The Melting Man rc-4 Read online

  The tape recorded a conversation between the General and Mr Alexi Kukarin. They were very friendly, referring to each other as General and Alexi, and it was all in English. And it had all been taped, I was sure, without their knowledge, otherwise the General would not have offered some of the comments he had about his government colleagues, and Alexi would not have made one or two beefs about his which would have made him very unpopular at home. The meat of the conversation, however, was that Alexi's people would be happy to supply aircraft, arms and equipment against a guaranteed percentage — a large one, and at a cheap rate — of certain minerals, ores and chemical products, simple innocuous things like cobalt, aluminium ore and uranium, which were to be produced eventually by a state-owned monopoly of mineral and mining resources now in process of being established. In addition, Alexi was insistent that no compensation should be paid to existing European concerns already operating in the country. Straight appropriation was the ticket. The General stuck at this one a bit, but Alexi insisted — pointing out that the country had suffered decades of colonial exploitation, and there was no need to be soft-hearted. The General in the end agreed.

  I must say that, from the tapes, their characters came over well. Alexi — for all his charm and occasional jokes — had been given a brief and when it came to facts he was diamond-edged. The General was a nice enough chap outside of a bedroom, but he was a bit fuzzy around the edges, wanting things explained more than once. He had to have a big streak of simplicity in him, otherwise he would never have fallen for the invitation to use the Château de la Forclaz. O'Dowda, I knew, had made it open house for visiting members of the government for years and it hadn't occurred to the General to question the propriety of going on using it, as he had no doubt often done in the past when he felt the need for peace and quiet and the stimulating company of old friends like Panda and Mrs Makse. We all of us live and learn. It's a question of the proportion between the two. The General was miles away from ever breaking even.

  I dismantled everything, and then packed the film and tape away in the parcel.

  Downstairs the stove was alight, the room warm, and bottles and glasses had appeared on a side table. I could hear Julia moving about in the kitchen. I rummaged a desk, found paper and string and rewrapped the parcel. One thing was certain, I didn't want to have it around this place longer than I could help. I addressed it and then poked my head in the kitchen. She was doing something at the side of the sink with meat.

  I said, 'Can I borrow your car? I want to go down to Megeve to the post office.'

  She looked at her watch. 'It'll be shut.'

  I said, 'There are ways round that.'

  There was. I went back along the road to the golf course and then turned into the drive of the Hotel Mont d'Arbois. It was pretty deserted because it was almost the end of the season.

  I handed the parcel, and a hundred-franc note, to the clerk at the desk and asked him to post it for me. He said it wouldn't go out until the next morning. I said that that was fine, asked if they'd had a good season, was told that it had been so-so, and went.

  Going into the chalet it was a nice feeling to think the parcel was well out of my hands. It was nice, too, to see Julia.

  She'd changed into the dress she had been wearing in my office the first time we had met; it could have been design or accident. Anyway, just watching her move in it was enough to soothe away the strain of the last few days. I said what would she have and she said a gin-and-Campari with a big slice of lemon and a lot of ice, and it was all there on the table. I poured a stiff whisky for myself. She squatted on the settee, drew her legs up, and took the drink with a polite little nod of her head. Something from the kitchen smelled good.

  I said, 'You cook as well?'

  'Cordon bleu.'

  I said, 'You know why croissants are called croissants?'

  'No.'

  'Good.'

  I stretched out in an armchair and lit a cigarette, sipped my drink and felt the first caress of whisky go lovingly down. All was well with the world, almost.

  Almost, because she was giving me her dark-eyed gipsy stare, and I wasn't sure where to begin. Semi-honest, Aristide had called my business. He was right. Well why not, I thought, just for once, just for the hell of it, try straightforward honesty? Why not? It could pay off. It would hurt, of course, but I already had a four-thousand dollar purse to ease the pain. I decided to give it serious thought, later.

  I said, 'Can you listen as well as I hope you cook?'

  "You're nervous about something,' she said.

  'Naturally. I'm considering being entirely honest. That's strange ground for me.'

  'Take it a step at a time. It won't spoil what I'm cooking.' I did. She listened well. Summarized it went like this.

  1. I had been employed by O'Dowda to trace his Mercedes. In the course of my investigations I had learnt that a parcel — of importance to O'Dowda — was hidden in the car. O'Dowda had told me that the parcel contained Japanese Bank Bonds. I did not believe this.

  2. While tracing the car it had become clear that two other parties were interested in finding it and obtaining the parcel it contained. They were, in order of activity: Najib and Jimbo Alakwe, working under the orders of General Seyfu Gonwalla, head of an African state; and Interpol.

  3. I had found the car and taken the parcel, which con tained certain film and a tape recording. (I didn't mention Otto or the Tony interlude.)

  4. The film was a record, taken without their knowledge, of the sexual activities of General Gonwalla, Miss Panda Bubakar and a Mrs Falia Makse at the Château de la Forclaz.

  5. The tape was a record, made without their knowledge, of a conversation between General Gonwalla and an Alexi Kukarin in which an exchange of arms, aircraft and equipment was agreed against a major proportion of the state's production of minerals, etc., in Gonwalla's country.

  6. Clearly, the film and tape records had been secretly organized by O'Dowda for use in the General's country to stimulate the overthrow of his government and thus ensure a grant of a monopoly of mineral and mining rights promised O'Dowda by the previous government.

  7. The Alakwe brothers wanted the tape and film in order to destroy it. O'Dowda wanted it to ensure his monopoly being granted. Interpol wanted it so that they could pass it to the custody of an interested government or governments. What the government(s) would do with it was pure guesswork, but clearly they weren't going to destroy it and so keep General Gonwalla in power, otherwise there would have been a link-up already between Interpol and the Alakwe brothers. Equally clearly they weren't going to hand it over to O'Dowda, otherwise Interpol would have linked up with me. Probably then their intention was to let Gonwalla know that they had it, and could at any time they wished release it to his governmental opponents, but wouldn't do so as long as Gonwalla made concessions either political or economic to the interested government(s), and none to Kukarin's government.

  At this stage, I said, 'You get that?'

  She said, 'Yes. But I'm surprised that Interpol would do a thing like that.'

  I said, 'Governments are outside morality. What is devalu- ation but defaulting on your creditors? Governments can short-change but not individuals. To go on to the most important point—'

  8. Following the question of morality — I had the vital parcel. I ran a small semi-honest business, patronized mostly by clients who were non-starters in the Halo Stakes. Some of them were bad payers. It had become my habit, in selected cases, to supplement clients' fees by imposing substantial rake-offs for myself where possible. The money escaped tax, and I flattered myself that I spent it wisely and not all on myself and, let's face it, a fair amount of it did eventually go to the government in the form of Betting Tax. The real problem of the moment was — what should I do with the parcel? I could sell it at a good price to either O'Dowda or General Gonwalla. Or, I might sell it to Interpol, though they would never match the price of the others. Or I could destroy it.

  'And what,' Ju
lia asked, 'do you intend to do with it?'

  'It's a testing question, isn't it?'

  'Is it?'

  'For me, yes. What would you do?'

  'Put it on the stove right away.'

  'Crisp, positive. If I had it here I might consider it. But it's in safe keeping.'

  'That doesn't surprise me. It stops you doing anything impulsive like burning it here and now.'

  'Bright girl.'

  'Did you enjoy the film?'

  I didn't like the way she said it.

  I said, 'I've seen better. However, let's come to another point, which is more of a domestic matter. Interpol have another interest in all this — apart from the parcel. Somebody has been writing them anonymous letters about your stepfather.'

  'It certainly wasn't me.'

  'No, I didn't have you lined up for that. But would you have any idea what the letters might be about?'

  She didn't answer, but I was sure that she did have an idea. Before the silence could become embarrassing, I went on, 'All right. Let's approach it another way. You've been wanting to talk about it for a long time. If I'd been on the ball I might have got it from you the first time you came to see me. In a way I'm glad I didn't because it could have complicated things then. Why didn't you tell me right away that Otto Libsch had once been second chauffeur at the château?'

  'I didn't see that it was going to help.' She was ready enough with that one, but it was unconvincing.

  'Look,' I said, 'I'm on your side. Just give a little. Okay, knowing about Otto at that time wouldn't have helped me much' in the job I had to do. Oh, I can guess how he was linked up with Max. Zelia was the lonely type. Otto drove her around. They talked. She liked him. It was part of his form to have people like him. Maybe he took her to a discotheque or something in Geneva, gave her a pleasant time, and then eventually she met Max, and she kept the whole thing secret because it was her first big romance and that was the way she saw it. Something like that?'

  'Yes, I suppose so.'

  'Well, if so — there would have been no harm in telling me about it in Turin. But you didn't. And I know why.'

  'Why?'

  'Because you had a different interest in Otto. Right?'

  She gave me a long look and then gently nodded her head.

  'Good. You had another interest in him, but you weren't sure how to handle it. Not even sure you could tell me about it because you still weren't trusting me. You thought, maybe still think, that any private or confidential information I get I immediately look over to see where there might be a profit in it for me.'

  'That's not true!'

  'No?'

  'No!' Her indignation sounded real and that pleased me.

  'In that case, let's have it now. What had Otto got to do with the way your mother died?'

  She put her cigarette down slowly and then stood up and came and picked up my empty glass and went to fill it, her back to me. It was a nice back, nice legs, and I liked the way that her dark hair fell about the nape of her neck.

  'Slowly, in your own words,' I said, to help her.

  Back to me, she began to talk.

  'It was over two years ago. We were at the château. My mother told me she was leaving O'Dowda. She was in love with someone else.'

  'Who?'

  She turned. 'She didn't say. Wouldn't say. I think, maybe, even then, she was scared to. She said we would know very soon. She was leaving first thing in the morning, and Otto was going to drive her to Geneva. This was late at night. I went to bed, and I never saw her again.'

  'Why not?'

  She came back and put the glass in front of me.

  'I was told by my stepfather at noon the next day that she had been drowned in Lake Leman. He said that she had got up early, called for Otto to drive her down to the lake — we kept a couple of speedboats there — and she had gone out with Kermode and the boat had capsized.'

  'Was it a likely story?'

  'She loved boats and she loved speed. And she liked going out early. Any other morning it was something that could easily have been true. But not that morning. That morning she was due to go off for good with this other man.'

  'And her body was never recovered?'

  'No. But that happens sometimes in the lake. It's very deep.'

  'I see. And Otto swore at the inquiry that he drove her down and saw her go aboard with Kermode?'

  'Yes.'

  'And Kermode told his story. Speed too high, tight curve, gallant effort to save her and so on?'

  'Yes.'

  'And you — and Zelia — have had your suspicions of O'Dowda ever since?'

  'I think he had her killed.'

  'And what about the man she was going away with? Did he ever show?'

  'No.'

  'And you've no idea who it was?'

  'No.' She went and sat down, curling her legs up under her.

  'I imagine that Otto left your stepfather's service soon after?'

  'Yes.'

  I said, 'You like me to tell you who the man was — the man your mother was going away with?'

  'How can you possibly know?'

  'Some of it's crystal-ball stuff, I'll admit. But not much. It was Durnford—'

  'That's impossible!'

  'Not, it isn't. We're talking about love, and love comes up with some odd combinations at times. It was Durnford. He's the one who has been writing anonymous letters. His hatred of O'Dowda isn't the ordinary comfortable hatred of a secretary for a millionaire employer. He's so full of hate for your stepfather that he's buzzing around like a wasp trapped against a window pane. He's doing everything he can to bitch up O'Dowda — particularly over this car business. He must have been the one who tipped the Gonwalla crowd off about the film and tape in the first place. He'd do anything to spite O'Dowda. He was going off with your mother and, somehow, O'Dowda found out, and it would suit his sense of humour to get rid of your mother and keep Durnford on, half-knowing that Durnford would guess the truth and wouldn't be able to do anything about it. That's just the situation O'Dowda likes. That's why he has that waxworks. And Durnford has been trying to get at him any way he could. He's worked the ends against the middle so much now that he's got himself tied in a real Turk's Head — and if he's not careful Kermode will take him for a ride when O'Dowda's tired of the whole thing.'

  'Durnford… I can't believe it.'

  'I can. And I can believe something else. If your stepfather murdered your mother there isn't anything you or anyone else can do about it. Otto's dead, and can't give evidence of perjury. Kermode's alive and won't give evidence. She went to the lake, like they said. It can't be disproved. And that's not just my opinion. I've an idea that Interpol feel that way. So my advice to you is to forget it. You got money of your own?'

  'Yes.'

  'Then follow Zelia's example. Just get out on your own. Feeling as you do, you can't go on living under his roof.'

  'That's just what I've done.'

  'Done?'

  'Yes. I'd have done it before, but this Zelia thing came up. But when you telephoned me yesterday I was packing to leave. This chalet belongs to me. I was coming up here anyway for a few days to settle things in my mind.'

  'Did you tell O'Dowda you were leaving him?'

  'Yes, in a letter which I left with Durnford… Durnford. I can't believe it.'

  'I'll bet on it. Did you mention anything of your reason in the letter?'

  'No. But he won't have difficulty in reading between the lines. And I don't care a damn if he does.'

  She stood up, smoothing the dress wrinkles over her thighs.

  'Life's complicated,' I said. 'For the most part I like it that way. All this parcel business and then your mother… Whew, what a tangle. Sometimes a return to simple things is therapeutic. I'll pick the parcel up first thing in the morning and destroy it.'

  She smiled for the first time, holding out her hands to the heat of the stove.

  'You will?'

  'I'll go and get it now if you like.'


  'No, the morning will do. I'm not having the meal spoiled.'

  She moved towards the kitchen door, then half-turned, her face serious again.

  'You really think it's hopeless to do anything about… well, about my mother?'

  'O'Dowda's a millionaire. He knows how to be careful. He can buy and sell, not only people, but truth. My advice is to forget it all. If he did it, it's written in the book against him and one day the charge will come home to roost. But there's nothing you can do.'

  She nodded and went into the kitchen.

  It was a good meal. We had tranches de mouton done in brandy and served with a puree of spinach, and then spent a pleasant evening together.

  When we went up to bed, she stopped at her door and she said, 'You really are going to get that parcel and destroy it, aren't you?'

  'First thing in the morning.'

  She moved close to me and put her arms around my neck. I had to do something with my arms so I put them around her.

  She kissed me, and a little carillon of bells began to tinkle at the back of my skull. She drew back and looked into my eyes.

  I said, 'What's that for?'

  She smiled 'To say I'm sorry for having been mixed up about you. You're not a bit like you want people to think you are.'

  She kissed me again and then I held her away from me.

  I said, 'You've no idea what I'm like, given the right stimulus. And it's working now.' I reached round her, opened her door, kissed her, fought against the one thing I had in mind, won, and gently armed her into the room. I pulled the door shut and, from the outside, said, 'Lock it. Sometimes I walk in my sleep.'

  I waited until I heard the key turn. Then I went into my own room, telling myself that just for once I would do things in their right order. I wanted that parcel out of the way, destroyed, first. I knew me too well. I could have gone into the room with her, and had second thoughts about the parcel in the morning. After all, it was worth a hell of a lot of money, and money is real, so many other things fade and wither.