My God, I'm beginning to see it now. We've got to get back and see Humphrey right away! Wait, what have I done with that bloody shoe … Charlie, you'll have to come with me. You're my star witness.'

In the car Charlie touched Davina on the shoulder, who looked back at her. ‘If you're right, and it looks like it,' she said, ‘what happened to the real Elizabeth?'

It was Colin Lomax who answered as he drove. ‘She never left Mexico alive.'

7

Borisov took his place at the long table in the Kremlin conference room. The other members of the Politburo were all seated; only the chair reserved for the head of Soviet Russia was still empty. When he came into the room there was a shuffling movement and his colleagues stood up. They exchanged greetings and he moved at his slow pace to the vacant seat. There was an atmosphere of expectancy in the room. Secretive, enclosed as it was, the Politburo had its own source of internal rumours, for the spies spied upon each other. Every member of the ruling council had contacts who kept them informed of what the others were doing. They knew by report that Igor Borisov had something important to tell them, and it was obvious by the confidence in his manner that it signified a major intelligence success. His business came midway through the meeting. The Secretary General raised his heavy head and nodded towards Borisov, who stood up. He had spoken to his enemy Rudzenko in a pleasant exchange before the meeting started. He was aware of the eyes focused upon him and knew which were friendly, hostile or still neutral.

‘I am glad to tell you, Comrade Secretary, comrades, that our operation Plumed Serpent has reached its final stage. A full report is in front of you, but before we discuss it, I wish to say this. We are about to activate a certain political journalist in Yew York. He is not one of our official agents – rather I'd describe him as an unwitting ally. He is one of those phenomena produced by the decadence of capitalist society. He sees nothing but corruption and evil on the part of his own people, and he seems to take pleasure in attacking his country and the society he lives in on the assumption that anything it does must be wrong.' He glanced round at them and smiled gently. ‘It's a sickness we wouldn't permit here, although we've seen some symptoms in the attitude of our dissidents. This particular man prides himself on exposing scandals in his own government. Considerations like loyalty or benefit to his country's enemies don't influence him. I expect the scandal to be publicly exposed within the next few weeks. Beginning with the accusation of murder against the Assistant Under-Secretary of State, Edward Fleming.

‘Our journalist friend will be followed by a pack of fellow investigators, sensing a nationwide media story. They will uncover the trail of lies, deception and treason we have carefully laid for them. Each disclosure will be more sensational than the last. The British have involved themselves as deeply as I hoped, concealing vital information from their allies the Americans, allowing a man accused of betraying secrets to us to stay in office and close to the President. That should damage Anglo–US relations for a long time to come. And the CIA –' He shook his head slightly. ‘Better than we could have hoped – they've done everything wrong. Their interrogation of Edward Fleming's wife will be exposed, and many will be convinced that they murdered her to frame him because he was a Russian agent. The possibilities are endless; the more the world speculates the greater the harm will be.

‘The President himself will be called into question. How could he make a friend of a man who was a Soviet agent, put him into one of the most sensitive positions in the government – what kind of security check did they run on Fleming if he was able to slip through it? How many more people close to the White House have escaped detection? Comrades – we all remember Watergate. The United States has elected two men to lead them since Nixon. Both have a reputation for honesty. For straight dealing, as they like to call it. No lies, no corruption, no cover-ups. The country will tear itself to pieces over a political scandal like this. It will undermine the new administration and shake the American people's confidence. And as we know, a country that examines its conscience and doubts its institutions is a vulnerable country. Now, comrades, if you would like to read through your reports, I can answer any questions.'

It was Rudzenko who hoped he had found a loophole.

‘The diary,' he said. ‘They can prove that a forgery.'

‘If Fleming is charged with treason, yes,' Borisov said. ‘But the charge will be murder. Of course the SIS will know the diary was forged when they check against the first wife's handwriting, but what good will that do them? It was very skilfully composed, with genuine items copied from her real diary as well as our additions. The British won't produce it because it would only point out their incompetence in believing it to start with. It will vanish, Comrade Rudzenko, especially when they know we manufactured it and our agent planted it on them.'

‘The agent herself? She must be an exceptionally gifted operator to have deceived Davina Graham,' Rudzenko remarked. ‘Her record doesn't indicate anything outstanding. A failed actress, supplementing her income by passing information on to us from the men she slept with. Not a very reliable type, surely? Not an obvious choice to cross swords with a woman like Graham.'

He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his head poking out like a turtle's from the shell of his collar. ‘You took a great risk, Comrade Borisov. You tell us that your Plumed Serpent has succeeded, but I think it's premature to celebrate until we see and hear evidence from the United States that the scandal has broken in the way you expect. Personally I reserve my congratulations until then.'

‘I hope to hear them at our next meeting,' Borisov said smoothly. There were a few questions from other colleagues, and the Secretary General himself made one comment before the subject changed to the next item on the agenda.

‘If Comrade Borisov's plan succeeds,' he said, ‘and there is a loss of confidence and morale in the United States, we might consider a stronger attitude to Poland. We will now consider item twelve, comrades.'

Papers rustled and heads lowered over them. Borisov had received the support of the one man among them who really counted. As he continued in the meeting the thought flitted through his mind that he might well be strong enough to set a snare for Comrade Yuri Rudzenko before very long.

‘Your people were the last to see Mrs Fleming alive,' Humphrey Grant stated. ‘You never disclosed the fact that you had abducted her when her body was discovered. I believe you accused John Kidson of acting behind the Agency's back and made yourself very unpleasant. What happened, Spencer-Barr? Did the wretched woman die on you?'

‘She was dropped back at her own front door,' Jeremy shouted. ‘My men can swear to it. She went inside and she never appeared again. They reported to me and I sent both of them back East for dereliction of duty. I went to Fleming's office the minute I heard about it and he said his wife had gone on a trip to New York. You're wasting your time, Grant – you can't pin anything on the Agency.'

‘Only abduction,' Grant remarked. ‘It wouldn't look very good. Especially since your concealment has hampered our investigations.'

‘Your investigations!' Jeremy snarled at him. ‘Who gave the SIS the right to investigate an American citizen, an official in the State Department with close personal ties to the President himself? How do you explain that?'

‘It seems to me,' Humphrey Grant said acidly, ‘that we are all going to do a lot of explaining very soon. It won't benefit us or the Agency. We have a murder and a security scandal on our hands. Why don't you stop shouting, Spencer-Barr? There's more at stake than your grubby career.'

‘Why did you pick up Elizabeth Fleming?' Kidson asked. ‘Look, for Christ's sake, we're all in this together – there's no time for rivalry or personal vendettas. What alerted you?'