The Way to Dusty Death

Mary entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She took a pen from her handbag, scribbled a few shaky words on a piece of paper, placed the paper face down on the floor behind the door and left. Jacob-son was waiting for her. He had her case in his left hand, a gun in the other. Both gun and right hand were buried deep in his jacket pocket.

On board The Chevalier, Yonnie thrust the last of the documents from the chart- table into a large briefcase. He returned to the saloon, placed the briefcase on a settee and went down the companionway to the accommodation quarters. He went to his own cabin and there spent a hurried five minutes in cramming his own most personal possessions into a canvas bag. He then made a tour of the other cabins, rifling the drawers for whatever money or articles of value that he might find. He found a considerable amount, returned to his own cabin and stuffed them inside his bag. He zipped the bag shut and climbed up the companionway. Four steps from the top he stopped. His face should have been masked in disbelief and terror but it wasn’t. Yonnie had run out of emotions and the capacity to display them.

Four very large armed policemen were resting comfortably on the settees in the saloon. A sergeant, with the briefcase on his knees, his elbow on the case and a gun in his hand pointing approximately hi the direction of Yonnie’s heart, said genially: ‘Going some place Yonnie?’

CHAPTER TWELVE

Once again, the Ferrari was moving through the darkness. Harlow was not idling but neither was he pushing the car hard. As on the trip from Marseilles to Bandol, it seemed that the need for urgency was not there. Mrs. MacAlpine was in the front passenger seat wearing, at Harlow’s insistence, a double safety belt. A rather drowsy Rory was stretched out on the back seats.

Harlow said: ‘So, you see, it was all quite simple, really. Jacobson was the master-mind behind this particular operation. It will turn out that the Marzio brothers were the ones that really mattered. Anyway, it was Jacobson’s idea to gamble on the Grand Prix drivers and he altered the odds in his favour by suborning no fewer that five drivers. Plus even more mechanics. He paid them plenty — but he made a fortune himself. I was the thorn in his flesh — he knew better than to try to get at me, and as I was winning the majority ©f the races it was making his business very difficult indeed. So he tried to kill me at Clermont-Ferrand. I have proof— both stills and cine film.’

In the rear Rory stirred sleepily. ‘But how could he do that to you while you were on the track?’

‘Me? And a lot of others? Two ways. A radio-controlled explosive device on a suspension strut or a chemically operated explosive device on the hydraulic brake lines. Both devices, I imagine, would blow clear on detonation and leave no trace of their presence. Anyway, it’s on film record that Jacobson replaced both a strut and a brake line.’

Rory said: ‘Which is why he always insisted on being alone when inspecting smashed cars?’

Harlow nodded, temporarily lost in thought. Mrs. MacAlpine said: ‘But how — how could you degrade yourself in this awful fashion?’

‘Well, it wasn’t all that pleasant. But you know the blaze of publicity I live in. I couldn’t move privately, more or less to brush my teeth, than to do the job I was asked to. I had to take the heat off myself, step out of the limelight and become a loner. It wasn’t all that difficult. As for working my way down to the transporter job — well, I had to find out whether the stuff was coming from the Coronado garage or not. It was.’

The stuff?’

The dust. European jargon for heroin. My dear Marie, there are more ways to dusty death than losing control on a Grand Prix race-track.’

The way to dusty death.’ She shivered and repeated the words. the way to dusty death. Did James know about this, Johnny?’

‘He knew six months ago that the transporter was being used — oddly enough, he never suspected Jacob- son. They’d been together too long, I suppose. Some way, any way, they had to have the price of his silence. You were that price. And for good measure he was also being blackmailed for approximately twenty-five thousand pounds a month.’

She was silent for almost a minute then she said: ‘Did James know I was still alive?’

‘Yes.’

‘But he knew about the heroin — all those months he knew. Think of all those people ruined, perhaps dead. Think of all-’

Harlow reached out his right hand and caught her left in his. ‘I think, Marie, that perhaps he loves you.’

A car approached then, headlights dipped. Harlow dipped his. Briefly, as if by mistake, the approaching car’s headlights came on full beam, then dipped again.

As they passed each other, the driver of the other cab turned to his passenger, a girl with her hands bound in front of her.

Tut! Tut! Tut!’ Jacobson sounded in almost high humour. ‘Young Lochinvar headed in the wrong direction.’

In the Ferrari Mrs. MacAlpine said: ‘And James will have to stand trial for his — complicity in this heroin traffic?’

‘James will never stand trial for anything.’

‘But heroin —’

Harlow said: ‘Heroin? Heroin? Rory, did you hear anyone mentioning the word ‘heroin’?’

‘Mother’s been through a pretty rough time, Mr. Harlow. I think she is beginning to imagine things.’ ‘

The Aston Martin pulled up outside a darkened cafe on the outskirts of Bandol. A violently shivering Traccia emerged from the shadows and climbed into the back of the Aston Martin.

He said: ‘Complete with insurance policy, I see. Now, for God’s sake, Jake, stop at the first clump of trees outside Bandol. Unless I change out of these clothes damn quick I’m going to freeze to death.’

‘Right. Where’s Yonnie?’

‘In gaol.’

‘Jesus! ’ Even the abnormally phlegmatic Jacobson was shaken. ‘What in the hell happened?’

‘I’d sent Yonnie out in the dinghy while I was phoning you. I’d told him to bring ashore all the papers and documents in the two top drawers in the chart-table. You know how important those are, Jake?’

‘I know.’ There was no disguising the harsh edge of strain in Jacobson’s voice.

‘Remember I’d told you that I thought Harlow had phoned Vignolles? He hadn’t. The bastard had phoned the Bandol police. They arrived while I was still in the phone booth. There was nothing I could do. They rowed out to The Chevalier and nabbed him there.’

‘And the papers?’

‘One of the police was carrying a large attache case.’

‘I don’t think that Bandol is a very healthy place for us to be.’ Jacobson was back on balance again. He drove off but not in a fashion ostentatious enough to attract attention. As they reached the outskirts of the town he said: That’s it, then. What with those papers and that cassette the whole operation’s blown. Termine. Fine. The end of the road.’ He seemed remarkably calm.

‘And now?’

‘Operation fly-away. I’ve had it planned for months. First stop is our flat in Cuneo.’

‘Nobody knows about it?’

‘Nobody. Except Willi. And he won’t talk. Besides, it’s not under our names anyway.’ He pulled up alongside a thicket of trees. the boot’s unlocked and the grey case is yours. Those clothes you’re wearing — leave them among the trees.’

‘Why? It’s a perfectly good suit and — ‘

‘What’s going to happen if the Customs search us and find a suit of soaking wet clothes?’

‘You have a point,’ Tracchia said and got out of the car. When he returned in two or three minutes, Jacob-son