Chapter Twenty-Three

Motive

Lorna went down the staircase to the platform, stepped into a train which drew in noisily, and got out at Earl’s Court, when the coloured man touched her arm. She felt numbed. There was no sign of Chittering, no indication that she had been followed. She stepped on to the platform at Earl’s Court, and the coloured man said: “Now listen carefully, Mrs. Mannering, and do exactly what you are told. Go to the main exit, and just wait there. A man from a dark blue Vauxhall car will come for you. Will you recognise a blue Vauxhall?”

“Yes.”

“That man will take you to Mr. Smith,” the coloured man said. He gripped her arm as if he had not yet finished, and lowered his voice: “Just one question, ma’am. You haven’t been followed by the police, have you?”

“No,” Lorna said, stiffly. “That was agreed.”

“That’s good, that’s very good,” the coloured man said. “Mr. Smith wouldn’t like it if the police were following you. Good night, ma’am.”

He let her go, and she still had the money.

She walked slowly towards the foot of the steps. A dozen or so passengers had got out of the train, and most were waiting to change to another line. She went up the steps. No one appeared to take any notice of her, and there was no sign of Chittering. A uniformed policeman at the exit was standing about and rubbing his hands together; he took no notice of her. Several other people were standing and waiting, and a young couple just in front of her were nuzzling each other. The policeman turned and strolled off. As soon as he was out of sight, a man came from one side and ranged himself by Lorna.

“Got the money?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Hand it over then.”

“When I’ve got the information,” Lorna said.

“Just give me the money, and follow me,” the man ordered.

What would John do in these circumstances? That was the pressing, urgent question on Lorna’s mind.

She gave the man the bag and he looked inside. She was afraid he would just walk off, but instead he said: “This way.”

He led her fifty yards along the road, to a dark coloured car; a Vauxhall. She could not see his face properly, for his coat collar was turned up. He was a man of medium height, and white-skinned. He opened the door of the car, waited for her to get in, then joined her. A man at the wheel started off immediately.

Lorna knew the district reasonably well, and knew that they were heading for the Paddington area, but before long they turned into a side street. The driver hadn’t spoken. All she could see was the back of his head, and his shoulders. The street was dark, with only one lamp burning. She began to feel terribly afraid, but made no comment and stared straight ahead. The driver went out of this street, then turned corner after corner; she felt sure that he was checking whether they were being followed. Finally he pulled up by a stretch of waste land, where buildings had been demolished. Across the patch of land there were blocks of flats with many lighted windows, but they seemed a long way off.

It was lonely here, and deserted, and her fears grew into dread.

The driver said: “You got the money?”

“Yes,” the man answered.

“Checked her for a tape-recorder?”

“No.”

“Well, check.”

Lorna steeled herself against the touch of the man’s hands, as he patted her clothes and felt inside her pockets. Finally, he gave her back the empty bag, and said: “She’s clean.”

“Good. Now, we needn’t be long, Mrs. Mannering,” said the driver. “Why didn’t you bring the police?”

“Because—” she broke off. “Because my husband advised against it.”

“Mannering did? How come?”

“He sent me word through his solicitor.”

“So he did,” said the man at the wheel, with deep satisfaction. He did not turn his head, but she could see that his ear was white, too. He had a powerful voice, with a touch of Cockney, vaguely familiar because of that Cockney twang. He wore a dark trilby hat, pulled low over his forehead, and was muffled with a scarf as if this were a bitter winter’s night. “He’s no fool, I’ll say that for him, and he’s used to taking risks. Well, he can clear himself of this trouble if he’ll take enough risks – and if you’ll join him in them.”

Lorna didn’t speak.

The man said: “Farmer was going to do a deal with Mannering. He was going to tell him what I was planning, and he reckoned Mannering would see him right. Well, someone else saw him right. I was waiting for him when he came to Green Street, and his skull wasn’t as thick as he thought it was. It nearly was – he lived longer than I meant him to, but not too long. You could do with a witness to swear that Farmer was hurt before he got to Green Street, couldn’t you?”

Lorna almost choked. “Yes.”

“I can find him,” the man said. “I can find three reputable citizens who will come forward and clear Mannering. They will be able to stand up to any interrogation, and the police will have to drop the charge. It’s that easy. And don’t make any mistake, Mrs. Mannering – I made sure no one else could give this kind of evidence. It’s my witnesses or none at all.”

Lorna asked: “And what does my husband have to do to – to make sure of their testimony?”

“Good question,” said the driver, still looking straight ahead. “In fact, that’s the key question, Mrs. Mannering. He has to find three hundred thousand pounds, and see that I get it in cash. He can still make a good profit – because he’s got to buy Rett Laker’s jewellery with the money. I’ve been waiting for that stuff for fifteen years. I waited until Laker came out of prison, then I did a deal with him, and got my hands on the jewellery at last. But it wasn’t any use to me without a good market, and I’d got my market all prepared. Quinns, that’s my market. I once thought Mannering would buy it straight, knowing it was hot, but Laker alias Klein checked on that and we decided it wouldn’t work. We started to try Mannering out again through the girl, but—”

The man by Lorna’s side said: “You don’t have to tell the story of your life.”

“Okay,” said the driver, after a short pause. “Okay, I don’t. Mrs. Mannering, Quinns has got to buy the jewellery for three hundred thousand pounds, in one go. Quinns can find the money. I know its financial strength. The stuff ’s dangerous to me. I want to get rid of it, but I don’t want to use the ordinary fences – they’d try to chisel, or they’d squeak. So Mannering’s risk is having stolen jewellery to dispose of, that’s all. If he’s forced to it, he won’t find it so difficult, and I never knew the man who would give up a hundred-and-fifty thousand pounds to keep his hands clean.”

Smith stopped.

The man by Lorna’s side said: “You heard him, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Lorna said. “Yes, I heard him.” She hesitated before asking: “What guarantee is there that the witnesses will come forward?”

“You don’t get any guarantee,” said the driver. “But they’ll come forward all right. If they don’t, you’ll tell the police the whole story, and the hunt will be up. I don’t want that. I want a nice quiet life, with Mannering worrying about the police because of those jewels. It’s a straight deal, Mrs. Mannering, and you’ve got twenty-four hours to fix it. Mannering can sign cheques in prison, and you can get him to sign a blank cheque, and fill in the details afterwards. It will be a straightforward business arrangement, a purchase from an unknown collector – Mannering often does big deals like that, so it won’t be remarkable. Will it?” He barked the question.

“No,” Lorna made herself answer.

“So that’s it, and all about it,” said the driver. He had not turned his head once. “You get the money, sterling or dollars will be all the same to me, and you’ll get instructions how to hand it over tomorrow afternoon. Don’t tell anyone else about this. Just get Mannering to sign a blank cheque. Don’t tell your lawyer friend, on a job like this, you couldn’t rely on him. And remember this, Mrs. Em – if you don’t come with the money when I tell you to, there won’t be any witnesses, there won’t be a chance in hell for Mannering. That clear?”

“Yes,” she said, quite firmly.

“All right, you can go,” the driver said. “You walk straight on here, turn right, and then you’ll find yourself in Earl’s Court Road, and you can take yourself home. Don’t make any mistake, Mrs. Em – and don’t imagine there’s any way out, because my witnesses can talk two ways.”

Lorna caught her breath.

“What do you mean?”

“They can swear that Farmer was banged over the head in the street, or they can swear they saw him going upstairs without anything wrong with him. They can be just the witnesses the police need to prove their case, see? I haven’t worked this out to be beaten at the post. Either I get that money, or Mannering will be found guilty of killing Farmer up in your flat. There’s no other choice.”

The man next to Lorna leaned forward, pressed down the handle, and pushed open the door. After a moment she got out, awkwardly, and stumbled. The man made no attempt to help her. She stood in the dark street with the desolate stretch of land behind her, and felt terribly afraid. She heard the engine of the car start up, and began to walk the way the man had told her.

Then cars swung into the street at either end, headlights blazing, and two men sprang up from the waste land. One of them shouted: “This way, Mrs. Mannering! This way!”

She spun round. She heard the roar of the Vauxhall’s engine, and the whine of the other engines, and then heard a rending, crunching sound. She turned her head, and saw the Vauxhall heading towards her, already over the kerb. She flung herself to one side, caught her foot against some rubble, and pitched forward. A man shouted: “Stop there! Police!”

The Vauxhall bumped over the waste land, and the two policeman who had been hiding there jumped to one side. The Vauxhall gathered speed. Lorna tried to pick herself up, but slipped again. Great lights were behind her, from the converging police cars. Men were jumping out of moving cars, and shouting. She saw seven or eight of them chasing after the Vauxhall, but it was going fast over the waste land towards the backs of the blocks of flats, and it had a hundred yards start.

Then two men came to help Lorna to her feet. One of them was Ingleby.