Was very popular with the old ladies. Had a number of them as patients. Two died, left him legacies in their wills. A cool ten thousand pounds altogether. People began talking. At the coroner's inquest, it was touch and go whether he was indicted for murder. The coroner was not too bright, retired shortly afterwards. Natural causes was the conclusion.'
'Why the doubt in your opinion? We didn't have too much time to talk about it before we rushed for the Paris flight.'
'I'd left Butler and Nield in King's Lynn for the day while I drove down to Brighton. I poked around, for the police inspector in charge of the case. He also has retired. He was cagey at first. After a few Scotches at his bungalow he suddenly blew up. Said Portch should be behind bars for life. An Inspector Williams. The coroner's verdict stalled his investigation. Both the old ducks died of overdoses of barbiturates. Williams reckons the coroner was senile, and a woman-hater to boot. But it finished Portch in Brighton.'
'How?'
'Rest of his patients voted with their feet, left him. He had to sell the practice for a pittance. Which explains, I suppose, why he ended up taking a backwater position at Cockley Ford. They probably hadn't heard of the case there. The Portch case wasn't widely reported – there was a lot of international news at the time. It only made one national daily – on an inside page.'
'So someone in London who wanted a man like Portch to take over at Cockley Ford could have read the story?'
'Yes. Who are you thinking of?'
'No one in particular. You'll enjoy tomorrow – Lasalle is taking us to meet a Corsican gang leader here in Paris.'
'What for?'
'He knows something about a man the underworld calls The Recruiter.'
At Dinant in the Belgian Ardennes, just north of the French border, a massive cliff rises above the town, topped by a citadel which looks down on the river Meuse. Klein drove the Citroen over the Pont de Charles de Gaulle and headed for the barge moored further upstream.
Aboard the vessel, the Gargantua, its Belgian owner, Joseph Haber, watched the car coming and froze. Haber wore a pair of thick blue serge trousers and an old pea-jacket. A man of forty, he was short and thickset with black hair half-concealed by the peaked cap he habitually wore. He went into the wheelhouse at the rear of the barge and slammed the door as Klein pulled alongside the Gargantua, switched off the engine.
Climbing out of the car, carrying a case, he looked round the deserted waterfront and crossed the gangplank linking the barge to the shore. He pushed open the door and entered the wheelhouse. Haber spoke at once.
'I'm not doing any more for you. Don't care what you offer to pay me.'
'Clean up your mortgage on the Rhine barge and leave you a fortune in the bank…'
'Get off my barge. I don't want to see you again. One job was enough. You paid me. I did it. That's it.'
'I think not.' Klein was amiable. 'For a start there is the problem of the Gargantua. There could be traces of the bullion left down in that hold. I warned you about that at the beginning.'
'I'll have her cleaned out. I'll pay for that myself…'
'Really, you don't seem to understand.' Klein was patient, as though dealing with a not too bright child. 'Very fine grains of the bullion could be discovered by police forensic experts. We can't risk it. The barge must go – as we planned. You can get the insurance on it afterwards She has to be sunk where we arranged, Haber. And I have something for you to transport aboard your other barge, the Erika. Nothing so bulky or troublesome, this time. In fact, the case I am holding. I really must insist…'
'And I told you last time enough was enough. So bugger off…'
'Haber, you have a longer trip to make this time with this.' Klein put the case down on the wheelhouse floor, his manner calm and confident. 'And I see your partner, Broucker, is on board the Erika further downstream. He must come with us on our trip to Les Dames de Meuse. When we have got rid of the Gargantua we then drive back here and I'll tell you your new destination.'
'I said get off my barge…'
'Really, you must think of your family. The charming Martine, your wife, and your young son, Lucien.' He dropped a brooch on the ledge of the wheelhouse.
Haber stared at it in horror. The horror turned to fury as he lurched forward, grabbing for Klein's throat with both hands. 'What have you done with them, you bastard? If you have harmed either…'
'They are both in a safe place.' Klein grasped Haber by his wrists, forced him to sit down in the captain's chair. The grip felt like a vice of steel. 'Now quieten down. You are going to make a lot of money. I know you're ambitious. You will be able to buy a fleet of barges. Please keep still – we don't want anyone to see us struggling, do we? Not if your family is to remain safe and well-fed…'
Inside the wheelhouse aboard the Nantes, a third barge upstream from the Gargantua, Willy Boden turned to his wife, Simone. 'I think Haber is having an argument with that peculiar chap, Klein. No, don't stand up or they'll see us.'
'I don't like the look of that Klein,' Simone replied, stroking her long hair, 'I think he's trouble…'
'It's Haber's business, not ours. Let's finish our meal.'
Half an hour later he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and peered towards Dinant. 'That's funny,' he remarked. The Gargantua is leaving. Moving upstream towards the French border and Les Dames de Meuse. Haber was loaded up with gravel. And Broucker has closed the hatches of the Erika. He's joined Haber aboard the Gargantua. Why would he do that? Why would Haber sail upstream when he always takes the gravel downstream to Liege?'
'What about that man, Klein?' Simone snapped.
'He must still be on board. His car is parked by the mooring they have left.'
I think something is wrong. My intuition tells me…'
'If we steered this barge by your intuition we'd hit the bank ten times a day. I told you, it's none of our business.
And Haber does not like interference. We forget it. The deck is in need of a wash-down…'
Further upstream the Gargantua proceeded towards the citadel towering above Dinant. Klein was satisfied all was well and no one had noticed his confrontation with Haber.
'This is Sampiero Calgourli,' Lasalle introduced.
Tweed and Newman made no attempt to shake hands since the Union Corse chief remained seated when Lasalle had told him their names. They followed Lasalle's example and sat down in the dark room cluttered with old-fashioned furniture.
Calgourli's headquarters was an apartment near the meat market in the southern area of Paris. Swarthy- faced, the Corsican had very wide shoulders in proportion to his lack of height. His neck was thick, his hair dark and greasy, his moustache curved round the corners of a cruel mouth.
'Who are these people?' Calgourli demanded.
'Mr Tweed is a very powerful man in England, Mr Newman is his protector. Both – like me – are interested in everything you can tell us about the man known as The Recruiter.'
'And why should I tell you anything – even if I knew about this man?'
'Look here, Calgourli…' Lasalle leaned forward. His manner was transformed. All hint of good humour had gone. His expression was grim, his tone tough. '… One day you will need a favour. I make a good friend – and a very bad enemy. I could get the idea into my head it would be an idea to investigate your Italian connection.'
'Please, my friend!' Calgourli spread his gnarled hands and he smiled, showing bad teeth. 'I merely ask a simple question. I like to know where I stand…'
'The Recruiter,' Lasalle repeated.
'Not a man I would do business with. He tried though -this Klein.'
'Excuse me,' Tweed intervened in French. 'You say his name is Klein?'
'That is the name he uses. You think that is his real name? He probably has half-a-dozen. He comes here with an introduction from a man in Marseilles. Little does he know I am no longer a friend of this man. I think Perugini has a perverted sense of humour.' He made a dismissive gesture. 'No doubt he extracted a fee for the introduction from Klein.'
'What did Klein want from you?' Lasalle snapped.
