The Blood Diamond (11 page)

‘Not when she left the house.'

‘Did she meet someone?' Perhaps Leverson had come to see her and they'd gone off together.

‘She met a reporter,' said the policeman stolidly. ‘I don't know his name. ‘

‘Youngish chap, battered trilby, soiled raincoat, who's been here before?'

‘That's the man, sir.'

‘Did they go off together?'

‘In his car, yes.'

‘Thanks,' said Mannering. ‘You're good.'

‘I can understand you being worried after the other night, sir.'

Mannering said: ‘Yes.' He was more worried than he wanted to admit, and the news of Forsythe's visit only slightly reassured him. He hurried across to his car. Larraby and Harding, Tring and his own patchwork thoughts, had delayed him an hour, he ought to have been at Leverson's house long ago. He drove fast through the thinning evening traffic, towards the East End, Wine Street and Flick Leverson.

The past sat beside him.

 

Leverson, the tall, silvery haired, one-armed fence, cultured, mellow, incomparable judge of precious stones, known by the police but never caught, was a man with a mind which made Tring seem addle-pated and Bristow second rate. But it wasn't fair to compare them or anyone with Leverson, who stood head and shoulders in any company. The one thing Mannering did not know about him, was the real reason why he had turned bad. But that was a nonsense word to use about Flick; he was a man to trust and a man to love.

Lorna knew he could be trusted implicitly.

The Baron had gone to Leverson in the early days, selling his loot; through Leverson, who had identified him, he had seen a picture of himself as he had been. The calm, friendly voice and the insistent questions: ‘Are you sure you ought to be doing this, Mannering? Oughtn't you to give it up? It isn't your field – oh, you're brilliant at it, but it's a spendthrift brilliance.'

‘Not bad, coming from you,' Mannering had said.

‘Never mind that. I always had a kink, but you haven't. You were hurt and took revenge out of society, but no hurt ought to rankle for so long. What kind of a life will it be for Lorna?'

He'd won; and hadn't taken long to win.

 

Soon afterwards, Leverson himself had retired; but a dozen times he had been mentor, friend and confidant, amused at the Baron turned detective, amused at the irony of Bristow working both with and against him; a job like this would appeal to Leverson. But, why had he suddenly called Lorna? What did he want? He probably knew a lot about the Adalgo, would guess that Mannering had it in the window to attract attention, but why—

Mannering turned into Wine Street, a wide thoroughfare with neat, tall, red brick houses on each side, gateway to the slums of the East End.

The first person Mannering saw was Larraby.

 

 

Mannering pulled up and Larraby approached. Another car turned into Wine Street, but neither of them appeared to notice it.

‘Well? What's this?'

‘Mr. Mannering—'

‘I thought you didn't know Leverson.'

‘And I did not, sir. But I made inquiries after I left Chelsea, and learned who he was and where he lived. I thought perhaps you would come here, and hoped that I would be able to help.'

It sounded plausible. Mannering opened the car door and got out.

‘Have you seen the police car at the end of the road?' asked Larraby.

‘Yes,' said Mannering. ‘And the policemen in it have seen you.'

‘I've nothing to fear from the police now,' said Larraby. ‘What are you going to do, Mr. Mannering?'

‘We'll see.'

Was Larraby's explanation too plausible?

Mannering rang the front door bell; there was no answer.

As he stood on the doorstep, with Larraby behind him and the police watching from the corner, the past came upon him again. He had first come here by night, with jewels for which he asked a heavy price. Fantastic years!

Forget the past, and deal with the present!

He rang again. There was no sound inside the house.

‘It is puzzling,' Larraby murmured.

Mannering said: ‘Stay here, will you?'

He walked towards the farther end of Wine Street, to an alley at the back of the house, approached by a narrow service road. He did not glance round, but knew that one of the policemen from the car was following him. He wished it were dark.

The gate which led to the small back garden of the ex-fence's house was closed. Mannering thought he saw the policeman at the end of the alley. The windows were closed. He went up to a long, narrow one, which was in Leverson's snail dining-room. The curtains were drawn, and he could not see inside.

He tried the window, but it was locked; so was the back door.

The gate in the alley opened, and a plainclothes policeman appeared, a young, fair-haired man.

‘Excuse me, sir.'

‘Hallo?'

‘Have you any right on these premises?'

‘Yes,' said Mannering, ‘the right of a friend of the owner.'

The man said: ‘Oh.'

Mannering stood on tip-toe and peered over the net curtain at the kitchen window; no one was in sight.

‘Did you expect to find someone in?' asked the detective.

‘Yes,' said Mannering. ‘Obviously no one is, so I'll go back.'

They went back together. The detective returned to his car, and Larraby stood quietly outside the house.

‘No sign of anyone, Mr. Mannering?'

‘Nothing. We'll go back to the flat.' But he didn't want to go back, he wanted to get into that house.

A two-seater car turned into the street, and Forsythe was at the wheel. News? Mannering was sick with anxiety. The reporter pulled the high-powered car up with a squeal of brakes, and waved.

‘Hallo, hallo! I thought I might find you here, as you weren't at the flat, and—'

‘Where did you leave my wife?'

‘Eh? Why, here. No trouble, is there?'

‘She isn't here now. I haven't been able to get an answer by telephone since half past six.'

‘Well, I expect she's on her way back, said Forsythe, reassuringly. ‘I tried to make her tell me why she was coming, but clams run in the family. She's all right. Can you spare me half an hour?'

‘Just now, I want to find my wife.'

‘My dear chap! Leverson's an old friend of yours, and he's pretty sound,' said Forsythe. He grinned. ‘A truly reformed character! There are several things I'd like to talk to you about, Mannering – including one that will surprise even you.'

Mannering only wanted one surprise: to see Lorna come out of that house.

‘What is it?'

‘The police have released the two charmers.'

Mannering said sharply: ‘Sure?'

‘l am a fact-finder by trade. Odd, isn't it? They've also questioned a man named Harding and his son, and let them go. They won't give the Press a statement. Any new slant from you? You know the line – the police won't play, so we play with the police.'

‘You're smart enough to think up new slants for yourself,' Mannering said. ‘You met Lorna in Green Street, didn't you?'

‘Yes. She wanted a cab, so I offered her a free lift. She was uncommunicative, but pleased, I gathered – very pleased. I guessed you'd sold the Adalgo, or something. I thought you'd sent for her, knowing how you can play on the emotions, and—'

‘I didn't. ‘

‘You're really worried, aren't you?' Forsythe observed, frowning.

Another car turned into the street; Bristow's old green Morris. It looked antiquated, but had a supercharged engine, and was as deceitful as its owner could be. Bristow paused to have a word with the men in the other police car.

‘Teddy, do something for me,' Mannering said quickly. ‘Go back to the flat and wait for me.'

‘Damn it, with the police on the doorstep—'

‘If there's a story, you'll get it.'

Forsythe frowned. ‘It would have to be some story, John. All right. Where's the key?'

Mannering gave him one. Larraby, who had heard all this, started to speak, but stopped himself.

Mannering said hurriedly: ‘My wife and the maid ought to be back by now. There might be a message from one or other of them. Off with you, before Bristow comes.'

‘May I go with Mr. Forsythe?' asked Larraby.'Why not?'

‘Come on, if you're coming,' said Forsythe.

The engine roared, and Larraby got in. The small car moved at speed, and Forsythe waved to Bristow, getting no response.

Bristow's car pulled up, by Mannering.

‘You're very interested in Leverson's house, aren't you?' asked Bristow. ‘Quite like old times.'

‘Yes, isn't it? Are you interested, too?'

‘I am,' said Bristow. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘Lorna paid a visit, and hasn't returned.'

Bristow nodded, as if that satisfied him, and went to the door, and rang and knocked. A young detective-sergeant was with him, other police looked on. Bristow waited for less than five minutes, then turned and nodded to the sergeant.

This visit had been arranged beforehand; Bristow knew plenty, probably much more than he would reveal.

The sergeant went to the window and examined it closely, then began to fiddle with the catch with a knife. Mannering could have opened that window in half the time, but at last it banged up.

‘In you get,' said Bristow to the sergeant.

‘I hope you've got a search-warrant,' Mannering said.

‘I've got all that's needed.' Bristow waited while the sergeant climbed into the house. ‘You've shown some sense. If my man hadn't been watching you, you'd have been inside, I'll bet.'

‘How could I get in?' Mannering was in no mood for fencing with Bristow, who made no comment.

The sergeant, a tall and dark man, opened the door from the inside.

‘All okay, sir.' He sounded proud.

‘Go through and make sure the back yard's covered,' said Bristow. ‘Report at once.'

The sergeant hurried off and Bristow stepped into the gloomy hall. Mannering followed him, half expecting to be told to stay outside, but Bristow let him come. Except for the sergeant's footsteps, the house was silent.

The sergeant soon came back.

‘Everything's all right at the back, sir. Shall I go upstairs?'

‘We'll all go. Start searching down here and keep together,' said Bristow.

 

There was no one in any of the downstairs rooms, and Bristow led the way, and the sergeant brought up the rear, as they went upstairs. Their footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet; the whole house was hushed.

Bristow knew the house well. He turned to the big front room, Leverson's study. It was a treasure house of antiques, almost a miniature Quinn's.

Bristow pushed open the door.

‘Mannering, you'd better—' he began, and then stopped short.

Mannering banged into him.

Bristow steadied himself and went slowly into the room. Mannering looked over his shoulder.

He saw Flick Leverson's white hair, smeared with red. The old man was lying face downwards in a corner of the room. Mannering's heart thumped enough to suffocate him, but there was only Leverson. Lorna wasn't here.

In a low-pitched voice, Bristow said: ‘It's a good thing you didn't come in before, Mannering.'

He went forward slowly, so that Mannering could see Leverson clearly; the fence had an ugly wound in the back of the head, and the side of the head was cracked right in.

Bristow said, without turning round:

‘Sergeant, go downstairs and telephone the Yard. You know what we want. Don't use the telephone here, go outside.'

‘Right, sir,' The sergeant hurried off, no longer proud, but breathless.

Mannering said in a harsh voice: ‘So Flick's gone.' It was inane, but words didn't matter. In the red mess of Leverson's head, he saw a picture of Lorna.

‘Yes,' said Bristow. ‘Don't touch him. Don't touch anything.'

They stood quite still, looking at the man on the floor and at several glittering jewels near his pale, outstretched hand.

 

 

Mannering went down on one knee beside the dead fence. The contrast between his peaceful, pale face and the silvery hair curling at the temples, and ugly, oozing gash, made Mannering's eyes sting. He still saw that mind picture of Lorna.

‘Don't touch anything!' Bristow barked.

Mannering groped in his waistcoat pocket, took out a pair of silver tweezers, and said: ‘This won't damage anything.'

Bristow wasn't feeling so good, or he would have ordered him out. Mannering gripped the big diamond between the ends of the tweezers and gently drew it from Leverson's grasp. There were several other jewels; he'd died protecting them.

‘Is it real?' Bristow demanded.

Mannering took the diamond to the window. It had a faint red tinge, and, photographed, would have been identical with the real Adalgo. He turned it round and round. The light was poor but a real diamond would have scintillated more than this did.

‘Paste,' he said. ‘I'd better look at the others.'

‘There could be fingerprints,' Bristow said, and his voice was hard.

‘If there are, I shan't smear them.' Mannering took another gem from the fence's hand; a second trickled out and rolled along the floor. All three looked alike. There were two others, still in Leverson's palm, more difficult to prise free.

‘Well?' Bristow demanded.

‘All paste.'

‘Seen them before?'

‘Yes.'

‘Where?'

‘These were taken from my flat the other night.'

‘So Leverson—'

Mannering said: ‘Don't say it.' He stood up, and Bristow backed sharply away from him. ‘Don't say it. Flick wasn't in the market for hot stuff. He could no more prevent people offering him jewels than you can help taking the oath in court. He hadn't bought for years, and you know it,'

‘He had these.'

‘Would Flick have bought paste?'

‘I suppose you're right,' muttered Bristow.

‘I am right. He was offered these, held them, and telephoned me. He knew I'd been robbed, knew what had been taken. I was out, so Lorna came rushing over to see him – did you know that?

Bristow didn't answer.

‘Lorna was thinking it a triumph – and it's quite a line on her squat-faced gentleman, if you see it straight. Don't get any other crazy ideas, Bill, such as thinking that Lorna could have done this.'

‘I'm not that crazy.'

‘After what I've seen of you today, I'm ready to believe you'd think anything,' Mannering said. ‘Have you had any report about Lorna?'

‘No.'

‘That's what policemen are for,' Mannering said, bitterly. ‘To hang about Green Street, hang about Quinn's, follow me all over the town, but when there's trouble – no policeman. What brought you here?'

‘I heard—' began Bristow, and then shut his mouth like a trap.

Mannering said: ‘All right, Bill, keep your secrets. Just think this one out. My wife's missing. Not all the bright policemen in Scotland Yard are going to stop me from finding her.'

Bristow lit a cigarette. Men came up the stairs and into the room, one carrying a camera and tripod, another a black case, a third a small vacuum cleaner; they would go over the room for prints, sweep up the dust, analyse it, go through all the motions of investigation.

‘Take it easy,' Bristow said. ‘This job had an ugly streak from the beginning, this isn't the ugliest, I had a squeal, that Leverson had this stuff.'

‘Squeal from whom?'

‘I don't know and wouldn't tell you if I did.'

Mannering said: ‘I can tell you. The thieves. They passed them over to Leverson, knowing he'd send for me, then squealed to you, thinking you'd come and catch us together. You brought half the Yard, hoping to catch me in conference with a man who could give you—' he broke off. ‘Oh, forget it.'

Bristow said: ‘You'd better go. I shouldn't have let you come.'

‘Your one concession to decency,' Mannering said, and went out.

 

After he had been back to the Yard and made out his report, Bristow went to the Hampstead house of the Assistant Commissioner. It was near the Heath, a small house of distinction, standing in its own grounds, two garden walls bordered by open, sparsely tree-clad land.

Mrs. Anderson-Kerr was throwing a party, and there was music and much laughter. Bristow found it trying as he sat in the library, waiting for Anderson-Kerr.

It was half past nine.

Mannering had left Wine Street hours before Bristow.

The Superintendent had never known Mannering in a worse mood; and never, he admitted, with such justification for one. And Mannering didn't know everything.

Anderson-Kerr, in tails and big white tie, came in.

‘I'm sorry I had to keep you. Sit down.' He indicated a chair. ‘Whisky, as usual?' He poured out. ‘You probably need that. I've had nearly as much as is good for me tonight.'

‘Thanks,' said Bristow, morosely.

‘Well, what's new?'

‘You know everything about Leverson's minder,' said Bristow, settling back in his chair; the whisky warmed him but didn't raise his spirits.

‘Yes, I had your message about the paste diamonds. It was worth taking a chance on.'

‘I wish we'd taken it hours earlier,' Bristow said, savagely. ‘There are a dozen fences in London whose death wouldn't matter a damn, but Leverson – well, that's hardly the point.' He checked himself. ‘He was battered about the head, and probably had the real as well as the false diamonds which were taken from Mannering's flat. The real ones were gone. It's reasonable enough to think that he did telephone Mannering, as reasonable that Mrs. Mannering would hurry to see him. All reports tally, including Larraby's, who told Mannering where his wife had gone. They agree that she was excited and on edge; as she would be if she knew that the diamonds had been found.'

A door opened, a girl's gay laughter sounded.

‘She was followed to Wine Street and away again,' went on Bristow. ‘Mannering always prefers to play solo on a job like this. I tried to stop him. Whether I would have been wiser to—'

‘Don't worry about that.'

‘Right. Our man lost her in the Soho side streets,' said Bristow. ‘It was a pretty obvious trick. There was a taxi at the end of Wine Street. Mrs. Mannering took it, and our man says that he
thinks—
' Bristow sneered that word—'that there was someone else in the cab. He followed the cab as far as Soho, and then got caught up in a traffic block, and was shaken off. He took the number of the cab, but it's not registered with us, it's a pirate. Someone was waiting in the cab all right. It was planted there for Mrs. Mannering, and that she's been—' he paused.

‘Kidnapped,' Anderson-Kerr said for him.

‘What else can it be?'

‘Can you guess why it happened?'

‘From the time Mannering first bought the real Adalgo diamond, it's been on show. It is again today. I've made quite sure that it is the original stone – Mannering wouldn't make a mistake of that kind, anyhow. I think the murderers are after the real stone. They've only just realised that Mannering still has it, and will put high pressure on him through his wife.'

‘I suppose it could be,' said Anderson-Kerr, after a pause. ‘Why had Mannering been so keen about the fakes and similar stones?'

‘I don't know. Probably just for the hell of it. There may be a motive he hasn't yet told us.'

‘How are you going to find out?'

Bristow said slowly: ‘He's worried out of his wits about his wife. It wouldn't surprise me if he doesn't prove more amenable than usual. If I try the heavy hand with him again, he might crack. I've been paving the way. I gave him a scare in Quinn's this afternoon, he's not quite sure which way I'm going to jump. He's worried that we'll dig up evidence that he's the Baron. I think I'll wait until morning, and then have a go at him.'

‘And if his wife turns up?'

‘I doubt whether she will. I think he might get a message from or about her, and go off on his own. If he does, and we watch him, we might pick up enough to high pressure him in earnest.'

‘Agent provocateur,
Bristow?'

Bristow grinned, in spite of himself.

‘We make a habit of giving Mannering a chance to hang himself,' he said.

‘Well, do as you think best. Rules don't help much with Mannering. Did you find anything useful at Leverson's house?'

‘Nothing except the paste gems,' said Bristow. ‘There's nothing in the house on our stolen goods list. Oh, there was one small thing. Leverson's maid was sent for by a relative in Watford – or she was supposed to be. Leverson gave her the afternoon off. Her relatives hadn't sent for her, and she rushed back. It was a bad show. She's hysterical, but when she calms down, she may be able to give us some information. There wasn't a single fingerprint, nothing at all to help us, any more than there was at Mannering's flat. We can't get a line on the man with the small high-bridged nose and the wrinkled forehead, either – he certainly isn't known to us. Wherever we look, there are dead ends.'

‘What about the Harding family and the two Addel women?'

‘I'm following them up.'

‘Sure we were wise to let them go? ‘

‘I think so, sir,' said Bristow, formally. ‘We couldn't hold either of the Hardings. I hoped to trap them into some kind of admission, but it didn't work. Marjorie Addel was at Guildford last night, according to young Harding and a servant at Harding's house – that gives her an alibi. She says she didn't want her Paul worried, that's why she kept his name back. Says she panicked when she tried to run off this morning. She's certainly well worth watching. Zara Addel was with friends last night, and we haven't been able to shake her story or their evidence. We didn't have much to hold them on, I think they're better free and being watched.'

‘You're probably right. It's costing us a lot of men.'

‘It's a triple murder job, now.' Bristow was bleak.

‘Yes. Yes, all right. Anything you want from me?'

‘We'll probably have to arm our men,' said Bristow. ‘I'm not happy about them chasing after this mob with their bare fists. I know the Home Office doesn't like it, but—'

‘I'll arrange it. What's Tring doing?'

‘Eating his heart out,' said Bristow. ‘He's afraid Mannering will slip through his hands again. He's quite sure that Mannering is still active as the Baron, nothing will shake that out of him He's so intense in trying to justify his promotion that I almost wish—' he broke off. ‘No, I don't! He's watching Mannering tonight, with another man.'

‘And all radio cars are warned to look out for him?'

‘Yes. If it were any other man, I'd say he hadn't a chance to get out of our sight, but—'

Anderson-Kerr said: ‘He's our evil genius, I know.'

The telephone bell rang. Outside in the hall, the girl laughed again. The music welled up, light and lively, stamping footsteps sounded, as the quick, pulsating rhythm of the Conga began. The party would probably file through the house . . .

‘Yes, he's here,' said Anderson-Kerr and handed Bristow the telephone. ‘It's Tring.'

Bristow grabbed the receiver.

‘Thanks . . . well, Tring?'

‘He's done it,' cried Tring, ‘he's done it again! Went to Quinn's and then to his flat, and since then we haven't set eyes on him. No radio reports, no nothing. I could
cry ‘

‘Don't cry – find him,' snapped Bristow.