On Dangerous Ground (23 page)

Hannah joined them with a tray piled with cups and two teapots. “I saw you coming,” she told Asta. “Help yourself.”

Asta laid the cups and saucers out on the table as Hannah poured. “Wasn’t Dillon wonderful?”

“I suppose it depends on your point of view.”

“Oh, come now, Chief Inspector, that wretched man had it coming, deserved every minute of it.”

Hector Munro came in and went to the bar. As they watched he purchased half a bottle of whiskey and turned to leave. He saw them sitting there, hesitated, and came over.

“Ladies,” he said politely and then to Dillon in Gaelic, “You’ll be expecting my thanks, I’m thinking?”

“Not really,” Dillon said in Irish. “How is he?”

“The hard head, that one, but that bastard hurt him.” He grinned suddenly. “Mind you, you’re a bit of a bastard yourself, Mr. Dillon.”

He walked away and Asta said, “Was that Gaelic?”

“That’s right and I used Irish. They’re very similar.”

“Was he thanking you for saving his son?” Hannah asked.

Dillon smiled. “He never thanked anyone in his life, that one.”

Someone called, “There you are,” and as they turned, Lady Katherine came through the crowd, leaning on her stick, Jeannie holding her other arm.

“My dear lady.” Ferguson got up. “I’m amazed to see you and in all this crowd of people.”

Jeannie helped her into a seat and Lady Katherine said, “I have to put in an appearance, they expect it, you know.” She turned to Dillon. “I saw you from a distance over the heads of the crowd. Rather a nasty business and hardly sporting. My goodness, he made a mess of your face.”

“True, ma’am, but he looks worse,” Dillon said.

She smiled and turned to Ferguson. “I really must go, can’t afford to overdo it, but I’ve been thinking.”

“Thinking, Lady Katherine?”

“Yes, the Bible. I’ve had a thought. Why don’t you drop in on your way home?” I’ll discuss it with you.“ She pushed herself up. “Come on, Jeannie, let’s make a move. Goodbye all.”

She moved away through the crowd leaning on Jeannie’s arm and Hannah said, “Now there’s a turn-up for the book.”

“It certainly is,” Ferguson said. “Frankly I can’t wait to hear what she’s got to say. What do you think, Dillon?”

Dillon lit a cigarette, frowning. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be special. I don’t think she’s going to say look at the back of the third drawer down in the writing desk in the study or anything like that.” He nodded slowly. “No, something we haven’t even thought of.”

“And neither has Carl.” Asta turned to Ferguson. “Can I come too, Brigadier? I’d love to see you steal a march on him.”

Ferguson smiled. “Of course, my dear, why not? After all, you are on our side now.”

Dillon drove the Range Rover on the way to Loch Dhu Castle. Before leaving the fair he’d visited the first-aid tent, and now sticking plaster adorned his right cheek, although the lady on duty from the St. John’s Ambulance Brigade had advised him to seek proper medical attention.

“Are you all right, my boy?” Ferguson asked as they got out in front of the gate lodge.

“I’m fine, just forget it,” Dillon grinned. “It’s all in the mind.”

Ferguson knocked on the door and Jeannie opened it after a few moments. “Her ladyship is in the drawing room.”

Ferguson led the way in. Lady Katherine sat in a chair by the fire, a rug over her knees. “Ah, there you are. Come in, sit down. Tea and biscuits, Jeannie, and open the French windows. It’s far too close in here.”

“Certainly, your ladyship.” Jeannie did as she was told.

Everyone settled down, Dillon leaned on the piano and lit a cigarette. “This is nice,” he said.

“You can give me one of those cancer sticks, young man, and pass around that photo in the silver frame on the end of the piano.”

“Certainly, ma’am.” He did as he was told, lit the cigarette, and went and got the photo. It showed a young woman in an RAF flying jacket and helmet of Second World War vintage standing beside a Spitfire. It was quite obviously Lady Katherine.

“You look like some film star in one of those old war films,” he said and passed it to Ferguson.

The Brigadier smiled. “Amazing, Lady Katherine, truly amazing,” and he handed it to Hannah and Asta, who were sitting together on the couch.

“Yes, those were the days. They gave me the M.B.E., you know. Telling you about it at dinner last night brought it all back. I started thinking about it all in the early hours today, couldn’t sleep, you see. So many amazing incidents, all those brave women who died, and I suddenly recalled a rather strange affair. A wonderful flier called Betty Keith-Jopp was piloting a Barracuda over Scotland when she ran into bad weather. Landed in the Firth of Forth and sank forty feet. She got out and made the surface all right. Was picked up by a fishing boat.”

“Amazing,” Ferguson said, “but what has that to do with the Bible?”

She said patiently, “Because thinking of that reminded me of the Lysander that crashed into Loch Dhu while trying to land at Ardmurchan RAF base. You see I’ve remembered now, that was the plane carrying my brother’s belongings.”

“It was nineteen forty-six, March as I recall. I should tell you that besides the injury to his brain in that terrible crash in India, my brother sustained some quite severe burns to his right arm and hand so when he was thought fit enough he was transferred to a place called East Grinstead.”

“Now that I do know about,” Ferguson said. “It was the unit pioneered by Archibald McIndoe. He specialized in plastic surgery for aircrew who’d suffered severe burns.”

“A wonderful man,” she said. “His patients weren’t always RAF. My brother, for instance.”

“What happened?” Dillon asked her.

“Ian suffered a serious relapse that needed further brain surgery. Jack Tanner was with him still acting as his batman. Anyway, they gave up on him, expecting him to die at any time.”

“So?” Ferguson said.

“At that time he had a visitor, an RAF officer who’d been a fellow patient for some months, but was now returned to duty, a Wing Commander Smith — Keith Smith. I believe he rose to some very senior rank later. It turned out that he had been given command of the RAF station on the Island of Stornaway in the Outer Hebrides and was due to fly up there in a Lysander, piloting himself.”

“A Lysander?” Asta asked. “What kind of plane was that?”

“It was a high, wing-braced monoplane, a wheels-down job. Flew them myself many times. Room for a pilot and a couple of passengers. They could take off or land on quite a small field.”

Ferguson managed to restrain his impatience. “I see, but where does Wing Commander Smith fit in?”

“Well if he was flying to Stornaway his course would take him right over here, you see, and Ardmurchan RAF base was still operational. As it seemed as if my brother was about to die, he told Jack Tanner that if he gathered all Ian’s belongings together, he’d take them with him, land at Ardmurchan, and drop them off. He would then refuel and fly on to Stornaway.”

“My God,” Hannah Bernstein sighed. “I see it all now.”

Lady Katherine carried on. “I was at home at the time on leave. The weather was very bad, a thunderstorm and low cloud. I didn’t see it happen, I mean it was all so quick. He lost his engine on the final approach across the loch and ditched. It went down like a stone, but he just managed to get out with his dinghy.”

There was silence and it was Asta who spoke. “It makes sense now. When Tanner was talking to Tony Jackson at Our Lady of Mercy Hospital he told Jackson that he sent all the Laird’s belongings home because he thought he was going to die.”

“And Jackson asked him if the Bible had gone back to Loch Dhu,” Dillon put in.

“And Tanner said, ‘You could say that,’ and then according to Jackson he started to laugh.” Hannah nodded slowly. “I always did wonder about that.”

“Well all is certainly revealed now.” Ferguson turned to Lady Katherine. “No attempt at recovery?”

“They didn’t have the equipment. Keith Smith came to see me, of course, lovely man. Strange thing about him. He hadn’t been in fighters or bombers. He joked about being a transport pilot, but he had a DSO and two DFCs. I often wondered about that. No, as I say, they left the Lysander down there. Checked out its position and so forth, or so he told me.” She smiled. “So there you go. Poor old Ian’s Bible is down there at the bottom of the loch in one of his suitcases, if there’s anything left, of course. Now let’s have some more tea.”

“We’ve taken up enough of your time, dear lady,” Ferguson told her.

“Nonsense, I insist.” She rang the bell for Jeannie.

Ferguson nodded to Dillon and walked to the French windows and Dillon followed him. As they moved out onto the terrace, Ferguson said, “We’ve got to move fast now. I’ll call in the Lear and I want you and the Chief Inspector to get down to London and check this out with RAF records.”

Dillon put a hand on his arm, frowning, and Ferguson turned to find Angus close to the wall, ivy on the ground at his feet, pruning shears in his hand.

“Why, Angus, it’s you,” Ferguson said. “Have you been there long?”

“Just doing some pruning, sir. I’m finished now.” He hurriedly bundled the clippings up, dumped them in his barrow, and wheeled it away.

Hannah appeared in the open window, Asta at her shoulder. “Do you think we were overheard?” Hannah asked.

“Of course we were,” Dillon told her. “That’s what the bastard was doing there. He’ll go straight to Morgan.”

“Undoubtedly.” Ferguson turned to Asta. “When you see Morgan you must cover yourself by telling him everything, it will strengthen your position. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Good.” He looked at his watch. “Three o’clock. If I contact the office now they’ll have the standby Lear take off at once. Priority with air traffic control, so no delays.” He shrugged. “Should be here by five at the latest. Immediate turnaround and back to London.”

“And then?” Dillon said.

“Check RAF records and try to establish details of the Lysander’s position and procure the right equipment for a search.” He smiled. “It looks as if you’re going diving again, Dillon.”

“So it would seem,” Dillon said.

Ferguson turned and went inside and they heard him say, “I was wondering, dear lady, if I might use your telephone?”

TWELVE

IT WAS A GOOD TWO HOURS LATER THAT ASTA SAW the Shogun draw up in front of the house and Morgan and Marco got out. One side of the Sicilian’s face was covered by a dressing and tape. Angus was lurking near the house and he hurried forward as Morgan and Marco started up the steps. They talked for quite a long time and then Morgan took out his wallet and passed several notes across. He started up the steps again with Marco, and Asta eased back into the study and sat by the fire.

The moment the door opened and Morgan entered, she jumped up and ran to him. “Thank God, you’re back. Is Marco all right?”

“They took an X ray. A couple of cracked ribs, but they’re only hairline and he’s had stitches in his face.”

“Dillon needs stitches too,” she said.

“You saw him?”

“All of them, Carl. Lady Katherine invited us back for tea and came up with some sensational news.”

“Really?” he said and reached for a cigar. “Tell me.”

When she was finished he paced across to the window and back again. “That’s it, it’s got to be.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Wait, my love, let them do all the work, Dillon’s a master diver, remember. If they can position that plane, he’ll go down and bring up what’s inside.”

“And then?”

“We’ll take it from there. I’ll have the Citation standing by at Ardmurchan so we can get out of here fast.”

“And you think Dillon and Ferguson will just stand by and let you take it?”

“I’ll handle it, Asta.”

There was the sound of a plane taking off on the other side of the loch and they went to the terrace in time to see the Lear in the distance lifting into the early evening sky.

“There they go.” He smiled and put an arm about her shoulders. “I feel good about this, Asta, it’s going to work.”

“Of course, the document could have rotted away by now,” she said, “down there in the water.”

“True,” he said, “but hidden in that Bible I don’t think so.” He smiled. “Trust me.”

In the Lear, Dillon sat on one side of the aisle facing Hannah, who sat on the other. “Exciting, isn’t it?” he said. “Never a moment’s peace.”

“It’s worse than Scotland Yard,” she said.

He reached for the bar box and found a miniature of whiskey, which he poured into a plastic cup and added water. “All the comforts of home.”

“The water on its own would be better for you, especially at this height in an airplane, Dillon.”

“Isn’t it terrible,” he said. “I never could do the right thing.”

She settled back. “So what happens now?”

“We find out what we can about the crash of that Lysander and so on.”

“RAF records from those days may be hard to uncover.”

“Yes, well it was Air Ministry in those days and now it’s Ministry of Defence where you work yourself, so if you can’t trace them, who can?” He grinned. “Power, Hannah Bernstein, that’s what it’s all about. Better get on the phone and start them moving at the Information Centre.”

“No, that comes second,” she said, and reached for the phone. “First we get your face fixed.”

“God help me,” Dillon said. “The mother I never had,” and he folded his arms and closed his eyes.

They had a tailwind so strong that they made Gatwick in an hour and twenty minutes and it was only an hour after that at approximately seven-thirty that Dillon found himself lying on his back in a small theater at the London Clinic while Professor Henry Bellamy sat beside him and stitched the split in the left cheek.

“Doesn’t hurt?” he asked.

“Can’t feel a thing,” Dillon said.

“Well you damn well ought to.” Bellamy dropped the needles into the pan the nurse held out to him. “Major surgery at the highest level, I do some of my best work, even wrote a paper on your case. They published it in the
Lancet
.”