Blame The Dead

Well, so I now knew something he hadn't known.

But not much more. Because, in a way, I still agreed with him. Thereshouldn't have been 'anything like that'. Fenwick just wasn't the type to get shot, and believe me, I know the type. Most of my bodyguard clients just can't count the number of people anxious to get a shot at them, nor the good reason for each shooter. That's why I like payment in advance. But Fenwick? No. It just doesn't happen to people like him. Except when it does, I mean.

Back home, I reheated the last of the breakfast coffee and washed up the breakfast bits and pieces and turned on the television and turned it off again when it was just football scores and finally settled down 'to ring Jonas Steen in Bergen. Now, there are several things you need to know about ringing a total stranger whose number you don't know – the office number on the notepaper was no use for a Saturday – in a foreign country, but the first is the most important: you shift the Scotch and the soda across to the telephone table before you even start. It saves a lot of dashing to and from the cupboard in the next hour or so.

So finally I got through. The line wasn't all that clear, so I couldn't guess much about him bar that he wasn't senile and his English was very good.

'My name is James Card. You knew Martin Fenwick, I think.'

'Yees.' Rather reluctantly.

'Well, I was with him when he died…'

'Why didn't you stop it?' Sharply.

'I would have if I could, believe me. Now, you wrote to Mrs Fenwick about a book – right?'

'Why? Why do you ask?'

'I might be able to help you. What book were you talking about?'

'I didn't send him any book.'

I laid off to consider that. It sounded like a lie, though four hundred miles of telephone wire don't make these things easy. But if hehad sent the book, what did that mean?

I asked, 'Well, where did he get it from, then?'

'I don't know. I don't think I want to talk to you any more.'

'Now hold on. I may have the book. What one were you asking Mrs Fenwick about?'

I had the problem that must sometimes occur to people who ride alligators for a living: who's in charge around here? Steen sounded scared, but what of? Did I have some hold over him or was 1 begging from him? It helps to know these things.

I said, 'Who does it legally belong to, then?'

'The owners, of course.' Andthat was a power of help, too.

'Do you want it back, then?'

'It doesn't matter. I am stopping now.' And stop he did. Suddenly I was just sitting there staring at a humming phone and my left hand actually hurting, I was clutching so hard.

So I said, 'Damn, damn, damn.' Then I said, 'But don't think that you have seen the last of James Card. There is no mountain high enough, no sea deep enough, to hide you from my relentless pursuit. Unless it costs too much, of course.'

I put the phone down and immediately it started to ring, which always startles me. I had a brief wild idea it might be Steen ringing to Tell Me All, but it wasn't, of course.

'I say,' the voice said. 'It's Willie Winslow, you know? I've been trying to ring you for ages.'

'Sorry.'

'I had a chat with young David after you'd left. I see now why you were asking all those questions. I rather apologise, you know.'

'That's okay – I knew I was sounding snoopy. Well, are you joining the Classical Remove Hell's Angels?'

'Am I…? Oh, I see. Yes, rather. I mean, I think you're doing just the right thing. Anything I can do to help? – I'd like to pay my share, you know.'

'Well, if you feel like helping finance a trip to Norway. Bergen. Did David tell you about this bloke Jonas Steen?'

'He sort of mentioned it.' Of course, Willie wouldn't be the sort to approve of grubbing through Mummy's wastebasket, either. The Lancers almost never do.

'I just rang him. He sounds shifty as hell and scared with it.' That was putting it a big strong, but it might help justify David's snoopery. 'He wouldn't tell me anything on the phone, but I'd rather like to go over and sort of lean on him, face to face.'

'Oh, yes, of course.' Then his feet suddenly cooled. 'I say, you won't do any of that I Corps stuff, will you? It might look bad if you landed in jail.'

Til try and control myself. By the way, you haven't heard of him before, have you? He's a marine surveyor, whatever that is.'

'David told me. No, I don't think I know him… surveyors sort of value ships, you know? – and tell you what needs doing or what damage has been done. Very important in insurance, of course.'

'That would be how Fenwick knew him? '

T suppose, probably. I say, what was that about a book or something?'

'I was going to ask you. Ithink he sent Fenwick some book. Ithink it was what Fenwick was taking to Arras. So Ithink it was what got him killed. Now – have you got any idea what it might be?'

There was a sort of silence with Willie making er and um noises, probably wondering how in hell you answeredthat. But he might just have had some inspiration; who was it said the only truly silly question is the one you don't ask?

What he actually came up with was, 'Just can't imagine, old boy. I suppose that's what you'll be asking him?'

'Among other things. Meantime, you might check up and see if there's anything in the syndicate's files that mentions Steen.'

Til do that on Monday.'

'And you might try leaning on Mockby and asking him what it's all about. He knows a lot more than we do.'

That was different; Willie found a whole new stock of ers and urns, then said, 'Yes, of course. I'll… The trouble is, he always looks at you as if you were a bloody fool and then explains things so that you don't understand them any better anyway.'

'Well, he won't tellme and I don't suppose we can get David to ask him, can we?' A slightly dirty crack, but I wanted results.

'Oh, no, of course. Well, I'll see what I can do – you know?'

Getting determination into Willie was like fitting shoes on to a snake. And you can try for only so long.

I sighed and said, 'I'll keep in touch. Any idea about boats to Bergen at this time of year?'

He tried to explain about aeroplanes and I tried to explain about aspects of aeroplanes I didn't like, such as getting searched and having a pistol found on you, particularly since some goon had hijacked a plane on a Scandinavian flight only last week and they'd still be hopping, skipping, and jumping about it. Perhaps he didn't get the exact point, but at least he recalled that the Bergen Line ran an overnight service from Newcastle on various days including possibly Monday. 'Do you know Norway?' he added.

'Never been there,' though it was about the one NATO country I hadn't managed to visit in the Army.

'Try the Norge hotel. And their buffet lunches.'

Then he gave me his number – out in Berkshire – and assured me his mother would take any messages if he wasn't around (somehow I'd already decided Willie wasn't married, although he'd never quite said so) and we rang off.

I mixed one last Scotch and soda before taking the mind-bursting decision about what to eat for dinner, and drifted over to the window. The faithful green Morris 1300 was still there, glinting faintly in the street lighting. I wondered if he liked ocean travel.

Fifteen

As it turned out, he did.

Probably I could have shaken him on the way to King's Cross that Monday morning, but now I was curious about how far he'd go. So I just called a taxi and he stuck behind it all the way to the station. I couldn't be sure he'd caught the train because I still didn't know what he looked like. I'd know soon enough, though. I settled down with a small guide-book on Norwegian mountains, morals, and prices. All seemed high.