'Will your fingerprints be present in Mrs Climber's room?'
'No. That's why I keep my hands in my pockets. It's become second nature…'
`Have you left anything in that room which belongs to you?'
Vlacek's cross-examination was remorseless, spoken in a monotone Whelby found unnerving. 'No,' he said abruptly.
'Don't go back there. Go straight to your own room, dress quickly and leave. You have ten minutes.
'I don't like this, Whelby repeated. 'What are you planning? The woman doesn't know a thing…'
'That is your assumption. Do as I say. From now on I am in full control. You are under orders.' Vlacek smiled unpleasantly. 'You always have been…'
Jock Carson parked the Vauxhall by the kerb, got out, locked the car and strolled towards the Hotel Sharon he could see in the distance as a glow of lights. A lot of lights for that hour. He saw the two empty police cars parked carefully in the shadows as he drew closer. He quickened his pace.
One of the night duty guards intercepted him as he was about to mount the steps to the terrace. There seemed to be unusual activity inside the place.
'You've heard about the murder, sir?'
'What murder?'
God, he thought, they've got Whelby.
'Some American woman staying here. Apparently she…'
Carson never did hear the end of his sentence. He bounded up the steps, pushed open the door and walked into the reception lobby. A blue-uniformed Palestine policeman stopped him.
'Excuse me, sir, could I have a word? You're staying here?'
Carson produced his special identity folder, handed it to the man and stared around as though searching for a clue. The policeman handed back the folder and looked uncomfortable.
'Sorry, sir. You're part 6f the investigation?' 'Where do I go?'
'Room 8, first floor..
Carson strode across to the reception counter, his stocky legs moving like pistons. Ignoring the clerk, he turned the hotel register through a hundred and eighty degrees and ran his finger down the list of names. Mrs L. Climber, Room 8. Mr P. Standish, Room 6. V. Vlacek, Room 24..
'Can I help you…?' the clerk began.
Carson ran up the stairs, paused at the top to check his watch. A quarter past midnight. Another uniformed policeman stood on guard outside Rooth 8: The same routine of showing his folder. Inside, the room was crowded with policemen. A middle-aged man in civilian clothes carrying a bag was on the verge of leaving. They were checking for fingerprints, taking photographs with a flash-bulb. Sergeant Mulligan came forward.
'Nasty business this…'
'May I see her?'
Not from choice. But a feeling of more than duty. Carson had sanctioned Linda Climber's mission to Palestine. He had had doubts but Linda had persuaded him. They had a quid pro quo arrangement with the Yanks. An American girl worked for British Intelligence; he had provided an English Wren to work for them. It had seemed like an original idea. At the time. He approached the bed, Mulligan at his heels.
'She was garrotted,' Mulligan warned. 'A piece of wire like they cut cheese with, so the doctor here says. Not a palatable sight…'
She was lying back on the pillow which was stained red. Her throat was cut from ear to ear, her expression one of terror. Stony-faced, Carson observed the bed-clothes were crumpled and pulled free of the mattress. All the signs that she had fought for her life.
The room was a bigger mess. Drawers pulled out, the contents spilled on the floor. A jewel case lay on the floor, the lid ripped from the hinges. Carson felt a twinge of nausea. When he spoke it was with unusual harshness.
'Room 6 is next door. Occupied by Standish. I suggest you check it for his fingerprints. Was she raped?' His mind was flitting all over the bloody place. 'No,' Mulligan replied. By the way, this is Dr Thomas..'
'Not raped,' Thomas said in a professional, dry voice, heavily Welsh. I have seen all this before, I just want to go home and get back to bed. 'But sexual intercourse had taken place very recently. This evening.'
'Definitely not rape?' Carson persisted. The point was more important than probably anyone else in the room realized.
'I've just said so,' Thomas told him. She was willing…'
Carson turned to Mulligan who was looking at him curiously. 'I'd like you to get on with checking
Room 6 for fingerprints, for comparison In here. It doesn't matter if Standish is in bed. Get him up.'
'He's not in bed. He's not even in the hotel. And my men are dusting his room for prints now. They used the manager's pass-key. Standish has been at the barracks for the past two hours. Waiting for a call from Cairo, I gather…'
'When did it happen?'
Carson avoided looking at the bed. He didn't even look at Thomas who was replying to his question. He disliked doctors.
'Until the post-mortem…'
'I know all that!' Carson was at his most dictatorial. 'I don't want the reservations. Give me what you'll qualify as an educated guess…'
'You always write other people's dialogue for them?' Carson had got under Thomas's skin. He continued not looking at him as the doctor went on. 'Some time between ten and midnight, closer to midnight as far as I can judge…'
'Which exonerates Standish of any suspicion,' Mulligan observed. 'The check on Room 6 is pure routine. I think Dr Thomas wants to get off – if you have no more questions…'
Carson shook his head and waited until the doctor had gone. 'What's the verdict about how it happened? Place looks as though a hurricane hit it.'
'Robbery with extreme violence. Her jewel case was jemmied open. Nothing left. Signs that a ring was forced off the finger of her left hand. That suggests a professional burglar. The murder doesn't, particularly the method employed.'
'Room 24; Carson said. He unbuttoned the flap of his holster. 'Better bring a couple of men with us, with their weapons at the ready. A Mr Victor Vlacek occupies that room.'
Mulligan didn't argue the point, ask any questions. Calling to a couple of his men, he followed Carson out of the room. They arrived outside Room 24 and Mulligan looked to Carson for a lead.
'Pass-key,' Carson whispered. Ambidextrous, he held his. 38 Smith amp; Wesson in his left hand, took the pass-key with his right, inserted the key carefully in the lock and turned it with equal care. Then he took hold of the handle, revolved it quickly and threw open the door.
They stood just inside the doorway, caught off balance. The room was empty and in a state of chaos. Clothes half-ripped off the bed. Pillows on the floor. Drawers pulled out and left upside down on the floor. Wardrobe doors open, a mess of clothes hauled off the hangers lying on the floor.
Carson tiptoed across to the bathroom where the door was open. He peered inside, shook his head, then a wisp of night breeze fluttered the curtain across the window. He walked across and looked out. Only then did he holster his revolver and turn to face the others.
'Bloody repeat performance,' said Mulligan. 'How many rooms has he turned over tonight?'
'Just these two, I imagine.
'I don't get it…'
'Probably that's the idea.' Carson gestured towards the open window. 'There's a fire escape out there. Any way out at the back of the hotel?'
'Easy as falling off a horse. There's a courtyard, garages, a low wall a kid could climb over, an open space of waste ground and beyond that he's on a quiet road. And there's a fire escape outside Mrs Climber's window, which was also open. When you brought us here I thought it was Vlacek but..' Mulligan made a helpless gesture. 'Same thing happened here. Where's his body?'
'I don't think you're ever going to find that, Sergeant. It was a very professional job. All round. I really am worried now…'
