John Creasey - Send Superintendent West

“Near as dammit, sir.”

“Anything else?”

“Everything was quiet and normal,” answered PC Maidment, and actually looked uneasy. “I hope nothing went wrong I didn’t catch on to, sir.”

“Nothing you could be blamed for. Are you sure there were only three men in the car?”

“I only saw three.”

“Good,” said Roger. “Is all of this in your report?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, keep it all under your hat, Maidment. There may have been a bit of funny business last night, if there was we don’t want the people involved to know we’re suspicious. All clear?”

“Quite clear, sir.”

“Now make up on your beauty sleep.” Roger nodded and smiled, and opened the door for Lissa to precede him into the passage. He led the way to the Superintendent’s office, which was empty. “Sit down a minute,” he said, and went across to the Superintendent’s wooden armchair, sat at the tidy desk, was careful not to disturb four piles of papers, and lifted the telephone.

“Chief Inspector Sloan, please . . . Hallo, Bill. A black Austin A70, one of the new models, left Wavertree Road, Ealing, about two o’clock this morning. Check its movements where you can, will you?”

“Right.”

“There’s a possibility that it was heading for London Airport,” Roger went on. “Check that first Check what aircraft left London Airport after three o’clock, and find out whether a ten-year-old boy was on board any of them.”

“Heading where?”

“America, probably, but that’s a guess. Even if you don’t get a line at London, try Gatwick and the smaller airfields. Give this absolute priority.”

“Right I What does the boy look like?”

“I haven’t a description yet, but probably small for his age. And Bill, if you get anything, call me at the American Embassy. Ask for Mr Marino, and if I’m not with him, I’ll call you as soon as I get there.”

“What is all this?” demanded Sloan.

“When I know I’ll tell you,” Roger said.”

“Bye.”

Lissa had a half-smoked Pall Mall between her lips, and as Roger opened his case, she leaned forward with a lighter. She looked at him above the flame, and it went out as he saw the smile in her eyes.

“So you think he’s been flown back home.”

“It could be.”

“How is that machine you call a mind working?”

“You want David Shawn in England on a special assignment, on work he can’t do in the States. His wife wants to be there anyhow, and he doesn’t want an estrangement with his wife. So already he has plenty of reason for thinking that he would be happier back home. If some third party wants to stop him working, and that’s what you and Marino have implied, a good way of doing this would be to tell him that his son is safe in the States. That would be one means of stopping him staying in England.” Roger glanced at his watch. “Now it’s nearly one o’clock. If we really want to work fast, we ought to telephone Kennedy Airport, and find out whether a boy passenger reaches there from England. It’s about a twelve-hour flight, they couldn’t have left before three o’clock, so we’ve an hour or so in hand. Care to telephone Marino?”

“You call him,” Lissa said.

“Will he be at lunch?”

“He doesn’t go out to lunch, he has a sandwich in the office.”

Marino was a careful listener, and did not ask for anything to be repeated. The name of Ricky Shawn wasn’t mentioned, but Marino promised to call Kennedy Airport at once, and rang off.

“And now what?” Lissa asked; there was a hint of mockery in her voice.

“Do you think the Embassy could find a sandwich for us, too?”

“It could run to a good lunch, after you’ve talked to Tony again, and you and I could discuss the weather.”

“Wonderful idea,” said Roger dryly. “But I’m just a working man, and probably there was some other crime in London last night. Another time.”

“There may not be another time. If David goes back to New York, I shall be sent after him.”

“If he’s so important, you can find a way to stop him,” Roger said. “At least until there’s time to look for his son. If you keep Shawn and his wife apart, it might help. Deal with them singly.” He laughed, as a kind of foreboding swept over him, but he didn’t try to put it into words. “I always talked too much.”

He stood up, and they went downstairs, out into the heat of this fierce September day, and drove fast to Grosvenor Square.

Lissa led the way into Marino’s office, where Marino still sat at his huge desk, as if he hadn’t moved since they had left. But his smile had none of the easy amiability of the morning; it was tense enough to make Lissa stand still, halfway across the room.

“What’s happened?” she demanded.

Marino said: “Sit down, Superintendent. If you’d been sitting here when it first started, instead of me, maybe we would have found Ricky by now. I don’t understand why I didn’t guess they would ship him back to the States by air. I can’t think why you didn’t, Lissa. Ricky was on a “plane which left London Airport at three-fifteen this morning. But he didn’t go on to New York, he was taken off at Ganda. He could be anywhere in Canada by now. He could be anywhere,” he repeated. “I’ve got the FBI chasing for news of him, but you know how difficult it will be to find him in Canada or the States. We’ve lost that boy, and we could have saved him. The only hope of quick results is from this end. Can you act as fast as you can think, Superintendent?”

“Let me talk to the Yard,” Roger said.

6

OWNER OF AN AUSTIN

Sloan had already found that a boy, the only child on the TSR 10, had left London in the company of a middle-aged man who had an American passport in the name of McMahon; the boy had travelled with a passport under the name of Sims. The child had seemed sleepy, McMahon had fussed him a great deal, no one had suspected there was anything wrong. Descriptions of McMahon varied, but three different reports from the airport had one thing in common. He had a big head: big that was in proportion to his body.

They had arrived at London Airport in an old Buick, the driver had gone off with the car as soon as he had set down his passengers. Sloan was already trying to trace the Buick. The Austin A70 had been traced as far as Hammersmith, and the Hammersmith police were already checking on all A70S garaged in the district.

Roger told Marino and Lissa Meredith this while they were still in Marino’s office.

“You have to find the owner of that car,” Marino said flatly. “West, you don’t know how important that is.”

Lissa said: “Could it be the time for telling him how important?”

Marino said slowly: “Maybe.”

But he didn’t go on for a long time; it seemed a long time. He watched Roger, steadily, piercingly.

“I guess you’re right,” he said at last. “That’s been agreed with the Ambassador. West, here’s the story. David Shawn has spent a great deal of time in Russia and France during the Test Ban discussions. He is a key man because as a scientist he is believed to have discovered a way of checking even the smaller nuclear explosions. Russia, France and China all want one of two things, if not both; to prevent the United States from having this detector, or to obtain it themselves and so neutralize its value. Either way, they need him. I can tell you that the wires have been humming between here and Washington this morning, it’s that important.”

“I can see how important,” Roger said.

“I’m sure you do. There are other things you should know. When in his Connecticut home last spring, Shawn was shot at He was nearly run down by an auto two months later. Since then, the FBI has been watching him closely, because we’ve expected more trouble, and this is it.” Marino paused, then turned towards Lissa. “Carl Fischer says that David is at his worst.”

He looked like doing a Fig Mayo on Mr West,” Lissa said dryly. “How is Belle?”

“Carl gave her a shot, so there won’t be any trouble with her for the next twenty-four hours. David approved. He doesn’t want trouble any more than the rest of us — not more trouble than he can help, anyway. But we don’t need to hide anything from ourselves. David won’t be any use to us or anyone until the boy’s found. Belle will blame him, and that will make him just a bag of nerves. West —” Marino paused, a smile thawed the bleakness of his face. The hell with West I Roger, David Shawn’s mind has been on a knife edge between sanity and insanity for a long time. It’s partly the strain of his work, and believe me, that’s a strain enough for a dozen men. He lives his part, he’s a man of two distinct personalities — some say schizophrenic. On vacation, or when he’s not working on some new angle, he’s liable to do crazy things — call that a safety valve. When he’s working, the work seems to absorb the spare energy, and he’s near normal — until a crisis arises. And this is a crisis. At a time like this he won’t listen to reason.”

“He might, if you started to get tough with him,” Roger said. “He throws a man out of a window, and it’s all hushed up. He’s doing a vital job over here, and he delivers an ultimatum — bring his wife, or he won’t do it Next time you had to bring his son over. You’ve built him up so that he thinks he’s the only man who can do this job.”

Marino said softly: “I guess he is.”

“Why not try making him think he isn’t?”

“He’d throw his hand in.”

“There’s a risk of that anyhow,” Roger argued. “You can’t seriously think that after this, he’ll be satisfied to stay here. You might get the son back for him, but you’ll never convince him that it won’t happen again. He might say he will stay, hoping it will make you work harder to find the boy, but afterwards —” He shrugged. “He could turn sour on you. But he looks to me like a man with the inevitable weak link — his pride. If his supremacy in his field is threatened, it might change his outlook.”

There was silence.

Marino rubbed his black stubble; he already needed a shave.

The tame psychiatrist,” he said musingly. “What do you think, Lissa?”

“I wouldn’t like to be the one to tell David he’s got a rival.”

“How would you start going about it?” Marino asked Roger.

“Give him another shock. Next time he starts throwing his weight about, fall on him like a ton of bricks. Stop making him think that he can get away with murder.”

Marino said slowly: “It’s certainly worth thinking about. Anymore ideas?”

“Shawn’s wife,” Roger said. “Is anyone getting at her? She’s a neurotic —”

“Who said so?”

“I implied it,” Lissa put in. “I didn’t mean that a psychiatrist would say so.”

“We’ve tried that angle,” Marino said. “She isn’t neurotic in the true sense. Losing her own money hurt her pride, and maybe held her to Shawn, that’s all. She doesn’t take drugs. She’s just a woman who’s so full up with self-pity she’s made herself a nervous wreck.”

“Does she know how important Shawn’s work is?”

“She doesn’t know what it is,” said Marino, “but she knows only the big time would have kept him in Europe when she wanted him home.”

The telephone bell rang, and Marino picked up the receiver. “Yes, Herb? . . .   Put him through.” He held the receiver out to Roger. “Mr Hardy, for you.”

Roger took the telephone; suddenly realizing that it was the Assistant Commissioner, and that it was in his power to move him from this job, which might be handled better by a MI5 agent, or a Special Branch man. He had not until now, known how important it was to him that he should see this job through.

Marino and Lissa were watching him intently.

Hallo, Handsome.” Hardy was in an affable mood. “You are assigned to the American Embassy for the time being to do whatever they ask. If you come up against anything you think you shouldn’t do, get through to me, but don’t lose any time about it.”

“Not a moment, sir I—”

“If you need help, use Sloan.”

“I will,” said Roger.

“Any hope of an early result?” Hardy asked. “It’s not just important, it’s vital Work day and night, but get results.”

“There’s a half-chance,” Roger said. “Thanks, Mr Hardy.”

“And listen,” said Hardy. “Don’t tell Janet or anyone where you’re working, keep it under your hat and keep your hat on all the time.”

“Right.”

“Luck,” said Hardy, laconically.

Roger put down the receiver, pursed his lips, and then looked into Marino’s eyes. He was acutely aware of the way Lissa looked at him.

He said: “I’m under your orders.”

“You aren’t under anyone’s orders,” Marino retorted at once. “Where it’s a case of getting Ricky back, or finding out where he is, we’ll take yours. But you can’t work if you’re hungry. Lissa, why don’t you go and get Roger some lunch?”

•     •     •

Sitting opposite Lissa Meredith, eating a huge T-bone steak, the urgency of the Shawn kidnapping seemed to fade. It wasn’t anything she said or did; it wasn’t even the radiance in her face, a glow from some inner fire which certainly hadn’t been lighted by him. It was simply that, being with Lissa Meredith, there wasn’t room for anything else; not unless she wanted it. It was like being cut off from the world. Roger knew that it wouldn’t last, wasn’t sure that he wanted it to. He wasn’t sure of anything, except that it was as much for her as for any official reason that he wanted to break this case open; to find a child who was with a man known as McMahon somewhere in Canada or the United States.

It didn’t even occur to him that there wasn’t a chance.

A waiter was pouring out coffee, when another waiter came up with a telephone, which he plugged into the wall.

“For Superintendent West.”

“Thanks,” said Roger.

“Roger,” said Bill Sloan, a moment later. He wasn’t breathless, but a note of urgency was in his voice; the world came back, the problem appeared in sharp outline again. “I think we’re on to something.”

“The car?” asked Roger sharply.

“It might be. Peel got on to it at a garage near Hammersmith Broadway — just off the Fulham Palace Road. An Austin A70, and an American took it in a week ago, with big-end trouble. The same man collected it.” He paused. “Peel found out that the car came from the Barnes direction and went back the same way. Two or three garages on the Barnes Road have supplied petrol to an A70 with an American driver. Is it all right to ask the Barnes police to see what they can do?”

“Yes, and don’t lose any time. Send Peel to Barnes.”

“He’s there already.”

“Fine. Then meet me at Hammersmith Underground, by the main bookstall, in half an hour,” Roger said.

“This time I’m glad to let you go,” Lissa told him.

•     •     •

Sloan, looking even bigger than usual in a brown suit that was a shade too small, stood by the magazines and books displayed on the stall at the underground station. He didn’t look round until Roger was within a yard of him. They moved off together, mixing with the crowd which had come off a train, turned left at the side entrance to the station, walking quickly, but without seeming to hurry, to Roger’s parked car.