“It would be your word against your husband’s that it existed.”
“That’s why I’ve kept quiet so far. Anyway, the police seem convinced Martin killed himself. They say a physiotherapist confirms his back was not responding to treatment.”
The waiter brought another round, for which Nora insisted on paying. “I haven’t told you the worst,” she said. “Dr. Monteith is in London.”
“Who’s he?”
“Clifford Monteith, the Montreal doctor who delivered my baby and then stole her from me.”
“Is he a problem?”
“Monteith has been in my husband’s pocket for years. That’s how Reg was able to get him to go along with the plot. He has files on my behavior in Montreal after I gave birth. And he knows about my blackouts. I think he’s going to certify me and have me put away.”
“Can he do that?”
“You don’t know Reginald Packer.”
“Why would he want to?”
“Because I won’t shut up about my daughter. I want her and I’m going to get her. The easiest way for Reg to get back to a peaceful life is for me to be committed. That or get rid of me the way he got rid of Martin.”
Logan finished his second drink faster than he wanted to. “Wheels within wheels,” he said.
“Will you stay with me?” Nora asked. “You’re the only person I can depend on.”
She looked vulnerable and beautiful and Logan was proud to be asked. This quality lady — his own discovery on the King’s Road only a week ago — was turning to him in her distress. She was Guinevere and he was no less than Lancelot and chivalry was not dead, not as long as he felt such a powerful urge to stand up and be counted. “I’ll do whatever I can,” he said.
“Thank you, Tony.” She kissed his cheek so unexpectedly and so briefly that he would never be sure it had happened. “Let me make a telephone call. I’ll arrange for us to go and have a word with Doctor Monteith.”
Spending time with Clifford Monteith was like being backstage at a vaudeville show. A balding man in his fifties, he had the lean build, the lugubrious face, and the bewildered moves of a trained comic. Every time he turned, you expected him to be hit with a bucket of water.
“I didn’t have to come here and face Reg Packer,” he said. “I could have stepped out of the plane over the Atlantic.” The hotel suite had several closed doors. Surely they would start opening soon and a French maid would dart through, chased by a man in his shirttails.
“Why did you come, then?” Nora asked.
Logan had accepted yet another drink and was feeling over his limit. “This girl is afraid of you, Dr. Monteith.”
“Because of what I know. Yes, I can understand that. But Packer made me a promise three years ago and he hasn’t begun to fulfill it. If it was only me, I’d probably be back in Montreal delivering babies. But Mindy thinks I should go for what’s owed me.”
“You’ve lost me,” Logan said.
“Mindy is my wife. Lovely big Jewish girl from Winnipeg. Years ago her parents sent her east to Montreal because there weren’t enough eligible boys of her persuasion in that small community. Montreal with its world-famous medical school and the remains of an early ghetto would be the happy hunting ground. Imagine the screaming back in Winnipeg when she fell for a goy. Gevalt! At least she married a doctor.”
“I mean you and Reg Packer,” Logan said. “Where’s the connection between you two?”
“The glorious old days,” Monteith said, drifting about and topping up glasses from a bottle of scotch. Had it been a seltzer bottle, he might have sprayed the room. “I was a medical student. Reg was getting started in journalism, doing a column for the Gazette. Both of us worked three nights a week at the Top Hat Club doing comedy sketches on a little stage above the bar. Satirical stuff on local politics. Reg was also a calypso singer — did you know that, Nora? He played the guitar and wore a top hat and sang little verses about the news of the day. Lord Reggie, he called himself.”
The telephone rang. Monteith answered and carried on his conversation, looking directly at Nora and Tony as if he was speaking to them and the phone was some sort of hearing aid. “Yes, they’re here. All seems peaceful. No need for you to stay any longer. By all means, bring her in. See you soon.” He put down the receiver. “They’ve been to see the lions in Trafalgar Square.”
Nora said sharply, “Have you brought the child with you?”
“The better to persuade Reg he should pay. As he promised years ago.” Monteith opened one of the doors. It led into a bathroom. “Talk to each other,” he said as he closed the door behind him.
“I don’t get this,” Logan said. “You told me he was here to have you put away. That he and Reg were in it together.”
She opened her handbag and took out a pistol. She handed it to Logan. He accepted it unwillingly. “What’s this?”
“The gun from Reg’s desk. I told you about it.”
“You said it was missing. What the hell is going on, Nora?”
“You promised to help me.”
“I can’t if you won’t level.”
“Monteith has to be got rid of. And you’re the man. You won’t regret it, Tony, I promise you. Things can be lovely between you and me once he’s out of the way. Reg won’t mind, he’s hardly ever around.”
“The way he didn’t mind about Whittaker?”
The bathroom door opened. Monteith stepped into the room, saw the gun in Logan’s hand, and did a reaction loaded with enough astonishment to reach the back of the second balcony. “Who’s that intended for?”
“Now,” Nora commanded. “Do it now.”
Logan understood almost everything in a flash. Thinking he had gone after Nora in the street, it was she who had selected him. It explained the provocative walk and the eyes focusing on working men. She was searching for the kind of hero who would swallow her story and do this killing for her. She knew a working-class man would make the ideal patsy — his reaction would be to come racing to the aid of the princess in danger. He looked at the doctor and began to say, “Have you any idea what she—”
Nora came to him fast, grabbed his arm and raised it, pointing the gun at Monteith. Logan resisted and was surprised at the woman’s strength. Her fist was closing on his gun hand, exerting pressure on the trigger finger. He managed to turn his arm enough so that the gun was no longer aimed at Monteith. “Let go,” he said. “Let go of the gun!” It went off. Nora sank to the floor.
“Crazy,” was all Logan could say. “She must be crazy.”
Monteith knelt beside her, examined her. “And dead.” He got to his feet. “You aren’t wrong about her. If she couldn’t have me killed, she was ready to settle for herself.”
The door from the corridor opened and two people came into the room. “This is my wife, Mindy,” he said. He got between her and the child and the body on the floor. “Better go into the bedroom,” he told his wife, “there’s been an accident.”
Logan caught only a glimpse of the little girl as she was ushered through, but it was enough to see that she was one of the most beautiful of mixed-race children, pale hair drawn back in braids from an exotic African race.
When the police had been and gone, taking the body of Nora Packer with them, Logan said, “So now we have an orphan asleep in the other room.”
“She doesn’t know Nora was her mother,” Mindy said. “We’ve told her she’s adopted. She doesn’t fully understand what it means, except that she was chosen because we love her.”
“Whittaker wasn’t the father,” Logan said. “I’m still confused.”
“Nora went with a lot of men,” Monteith explained. “The father was another athlete, a friend of the marathon runner. When she realized she was pregnant, Nora told Reg she was going to have a baby with the wrong color skin. Reg had never been too bothered by her exploits as long as there was no publicity. So they arranged for her to come to Montreal, have the child at my clinic, and leave it with me.”