Читать книгу The Freedom Trap - Desmond Bagley, Desmond Bagley - Страница 11

That evening, as I was preparing to go out on the town, there came a firm knock at the door of my room. I opened it and was confronted by two very large men dressed very conservatively and in the best of taste. The one on the right said, ‘Are you Joseph Aloysius Rearden?’

I didn’t have to bend my brain too far to realize that these two were coppers. I gave a twisted grin. ‘I’d rather forget the Aloysius.’

‘We are police officers.’ He flipped a wallet in front of me negligently. ‘We hope you can assist us in our enquiries.’

‘Hey!’ I said. ‘Is that a warrant card? I’ve never seen one of those before.’

Reluctantly he flipped open the wallet again and let me read the card. He was Detective-Inspector John M. Brunskill and indubitably the genuine article. I babbled a bit. ‘You see these things happening at the bioscope; I never thought it would happen to me.’

‘Bioscope?’ he said dubiously.

‘The films – we call a cinema a bioscope in South Africa. That’s where I’m from, you know. I don’t know how I can help you in any enquiries, Inspector. I’m a stranger to London – in fact, I’m a stranger to England. I’ve been here only a week – less than that, really.’

‘We know all that, Mr Rearden,’ said Brunskill gently.

So they’d checked on me already. These boys moved fast – the British police are wonderful.

‘May we come in, Mr Rearden? I think you will be able to help us.’

I stood on one side and waved them into the room. ‘Come in and take a seat. There’s only one chair so one of you will have to sit on the bed. And take your coats off.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Brunskill. ‘We won’t be staying long. This is Detective-Sergeant Jervis.’

Jervis looked an even harder nut than Brunskill. Brunskill was polished and had the suavity that maturity brings, while Jervis still had his sharp corners and was all young, rock-hard cop. But Brunskill would be the more dangerous – he’d be tricky.

I said, ‘Well, what can I do for you?’

‘We are making enquiries about the theft of a package from a postman in Leather Lane this morning,’ said Brunskill. ‘What can you tell us about it, Mr Rearden?’

‘Where’s Leather Lane?’ I asked. ‘I’m a stranger here.’

Brunskill looked at Jervis and Jervis looked at Brunskill and then they both looked at me. ‘Come, Mr Rearden,’ said Brunskill. ‘You can do better than that.’

‘You’ve got a record,’ said Jervis suddenly.

This was the shot across the bows. I said bitterly, ‘And you johns will never let me forget it. Yes, I’ve got a record; I did eighteen months in Pretoria Central – eighteen months of stone cold jug – and that was a long time ago. I’ve been straight ever since.’

‘Until perhaps this morning,’ suggested Brunskill.

I looked him straight in the eye. ‘Don’t pull the old flannel on me. You tell me what I’m supposed to have done, and I’ll tell you if I did it – straight out.’

‘Very good of you,’ murmured Brunskill. ‘Don’t you think so, Sergeant?’

Jervis made a nasty noise at the back of his throat. Then he said, ‘Mind if we search your room, Rearden?’

‘It’s Mr Rearden to sergeants,’ I said. ‘Your boss has better manners than you. And I most certainly do object to you searching my room – unless you have a warrant.’

‘Oh, we have that,’ said Brunskill calmly. ‘Go ahead, Sergeant.’ He took a document from his pocket and slapped it into my hand. ‘I think you’ll find that in order, Mr Rearden.’

I didn’t even bother to look at it, but just tossed it on to the dressing-table and watched Jervis do an efficient overhaul of the room. He found nothing – there wasn’t anything for him to find. As last he gave up, looked at Brunskill and shook his head.

Brunskill turned to me. ‘I must ask you to come to the police station with me.’

I was silent and let the pause lengthen for a long time before I said, ‘Well, go ahead and ask.’

‘We’ve got ourselves a joker here, sir,’ said Jervis. He looked at me with dislike.

‘If you do ask I won’t come,’ I said. ‘You’ll have to arrest me to get me anywhere near the nick.’

Brunskill sighed. ‘Very well, Mr Rearden; I arrest you on suspicion of being involved in an assault on a postman on premises in Leather Lane at about nine-thirty this morning. Does that satisfy you?’

‘It’ll do to be going on with,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ he said. ‘Anything you say will be noted and may be used in evidence.’

‘I know the form,’ I said. ‘I know it only too well.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ he said softly.

I expected them to take me to Scotland Yard but I found myself in quite a small police station. Where it was I don’t know – I don’t know London at all well. They put me into a small room unfurnished except for a deal table and two bentwood chairs. It had the same institutional smell of all police stations anywhere in the world. I sat in a chair and smoked one cigarette after another, watched by a uniformed copper who stood with his back to the door, looking undressed without his helmet.

It was nearly an hour and a half before they got around to doing anything and it was tough boy Jervis who started the attack. He came into the room and waved abruptly at the uniformed john who did a disappearing act, then he sat down at the other side of the table and looked at me for a long time without speaking. I ignored him – I didn’t even look at him and it was he who broke first. ‘You’ve been here before, haven’t you, Rearden?’

‘I’ve never been here before in my life.’

‘You know what I mean. You’ve sat on hard wooden chairs with a policeman the other side of the table many, many times. You know the drill too well – you’re a professional. With another man I might pussyfoot around – use a bit of psychology, maybe – but that wouldn’t work with you, would it? So I’m not going to do it. There’ll be no tact, no psychology with you. I’m going to crack you like a nut, Rearden.’

‘You’d better remember Judges’ Rules.’

He gave a sharp bark of laughter. ‘See what I mean? An honest man wouldn’t know Judges’ Rules from Parkinson’s Law. But you know, don’t you? You’re a wrong ‘un; you’re bent.’

‘When you’re finished with the insults I’ll go,’ I said.

‘You’ll go when I say you can,’ he said sharply.

I grinned at him. ‘You’d better check with Brunskill first, sonny.’

‘Where are the diamonds?’

‘What diamonds?’

‘That postman is in a bad way. You hit him a bit too hard, Rearden. The chances are he’ll cash in his chips – and where will that put you?’ He leaned forward. ‘You’ll be inside for so long that you’ll trip over your beard.’

I must say he was trying hard but he was a bad liar. No dying postman could have busted that window in the Kiddykar office. I just looked him in the eye and kept my mouth shut.

‘If those diamonds aren’t found it’ll go hard for you,’ said Jervis. ‘Maybe if the diamonds turn up the judge will be a bit easier on you.’

‘What diamonds?’ I asked.

And so it went on for a good half-hour until he got tired and went away and the uniformed man came back and took up his old stance in front of the door. I turned and looked at him. ‘Don’t you get corns? Isn’t this job bad for your feet?’ He looked at me with a bland face and expressionless eyes and said exactly nothing.

Presently a bigger gun was brought to bear. Brunskill came in carrying a thick folder bulging with papers which he put on the table. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Rearden,’ he said.

‘I wouldn’t like to bet on it,’ I said.

He gave me a pitying, though understanding, smile. ‘We all have our jobs to do, and some are nastier than others. You mustn’t blame me for doing mine.’ He opened the folder. ‘You have quite a record, Mr Rearden. Interpol have a fat dossier on you.’

‘I’ve been convicted once,’ I said. ‘Anything else is not official and you can’t use it. What anyone might have to say about me isn’t proof of a damned thing.’ I grinned and, pointing at the folder, quoted: ‘“What the policeman said isn’t evidence.”‘

‘Just so,’ said Brunskill. ‘But it’s interesting all the same.’ He mused over the papers for a long time, then said, without looking up, ‘Why are you flying to Switzerland tomorrow?’

‘I’m a tourist,’ I said. ‘I’ve never been there before.’

‘It’s your first time in England, too, isn’t it?’

‘You know it is. Look here, I want an attorney.’

He looked up. ‘I would suggest a solicitor. Have you anyone in mind?’

From my wallet I took the scrap of paper with the telephone number on it which Mackintosh had given me with this eventuality in mind. ‘That’ll find him,’ I said.

Brunskill’s eyebrows lifted when he read it. ‘I know this number very well – he’s just the man to tackle your type of case. For a man who’s been in England less than a week you know your way around the fringes.’ He put the paper on one side. ‘I’ll let him know you’re here.’

My throat was dry from smoking too many cigarettes. ‘Another thing,’ I said. ‘I could do with a cup of tea.’

‘I’m afraid we can’t run to tea,’ said Brunskill regretfully. ‘Would a glass of water be all right?’

‘It’ll do.’

He went to the door, gave instructions, and then came back. ‘You people seem to think that we spend all our time in police stations drinking tea – running a continuous cafeteria for old lags. I can’t think where you get it from unless it’s from television.’

‘Not me,’ I said. ‘We have no TV in South Africa.’

‘Indeed!’ said Brunskill. ‘How curious. Now, about those diamonds. I think that …’

‘What diamonds?’ I broke in.

And so it went on. He shook me more than Jervis because he was trickier. He wasn’t stupid enough to lie about something I knew to be true, as Jervis had done, and was better at the wearing down process, being as persistent as a buzzing fly. The water came – a carafe and a tumbler. I filled the tumbler and drank thirstily, then refilled it and drank again. Brunskill watched me and said at last, ‘Had enough?’

I nodded, so he reached out and took the tumbler delicately in his fingertips and carried it out. When he came back he looked at me sorrowfully. ‘I didn’t think you’d fall for that chestnut. You know we can’t fingerprint you until you’re booked. Why did you let us have them?’

‘I was tired,’ I said.

‘Too bad,’ he said sympathetically. ‘Now, to get back to those diamonds …’

Presently Jervis came into the room and beckoned to Brunskill and they stood by the door and talked in low voices. Brunskill turned around. ‘Now, look here, Rearden; we’ve nailed you. We have enough evidence now to send you up for ten years. If you help us to get back those stones it might help you when the judge sentences you.’

‘What diamonds?’ I asked tiredly.

His mouth shut with a snap. ‘All right,’ he said curtly. ‘Come this way.’

I followed, the meat in a sandwich between Brunskill and Jervis. They escorted me to a large room occupied by a dozen men lined along one wall. Jervis said, ‘No need to explain what this is, Rearden; but I will because the law says I must. It’s a line-up – an identification parade. There are three people coming in to see you. You can insert yourself anywhere in that line, and you can change your position in the intervals if you like. Got it?’

I nodded and walked over to the wall, putting myself third in line. There was a pause in the action and then the first witness came in – a little old lady, someone’s darling mother. She went along the line and then came straight back to me and pointed at my chest. ‘That’s the one.’ I’d never seen her before.

They took her out, but I didn’t bother to change position. There wasn’t any point, really; they had me nailed just as Brunskill had said. The next one was a young man of about eighteen. He didn’t have to go all the way along the line. He stopped in front of me. ‘That’s ‘im,’ he said.’ ‘E did it.’

The third witness didn’t have any trouble either. He took one look at me and yelled, ‘This is the boyo. I hope you get life, mate.’ He went away rubbing his head. It was the postman – not nearly as dead as Jervis would have me believe.

Then is was over and Jervis and Brunskill took me back. I said to Jervis, ‘You’d make a good miracle-worker; you brought that postman back to life pretty smartly.’

He gave me a sharpish look and a slow smile spread over his face. ‘And how did you know that was the postman?’

I shrugged. My goose was cooked whichever way I looked at it. I said to Brunskill, ‘Who is the bastard of a nark that shopped me?’

His face closed up. ‘Let’s call it “information received”, Rearden. You’ll be charged tomorrow morning and you’ll go before a magistrate immediately. I’ll see that your solicitor is in attendance.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘What’s his name?’

‘By God!’ he said. ‘But you’re a cool one. Your solicitor is a Mr Maskell.’

‘Thanks again,’ I said.

Brunskill whistled up a station sergeant who put me in a cell for the night. I had a bite to eat and then stretched out and went to sleep almost immediately.

It had been a tiring day.