“When she was in, that is,” said the son.
His mother winked at me. “Harold didn’t take to her – because she didn’t take to him.”
I walked back along the road to where I had parked cay car. Dino was standing alongside his motor-cycle which was cocked against the kerb at the back of the car.
I stuck one of my cards out to him and he took it and read it.
I said, “Where’s the nearest pub?”
“Around the corner.”
We went into the saloon bar and sat at a corner table with two large whiskies. My card had done something to him. Probably decided him to hold off from having another go at me.
I said, “My interest is purely professional.”
He said, “It looked like it.”
“Nevertheless it is. Tell me about her.”
He was silent for a minute, taking a sip at his whisky and deciding something. Then he said, “She had all the others licked, see? Met her at the rink a month ago. Used to come on the back of the old bike. No funny business, though. Just speed. She went crazy about it.”
He finished his whisky and I bought him another.
“What about her other friends?” I asked.
“She didn’t have any.”
“Did you know she was going?”
“Sort of. She said she was waiting to hear about a job.”
“What job?”
“She never said. Just a job. But she didn’t say she was going today.”
“You saw her today?”
“This morning. I gave her a lift to work. Did most mornings – except when I’m on early turn.” He hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Ever dance with her?”
He had his nose in his whisky glass, not looking at me, and there was something rather sad and beaten down about him. It was easy to see what had happened to him. He was hopelessly in love with her.
“No.”
“She was a dish. She could do anything. Dance, swim, skate.... And the old bike. Didn’t have a licence, but I used to let her have a go sometimes. Mister ... she made my hair stand on end. Like she’d got to have it, see. The big kick. She had a gun, too. Used to go up to the Dyke weekends and knock off milk bottles. Used to scare me just to watch.”
“Brighton’s going to miss her.”
“It has – it’s already dead. All the others are just cardboard cut-outs.”
“And that’s all you know about her?”
“Do you know any more?”
“No. She ever give you a hint about this job?”
“No. Except that I think it must have been something to do with the woman.”
“What woman?”
“About a week ago. Some woman staying at the Metropole. She went there to tea. I went to meet her afterwards, but I was there early and I saw them. They took a little stroll along the front. And there was this woman, an oldish kind of doll, and she had red hair. But Katy wouldn’t tell me anything about her. But it was after that she mentioned the job. She was a foreign bird.”
“You mean the red-haired woman?”
“Yes. I know one of the waiters there. He checked for me....” He fiddled inside his leather jacket and brought out a piece of paper. But he kept it away from me, and just gave me a look. He might have been heart-broken, but he wasn’t giving anything away.
I put a couple of pound notes on the table. He took them and handed me the paper. Written on it in grubby pencil was – Mrs R. Vadarci. Swiss passport. Comes from London. Dorch. Hotel.
I stood up and said, “If you remember anything else, just ring me. I’ll buy.”
He nodded into his glass and, without looking up, said, “Sorry about the other night. It gets into you.”
“Forget it.”
I left him, broken-hearted, but two pounds better off, and no future except to hitch up with one of the cardboard cut-outs that were left to him. To some extent I could almost share his feeling about Katerina. She was under my skin, too. Not as deep as she was with him, but then he’d been exposed to the fall-out longer than I had.
I gave up my room at the Albion and went back to London. I rang the Dorchester and there was no Mrs Vadarci staying there. There had been, but not now. I put off ringing Hans Stebelson, and I had a chat about the whole thing with Wilkins the next morning.
She said, “Why should this man pay you so much money for such a simple commission? You’ve done nothing he couldn’t easily have done himself.”
“He’s a busy man.”
“Is he? He spent yesterday morning shopping, then the National Gallery. Lunch at Boulestin’s by himself. In the afternoon he took a river trip down to Greenwich.”
I pulled a face. “Good work.” I had one or two outside men who did such small jobs for me. I didn’t bother to ask her which one she had used.
She said, “He’s not the kind who deliberately wastes money.”
“But now the trail has gone cold. I’ve lost this girl.”
“Do you want to bet on that?”
I looked at her, standing in front of me, a file clasped to her bosom as though it were an ailing child, a frosty look in her eyes, and I knew I would lose my money.
“No.”
“You want some good advice?”
“I’ll listen.”
“Telephone him. Say you’ve lost her and that the pressure of other work makes it impossible for you to continue with this.”
“That’s good advice?”
“So good that I know you aren’t going to take it.”
I said, “I don’t know.”
Wilkins said nothing. She went to the door and then paused with her fingers on the handle. I prepared to duck.
She said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Somebody broke in here last night. They must have used a piece of perspex on the outer Yale lock.”
“After the petty cash? Wasted effort.”
“No – they went through the files. The cabinet lock was forced. No attempt to hide what had happened.”
“Anything missing?”
“No. But they
