Nothing To Lose, page 5
Vargo said hoarsely, “You’re a fool, Larren. Those people who attacked you were Algerian Nationalists, ordinary terrorists, you were just unlucky they picked on you. Why should I know anything about it?”
Larren didn’t try to argue the point, for he had no intention of letting Vargo guess how much he knew. Instead he said coldly, “Tim Carter thought you knew something about it. He tried to tell me before he died.”
“What — what did Carter actually say?” Vargo’s tone was hesitant and strained, but his eyes were suddenly alert.
“He said: Anton Vargo — find Anton Vargo. He’s responsible,” Larren lied blandly.
“He was mistaken — or you were. He must have been trying to say something else.”
Larren slashed again with the gun barrel, this time across the ribs for he did not want Vargo to be too badly marked. He said viciously, “There was no mistake. I want to know why Tim Carter was killed?”
Vargo was gasping for breath. At last he said painfully, “I’ll kill you for this, Larren. Someday — somehow, I’ll kill you.”
Larren used the gun again. When he had finished Vargo was hanging limply against his bonds, his dark face a dirty grey. He had made no outcry but his lower lip was bitten through and his eyes were closed.
Larren left him hanging there and went into the bathroom for more water. He threw it in the man’s face to bring him round and then started again. He didn’t really expect Vargo to tell him anything, but he wanted to make sure that the man had cause to hate him. If his line of reasoning was right then the first thing that Vargo would do when he recovered was to run to his friends and demand that they put Larren out of the way. He had to give Vargo good reason to fear him, and he had to drag those men from the shadows into the open.
Larren was willing to try anything to bring him face to face with the real men behind Andrea’s murder; even to setting himself up as bait for another killing.
After half an hour Larren was satisfied with his handiwork. Vargo was slumped unconscious in the chair, his breathing harsh and noisy. Larren slopped another bowl of water into his face and watched it drip off his head and shoulders on to the floor. Vargo showed no signs of reviving and he turned away.
Claudine was still watching him, her expression blank. She met his gaze without any sign of emotion.
He moved closer and looked down at her. He laid the cold barrel of the automatic across her naked stomach and slowly drew it across the smooth flesh.
“If I thought you could tell me anything I’d start on you too,” he said calmly, deciding that it was just as well to leave a thorough impression all the way round.
However, Claudine didn’t even flinch.
Larren turned back to Vargo and shook him roughly. Vargo groaned but still hung limp. Larren shook him again and finally jerked him back to consciousness. When he was sure that the man was capable of understanding what he was about to say he sat down facing him on the foot of the bed.
Vargo stared at him through pain-dulled eyes, his tongue moving cautiously to taste the red trickle that ran from his cheek to the corner of his mouth. Behind the pain there was blind hatred in the dark depths of his stare.
Larren spoke coldly. “Well you’ve convinced me, Vargo. I don’t think you do know why Carter was killed. But you’re mixed up in it somehow, and I intend to find out how.” He paused, watching Vargo’s reactions. It was essential that this little speech should sound genuine. However, Vargo’s eyes showed only hatred.
He went on, “Tim Carter didn’t waste his last words on you without reason. And I’m going to find out what he was trying to say. I’m going to keep snooping round, Vargo, and if I find that you were actively involved, then I’ll come back and finish what I started.”
He got up and shoved the automatic in his pocket.
“I’m leaving now, and I’ll take your toys with me. You won’t be here long, for Claudine can soon wriggle free once she puts her mind to it. Meantime I’ll just keep you quiet while I get a head start.” He selected another of the torn strips of sheet and proceeded to gag Vargo’s mouth, working swiftly and efficiently.
He had his back to the door and consequently never noticed it begin to open. Only the look of sudden cunning in Vargo’s eyes warned him in time.
The man who stood in the doorway must have heard him talking from below for he had crept up to the landing as stealthily as a cat. He was exceptionally tall and thin, dressed in a dark suit and a solemn black trilby hat. His features were narrow, the cheekbones high. His eyes were hidden behind thick, horn-rimmed glasses. In one hand he carried a short walking cane with a silver handle. In the other he held a black Mauser automatic, and his bony finger was already tightening on the trigger.
Larren hurled himself to one side as the bark of the gun filled the room and heard the bullet bury itself viciously in the wall amid a shower of falling plaster. He rolled over as he landed on the floor and instantly took cover behind the bed. He clawed Vargo’s revolver from his pocket and let loose a shot that made the newcomer move hastily back to the landing.
Breathing hard he heard a movement from above and the next second Claudine had rolled off the bed on top of him. Whether she was trying to assist the new arrival, or merely getting out of the line of fire was hard to say. Larren pinned her to the floor with one hand just to be on the safe side and waited.
Vargo said hoarsely, “He’s behind the bed, Dressler, he has Claudine with him.”
There was a curse from the landing and then another bullet whined into the bedroom and smashed into the wall. Larren felt Claudine wriggle closer against him and saw her eyes staring at him above the gag around her mouth. For the moment at least she was interested only in saving her skin.
Vargo was yelling hoarsely, “Dressler, for God’s sake be careful. You might hit anybody.”
Larren drew a deep breath and called out sharply, “Dressler, throw that gun in here and follow it in with your hands up. Otherwise I’ll put a shot through Vargo’s head.”
Dressler laughed softly. “I think you are bluffing, my friend.” His voice was low and smooth, almost a hiss. “But even if you are not, Vargo is dispensable.”
Larren could feel Claudine’s heart thumping close against him and felt a strange feeling of satisfaction at knowing that she too was vulnerable to fear. He had come to think of her as almost inhuman.
Dressler broke the brief silence by darting suddenly from one side of the doorway to the other. He sent a swift shot into the room as he did so and the bullet ripped splinters from the wooden panelling at the foot of the bed.
Larren lunged up and fired in return as the lean, dark figure vanished. His automatic clicked uselessly as he pulled the trigger.
He hurled the empty gun straight through the doorway and then made a cat-like leap for the window. Dressler fired another snap shot from the doorway as he dived through the opening head first, and seconds later he was rolling clumsily down the sloping roof of the garage. He went over the edge and hit the floor with a crash, driving the wind from his battered lungs.
From above Vargo was yelling. “Get him, Dressler! Get him! Don’t let him get away.”
CHAPTER 6: TRAIL OF A KILLER
Fortunately for Larren he was out of sight of the bedroom window as he sprawled helplessly on the hard pavement. He was badly shaken and retching noisily as he tried to gulp some air into his flattened chest. His right hip had taken the rest of the impact of the fall and was hurting like fury, causing him to grind his teeth together in silent agony. For the moment he was completely demoralised.
All around him there was a noisy babble of shouts and exclamations from the rest of Anglia Mews, bedroom lights were flashing on and windows were slammed open. Neighbours were calling to each other excitedly and he heard the words, “police … shooting … murder…” used over and over again. He began to realise that it was time he performed a hasty vanishing trick before the frantic telephone calls that must now be going on brought a flock of police cars howling to the scene.
Kensington, it seemed, was not the ideal place to start a quiet gun battle in the middle of the night.
Rallying his wits he struggled to his feet and cautiously backed out into the street until he could see the window through which he had made his exit. There was no sign of Dressler and no sound from Vargo.
Larren’s thoughts raced. Obviously Dressler’s first thoughts would be the same as his own, to get out fast before the law arrived. Consequently he would now be too busy releasing Claudine and Vargo to think about renewing the chase. From Dressler, at least, he would be momentarily safe.
On sudden impulse Larren swiftly checked the garage in front of him and found it still empty. If either Dressler or Vargo had arrived by car then their vehicle must be parked at the front of the house. If he moved fast he might just be in time to follow them as they made their getaway.
Without hesitation he turned and raced back to where he had left his own MG sports. The game was not over yet, for Dressler had to be one of the men on whom he had been hoping to get a lead from Vargo. If he could follow Dressler when he left Vargo’s flat, then there was still a chance that the trail would lead somewhere definite.
Despite the crippling effect of his bruised hip he reached his car within a matter of seconds, sliding into the low front seat with a gasp of relief. From an upstairs window halfway up the road a householder was calling on him to stop and several of his neighbours took up the cry. However, no one dared to come down into the street and make any physical attempt to stop him and he ignored them as he started the soft, purring engine of the sports.
He pulled away smoothly from the kerb and executed one of the most efficient three-point turnings on record. Seconds later he was away and swinging back into the street that ran along the front of Anglia Mews. Here the windows were deserted, everyone having apparently rushed to the back of the buildings. Outside number five, Vargo’s, stood two cars, one a large Hillman, the one in front unrecognisable. It was a certain bet that Vargo had arrived in one car and Dressler in the other, only the rambling size of the house had prevented him from hearing them from the back bedroom as they had pulled up.
Larren stopped the sports well back and waited. His heartbeat was only slightly faster than usual and there was a slight trace of satisfaction around his unsmiling mouth. So far the interruption of Dressler had just about cancelled out his fury at having revealed himself to Vargo. He now had the feeling that the game was still in the balance. Slowly and purposefully he smoothed his palms along his thighs to remove the slight traces of moisture. The night was a long way from being over yet.
Abruptly the door of number five opened and Claudine hurried down the two steps on to the pavement. She was wearing a grey raincoat belted tightly around her waist, and her red hair still swirled loosely around her shoulders. She was also wearing high-heeled shoes, but from the way the raincoat hugged her figure Larren was sure that they were the only other articles of apparel she had bothered with.
She made straight for the first car and pulled open the front door as Dressler came down the steps supporting Vargo. Vargo was still much the worse for wear and staggered drunkenly as they pushed him into the seat. Dressler slammed the door on him and then snapped something at Claudine before hurrying over to the Hillman. Claudine moved swiftly around the bonnet of the first car and swung into the driving seat beside Vargo.
Larren restarted his own engine as Dressler pulled his Hillman out into the road and took the lead. The car in front was now revealed as a small Morris. Dressler was just beginning to accelerate when a sudden scream of tyres and the roar of a fast engine came from the road ahead. The next second a large black police car entered the top of the road, screeching round the corner on two wheels. Its siren began to howl into the black night.
Dressler didn’t even hesitate, he slammed his foot hard down and aimed his Hillman straight at the approaching car. With admirable nerve the police driver held his ground and for seconds it seemed that they must crash headlong. Then Dressler leaned out of the driving window and fired once, splintering the windscreen of the oncoming police car.
The police driver threw up one hand in a wild gesture that was just too late to shield his face from the flying splinters of glass. Blinded by blood from a gash across his temples he wrenched his wheel over and braked savagely, skidding with a sickening crash of grinding metal into the face of the nearest building.
Without a backward glance Dressler shot past them and continued on his way. Claudine drove the smaller Morris through the same gap with equal skill, and seconds later Simon Larren shot through in close pursuit in the MG sports.
Inside the crashed car the police officers were struggling to sort themselves out. All except the luckless driver; the shock of the impact had thrown him forwards and the jagged remains of the broken windscreen had ripped into the side of his neck: he was already dead.
At the top of Anglia Mews the two escaping cars split up. Dressler’s big Hillman swung right and headed in the direction of the West End. The Morris carrying Claudine and Vargo turned left towards Hammersmith. Without hesitation Larren followed Dressler. Vargo was a dead end now, and Dressler was his only lead.
Dressler twisted and turned deftly through the empty streets before joining Kensington Road, and Larren had difficulty in keeping him in sight. He dared not get too close for he knew that every driver is acutely conscious of the headlights of a following car at night. Once they reached the better lit main road he drove on sidelights only to make his presence less noticeable, and hoped that the trail would end before Dressler had time to realise that he was being followed.
His face was hard as he drove and his grey-green eyes remained fixed on the Hillman. He had caught a brief glimpse of the interior of the crashed police car as he went past and the sight had made him fully aware of the kind of man with whom he was dealing. Dressler was undoubtedly a killer.
They drove along Knightsbridge and past Hyde Park Corner. The traffic was slight for it was near one o’clock in the morning, and Larren was able to keep well behind. Dressler was keeping his speed down to a steady thirty-five m.p.h. now. He was obviously feeling safe and endeavouring to keep from attracting any more attention. He turned up Piccadilly with Larren still keeping him in sight.
There was plenty of traffic now that they were in the heart of the West End and the nightlife in London was still in full swing. In Piccadilly Circus the lights were still flashing and illuminating the sky; the crowds were thinning but there was still plenty of people about. Dressler drove straight past Eros and swung down Haymarket.
Larren knew that by now Dressler must be aware of the fact that the MG was trailing him, but still he kept the Hillman in sight as it headed out to the East End. There was nothing he could do now but keep going and hope that the course of events would move in his favour.
Twenty minutes later they were cruising along the East India Dock Road when Dressler swung right towards the West India Docks. Larren knew instinctively that he was nearing the end of the chase, and he knew too that his only hope of gaining any advantage was to make Dressler believe that he had lost the trail.
Without hesitation he drove straight on down the main road, but once he was past the side turning that Dressler had taken he braked to a stop. There was no traffic about and he switched off his lights and reversed the car. A few seconds later he was again in pursuit of the Hillman.
A quarter of a mile passed before he saw Dressler’s tail lights flashing as the man braked several hundred yards ahead, and he promptly swung his MG into the nearest side road. He stopped the car the moment it was out of sight and hurried back on foot. He saw that Dressler had stopped his car at one of the dock gates and was leaning out of the window to talk to the constable on duty.
Larren hesitated, and then decided to abandon his car; to try and take it through the gates without lights would mean trouble from the constable, whereas there was a good chance that in the limited area of the docks where the speeds were restricted he could keep the Hillman in sight on foot.
The only snag was that the constable might not let him through the gate at all, but there was no real reason why the man should not accept him as a seaman and let him pass.
He made up his mind and hurried swiftly towards the dock gate before the Hillman could get under way and out of sight. He kept close to the high wooden fence on his left that enclosed the dock area, just in case Dressler should glance back and spot him. He was within fifteen yards of the gate when the Hillman moved off.
Deliberately slowing his pace Larren followed it through the gates. He gave the constable a nod and a gruff, “g’night,” as he passed, and just for effect he allowed his steps to waver a bit at the same time. The constable gave an audible sniff and turned without a word towards the slight comfort of his telephone hut just inside the gates.
Ahead the Hillman was pulling away between two lines of warehouses, and once out of sight of the constable Larren quickened his stride into a shuffling run. The effort brought him a painful reminder of the fact that his hip was still badly bruised.
Behind each row of warehouses he could see the swaying skeletons of the tall cranes and the high funnels of the ships at the quays. Here and there were splashes of light as dockers worked the night shift beneath the glare of arc lamps. There was the rattle of winches and the creaking of ropes, and the cries of men shouting above the activity. There was the smell too, the cold wind blown smell of oil and refuse floating in the dirty waters. There was the taste of grease from the winches and tar from the ropes, and the salt air that came up the river from the sea.
Dressler’s car was almost out of sight when it finally stopped in the shadow of one of the warehouses. Larren veered away from the centre of the road and moved into the shadows himself as he put a spurt on in an effort to catch up. He tripped once over the sleepers of a railway track and sprawled headlong. Cursing, he pulled himself to his feet and carried on.
