High Water (1959) (23 page)

Vivian shut his eyes tightly, feeling his last reserves of strength passing away. The foul, triumphant breath fanned his face, and the great mass of Morrie’s body spread-eagled him as helplessly as a pinned butterfly.

He bit his lips, feeling the cold point of the knife scratch
his
skin. God, this is it. Please let Karen be safe. Let her always be safe.

He felt a muscle tremble in the other man’s wrist and he knew that he was summoning the power for the final blow. Some last little piece of wild reasoning made Vivian act. He suddenly relaxed his resistance, and as the knife plunged down he twisted his neck to one side. The rough edge of the blade scored deeply into his skin, as it flashed downwards, burying itself to the hilt in the dirt.

Not giving him time to recover, Vivian kneed and punched himself clear from the sobbing, mouthing maniac, and as he staggered to his feet he crashed his hand down in a rabbit punch on the squat neck.

Blindly he blundered across the prostrate body and snatched up his jacket and ran from the room, the breath rasping from his lips in short, wheezing gasps.

For a moment he could see nothing, but when he all but fell down the short flight of steps in the front of the office he saw the car, its front wheels already against the first rough timbers of the bridge, and the girl, running towards him, her eyes wide with horror and compassion.

‘Get in!’ he choked. ‘We’ve got to get out fast!’

She shook her head, the fear which marked her face forcing him to tighten his grip on his reeling senses.

‘No key!’ It seemed like a final blow. ‘Philip, I couldn’t start it!’

Behind him, he heard the crash of something falling in the hut. He was coming after them. He still had a gun. The urgent signals flashed through his brain.

‘Come on, then! We must run for it!’

Together, hand-in-hand, they started to run across the bridge, Vivian realizing that she was pulling him, as he swayed in a shambling trot across the slippery timbers.

God, he hadn’t realized it was such a long bridge, and
while
his feet slipped and stumbled on the uneven, rain-sodden wood, he caught a glimpse of the dark, swollen water beneath. This was to have been the place for murder.

He cursed savagely, his foot tripping on a broken plank; fifty yards to go. The wet, shining trees, and the high banks of earth mocked at him.

Crack! The sound of the shot echoed and re-echoed around them. Karen faltered, but he dragged her roughly forward.

‘Don’t look back!’ he panted. ‘Must keep going!’

His words were drowned by the roar of a car engine, and even as his tortured mind grasped at the fact that Morrie must have had the ignition key, they both felt the bridge start to shake and vibrate when the spinning wheels slithered and then found their grip, sending the powerful car hurtling across the narrow bridge.

Without turning, he could imagine the bright red body tearing down on them and, as he measured up the last few yards, he knew they could not make the distance in time.

He started to pull the girl to the side, holding her panting body pressed against his own when, like a giant tree falling, the bridge gave one ear-splitting crack, and the whole centre portion reeled drunkenly on its side.

He stood transfixed, holding her face against his chest, blotting out the scene of destruction and madness. In a whirl of cracking, rotten wood, the shining shape of the car leaped into the water beneath.

As it struck the water with a tremendous splash, he saw Morrie’s white face staring fixedly up at him, his jaw hanging open in a silent scream, then he was under the heaving water, and only the luggage boot was visible, hanging upright like a sinking submarine. For a few seconds it stayed motionless, until, with a gurgling shudder, it dived down into the mud.

A minute passed, and the two figures remained locked together, their feet within a yard from the jagged edge of the bridge. At the end of that time the water was again still, the surface smooth and untroubled, but for a few scattered fragments of wood.

Vivian shuddered and gently prised the girl’s clutching arms from around his waist.

‘It’s finished,’ he said slowly, ‘he’s gone to a better end than he deserved.’

The girl looked up quickly, her wide eyes searching his face, as if to find the reason for the new harshness in his voice. He looked down at her for a while, apparently unseeing, and she sensed the great mental and physical turmoil which was threatening to snap his last ounce of strength. She opened her mouth to speak, then, changing her mind, buried her face once more against his jacket.

Like the sun after a storm, a wintry smile crossed his lips and he patted her shoulder soothingly.

‘Thank God you’re safe,’ he muttered. ‘For a while then I thought we were done for.’

‘Never!’ Her voice was muffled. ‘You never gave them a chance! But what you have had to go through!’

She sobbed unrestrainedly, and Vivian too felt the quickening tremble within him, the aftermath, as he knew from hard experience, of shock.

Hand-in-hand they ran shakily up the narrow lane between the brooding hills, until they came to the concealed entrance, where Morrie had driven from the main road.

And he thought it was to be
my
last ride, mused Vivian grimly.

He pulled her into the shelter of a clump of trees, while he cautiously scanned the quiet road for any trace of Cooper.

‘Nothing,’ he said shortly. ‘That ’phone box must be further away than I thought.’

‘What do we do now, Philip?’

She ran her hand through her hair, and for a moment he was caught in wonder and admiration, the mantle of weary and fearful anticipation seeming to drop away as he watched her. She stood poised and alert, yet apparently relaxed, her beauty accentuated by her stained and crumpled clothing. She saw him watching her, his eyes exploring her body, and she dropped her gaze, a slow flush spreading across her cheeks, but with a secret smile playing on her lips.

‘I’m sorry,’ he faltered, suddenly aware of the pounding of his heart. ‘I’m afraid my mind was not where it should have been. You’ll have to forgive these sudden lapses of mine.’ He grinned awkwardly. ‘I’ve not got used to being near you, if you understand what I mean. Each time I look at you I just go completely stupid and tongue-tied.’

‘For one so tongue-tied, you are pretty eloquent, Philip. Perhaps I too have the same feelings as you.’ She shrugged her slim shoulders, her face suddenly grave. ‘But all my little dreams and hopes seem so very uncertain now. We must try to decide what we must do next. And, Philip,’ her eyes clouded, ‘I want to hear all about Nils, about what you found, anything you can remember’—she trembled, as if suddenly chilled—‘he was so very dear to me.’

Vivian gripped her by the arm, and together they started to walk briskly along the road. Neither spoke for a while, and their shadows twisted and flitted along the dripping bushes, seeming to keep time with the slap of their feet on the wet tarmac.

‘As I see it,’ he said at length, ‘I’d better get along to the police as soon as I can. I don’t quite know how I shall start, it’ll probably sound a bit of a queer story to them!’

‘I wonder if Felix had gone to the police yet?’

‘Hmm, maybe he has at that,’ he answered thoughtfully. ‘In which case, the sooner I get my story out the better. If I’m careful, I might be able to keep your uncle’s name out of it. After all, they must be mainly interested in those drugs, and they were Mason’s doing. And when I tell them about the rest of it, about Nils,’ he breathed heavily, ‘they’ll be very interested!’

They found themselves at the junction of the main coast road, quite deserted but for an occasional car heading for Dover.

‘The police will have to know about the money too.’ Her voice was quiet, but very firm. ‘They’ll find out anyway, and I do not want you to be implicated any more than you are. As it is, they will understand. I will be there too.’ She stifled his protests. ‘It is no use arguing, Philip, you know quite well that I was not mixed up in it, so, therefore, I am the obvious one to help you. Right?’ Her eyes shone in the sun.

‘I don’t like it,’ he persisted stubbornly. ‘I loathe the thought of your name being dragged through the courts, or whatever’s going to happen.’

‘But I
am
right, it
is
the only way. Please say you understand.’ Her voice was imploring.

‘If you say so,’ he conceded doubtfully. ‘So that means I’d better get the rest of the plates from
Seafox
. That’ll at least prove that I’m trying to help.’ He grinned weakly.

She squeezed his hand hard. ‘You’ll see, it’ll all be all right.’ The Danish accent became more pronounced, as it always did when she became excited. ‘It was a wonderful idea of yours to hang on to half of these dreadful plates!’

‘It’s amazing, isn’t it. A few weeks ago I don’t suppose either of us had even heard of this sort of thing. Now, you
and
I talk quite calmly about plates, and drug smuggling, as if we’d been mixed up with ’em all our lives!’

‘I don’t know about
calmly
.’

‘Anyway, we’ll have a go.’ He smiled.

He stopped in his stride and pointed upwards at a bus stop.

‘See?’ he grinned. ‘Civilization again! Might as well wait here and try to get back to Ramsgate. By the way, do you have any money? I seem to have lost all mine back there!’

It was amazing that he could now joke about it, and keep the edge of strain out of his voice.

She found some loose change in the pocket of her jacket, and as they waited for a bus they discussed carefully the plan of action, trying not to omit any detail.

A travel-stained bus ground to a standstill, and oblivious of the curious glances of the few passengers, they climbed to the top deck, which was fortunately deserted.

As they jolted along the wind-swept road, Vivian frowned, as a sudden, disquieting thought occurred to him.

‘I’ve been thinking, Karen,’ he announced slowly, ‘and I’ve come to the conclusion that it might be unwise for both of us to bowl into the police-station together. It’d perhaps be better if you went to the boat and got Felix and the plates, and came on a bit later.’

‘But, Philip!’ Her eyes filled with concern. ‘I must be with you!’

He gripped her hands, his heart warm for her.

‘Believe me, it is better that we go separately. After all,’ he began carefully, ‘they may decide to hold me in custody. I shall need all my friends then,’ he finished quietly.

She turned up the collar of his jacket and handed him her own head-scarf to tie around his throat.

‘No one will see that you do not have a shirt on now. We do not want people to think you are a pirate!’ But her sad expression belied her brave words.

‘We’re nearly there. Now promise you’ll be careful. I’ll carry on into the town and get this business off my chest.’

‘I will be all right.’ She nodded gravely. ‘It is you who needs to be careful.’

The bus slowed down as it swung in towards the cliff top. Beneath them the harbour lay like a white horseshoe.

‘I will hurry, Philip,’ she said softly. Her lips brushed across his mouth, then she was gone.

The bus lumbered on its way and began to fill up with chattering holiday-makers, but Vivian stared at them unseeingly, his mind elsewhere and conscious of the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He found his way easily enough to the dark, red-brick building, with its large blue lamp outside. He walked past it twice, glancing up at the solid, helmeted policeman who stood indifferently in the doorway.

He swallowed hard, clenching his fists that he had thrust deep into his reefer pockets. His knuckle touched a small, hard shape, and he pulled out a sixpence, which had somehow got itself lost in the lining. He glanced round, his eyes falling on a small café opposite the police-station. A quick cup of tea, he thought. That’d do the trick. It might be just emptiness which was making his inside boil and quiver so sickeningly.

He sat in a corner of the café, at one of the marble-topped tables, watching the policeman across the road. Soon be over, he thought, soon be cleared up, one way or the other.

A fat, jolly man, his face and neck burned by the sun to a fiery, lobster-like glow, heaved himself up from a neighbouring table, where he’d been feeding his two noisy
children
with cakes and ice cream. As he pushed a small piece of silver under a plate he caught sight of Vivian, sitting taut and grim-faced and toying with his cup and saucer. His broad, Yorkshire features split into a grin.

‘’Ere you are, lad! ’Ave a dekko at the paper, it’ll cheer you oop!’ He thrust the afternoon paper across to him and chuckled. ‘It’s right good, I can tell you; another bloody war goin’ to start any second, and my horse ’as coom in fourth at Hurst Park! I dunno, I’m sure!’

Vivian nodded to him, and watched the man shepherding his children out of the café.

Ah well, time to see the gentlemen across the road, he thought, no good putting it off. He finished his tea and stood up. As he did so, his eye fell casually on a side column of the front page. The café spun about his ears and he reached out to stop himself from falling across the table. There was a great roaring in his head and he had the greatest difficulty in preventing himself from crying out in astonishment and horror.

With a frightened glance round, to see if he had attracted any attention, he sat down again and forced his eyes and brain to work slowly and carefully across the bold type.

MAN MURDERED AT HAMPTON COURT

Early this morning, in response to information received, police went to the 16th century riverside home of Mr. Nils Jensen, well-known Danish head of the Europa Travel Agency, where they found his body lying savagely battered to death and hidden in an old cellar, used as a studio by the deceased man. There were signs of a violent struggle and of a forced entry having been made. Miss Karen Jensen, the dead man’s niece, is missing, and it is believed that she may have been kidnapped by the murderer, whom she is believed to know. A senior police official told our reporter that he is confident of an early arrest, although he was not
prepared
to state his own views of the reason for the murder at this stage. It was later announced that Chief Inspector Laidlaw, well known for his recent success in the Brighton Cellars murder case, is in charge of investigations. Police are anxious to trace the whereabouts of Philip Vivian, who they feel may be able to help in their inquiries.