Be Not Afraid Page 7

  “Mending. She’ll be home in a minute. You can see for yourself.”

  “Tea,” Martina announced, opening the door and placing the tray on the table. “You wish me to go?”

  Berkeley observed there were three cups.

  “No, no, you stay. What about Alexandros?”

  “He is having a nap.”

  “Ah, right. Well, you can be mother.”

  Julia looked apprehensive.

  “And you think this attack has to do with that evening?” she asked.

  “I think so. I have the name of the man who set it up: Himmler.”

  “Heinrich Himmler,” Martina added, passing out cups of tea. “You know this man?”

  “Me?” Julia squawked. “How should I know him?”

  “Martina means, have you ever heard of him. You see, it would seem obvious that he is either a friend of Grippenheimer’s or works for the Nazi Party.”

  “You think the Nazi Party wants you dead? Why?”

  “Well, Grippenheimer is one reason. He was one of their financial backers. But there are also other reasons. Now, I imagine your husband keeps his ear very close to the ground about what is happening in Germany, and especially Berlin. That’s what he’s there for, right?”

  “Well, I suppose so.”

  “So it’s possible that he may have heard of this fellow Himmler. I mean, he seems able to command quite considerable resources, to have sent two assassins clear across Europe to get at me. Do you think you could ask Dick to let me, or you, have any information he may possess?”

  “Any information Dick possesses will be confidential,” Julia pointed out, “certainly if you intend to go after this man in your well-known murdering fashion.”

  “I’m sure you mean executing,” Berkeley said. “That I don’t believe in waiting for the verdicts of judges and juries is because they are both tardy and usually wrong.”

  “Well, I’ll try,” Julia said.

  “I’m sure you will. Remembering always that when it comes to confidentiality you and I have some skeletons we would prefer to keep in the closet. Or you would, I am sure.”

  She glared at him. “You are trying to blackmail me.”

  “I never try to do anything,” he reminded her. “Here are the children.”

  They flooded into the house, Howard wailing.

  “He’s wet himself,” Anna explained.

  “This is Mrs Hudson,” Berkeley said. “I’m sure you remember her, Anna. But I don’t think you’ve met John and Alicia, Julia.”

  Julia was on her feet. “My pleasure. They’re lovely children, Berkeley. You are to be congratulated. Now I must rush. I’d like to be home by dark.”

  She hurried for the door. Berkeley accompanied her. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” he said.

  *

  Geoffrey Walton arrived the next day, accompanied by one of his juniors, a young man named Harry Druce. Berkeley entertained them in the dining room, where they could use the table as a large desk.

  Walton took various papers from his briefcase and spread them out. “I have copies of all the statements here,” he said, “and it seems very straightforward. You will appear in the Magistrate’s Court on Friday morning. I shall of course ask for the case to be dismissed, but even if it is not, you will be released on bail. Your ultimate acquittal is just a matter of form.”

  Berkeley nodded. “Just supposing it goes to Crown Court, do you have a good man in mind?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed. Tom Bullard. There’s no better barrister in the Midlands. I’ve put him in the picture, but he doubts very much whether you will need him.”

  “But if he’s prepared to take my case, should it come to that, I assume he would be prepared to take the girl’s case as well.”

  “The girl?”

  “Helen Karlovy. I’d like you to act on her behalf as well.”

  Walton scratched his ear and glanced at Druce. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Colonel. This young woman and her brother set out to kill you. She has admitted this in her statement. And you want me to defend her?”

  “I want you to brief Bullard, yes. I’ll meet the fee.”

  “But why, in the name of God?”

  “I have destroyed just about her entire family.”

  “You shot her brother in self-defence.”

  Berkeley nodded. “I also shot her father, in self-defence. I did not personally kill her older sister but I was responsible for her death.”

  “And you think that puts you in their debt. Were they not a family of international gangsters, anarchists, terrorists?”

  “Absolutely. But for a while I was one of them.”

  Walton frowned. “Is this widely known?”

  “No, it is not. I was acting on behalf of the government. Thus I would not like it to be widely known now. I am just putting you in the picture.”

  “I see. Well, if you wish me to, I will undertake the defence of the girl and brief Bullard. However, I must tell you that, having studied her statement and all of the facts, I’m not sure what even Bullard will be able to do with it. And please don’t start on the business of her not intending to kill any of the three victims. She admits she came here to kill you. If Druce and I had come here to kill you and Druce here draws and fires first but misses you and kills someone coming through that doorway, we are both guilty of murder, no matter how vehemently I may swear that I did not mean that to happen. Oh, I beg your pardon.”

  Because someone had at that moment opened the door. Anna, checking in embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry, Papa. I did not know you had guests.”

  “Come in,” Berkeley said. “This is my daughter Anna.”

  The lawyers stood up to shake hands, both obviously attracted to the girl.

  “I didn’t mean to intrude,” Anna said.

  “You haven’t,” Berkeley said. “Mr Walton wanted to have a word with you, anyway. Have a seat.”

  Cautiously, Anna sat next to Druce.

  “You understand that you will be called as a witness, Miss Anna,” Walton said. “In the murder case. As a witness for the prosecution.”

  Anna looked at her father.

  “I’m afraid that will be necessary,” Berkeley said. “You were attacked by Helen Karlovy and you helped me capture her.”

  “But the defence lawyer . . .”

  “Will neither pry himself, nor permit any prying by other counsel, into your background,” Walton said. “I will see to that. All you must do is state the exact truth, as you remember it, of what happened on the day.”

  “And about seeing them in town, and the first attack?” Anna asked.

  “Certainly, if asked by the prosecutor, as I am sure you will be. You understand, Colonel, that your daughter’s testimony will be another nail in Helen Karlovy’s coffin.”

  Berkeley nodded. “However, you must get Bullard to do the best he can. A plea for mercy, perhaps, in view of the fact that she is now orphaned. An assertion that she was led astray by her brother . . .”

  “And no reference to the fact that her family was responsible for the kidnapping of Miss Anna.”

  “You said that wouldn’t be brought up.”

  “Quite. I am merely illustrating the problem we will have in attempting to save her neck.”

  “However,” Berkeley said, “while I would like to avoid anyone going into the details of Anna’s kidnapping,” he squeezed her hand, “I think it would help Miss Karlovy’s case if certain aspects of my relations both with her father and her elder sister were brought out in cross-examination. I will write you a letter, in strictest confidence, stating the various facts which Bullard may wish to raise.”

  Walton frowned. “You are sure this will not be awkward for you?”

  “I’m sure it will be. But it should go a long way to obtaining that recommendation to mercy I’m after.”

  “Well, it’s your funeral, if you’ll pardon the expression.” Walton gathered up his papers and replaced them in his bri
efcase. “We’ll see you in court on Friday, Colonel.”

  “Why are we trying to save Helen Karlovy’s neck, Papa?” Anna asked.

  “Just say that I feel responsible for the deaths of too many of her family already,” Berkeley said.

  “Her brother killed Grandma and Lucy, and Maria,” Anna said. “I hate her.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Walton agreed. “But I would try to keep your emotions under control when you appear in court. Good day.”

  *

  Walton led Druce out to the car. Druce drove. “Rum do, isn’t it,” he remarked. “You’re virtually appearing for the defence and the prosecution.”

  “Not obviously,” Walton said. “I’m appearing for the defence in both cases. As regards Colonel Townsend, the young man he shot was admittedly one of the would-be assassins but the sister was nowhere in evidence when the shooting occurred. In defending her, a quite hopeless task in my opinion, I may be seen as changing sides, but that is an entirely different matter.”

  “Hm,” Druce commented. “What an extraordinarily beautiful girl.”

  Walton glanced at him, “Yes, she is. She also has a somewhat chequered background. You’ve read the file.”

  “It’s not very complete. Merely says she was once abducted. I gather it was to do with this ongoing feud.”

  “Yes, it was. However, when friend Townsend got going, the abductors decided to unload the girl just as rapidly as possible.”

  “Is he that tough an egg?” Druce was sceptical. “He’s the perfect picture of a retired army officer. All he lacks is the moustache.”

  “Appearances can be deceptive. There was a time, only a few years ago, when he was regarded as the most dangerous man in Europe.”

  “Oh, come now, sir.”

  “That is fact, Harry. I have a brother in the FO, and he has heard of some quite hair-raising tasks Townsend carried out for HM Government.”

  “And the government was engaged in following up the abduction of his daughter?”

  “Not directly. But they virtually gave him carte blanche to find her, as he eventually did. Leaving a trail of corpses across Central Europe.”

  “Then I take back all I said and lift my hat to him. I would probably have done the same thing if that girl had been my daughter.”

  Another glance. “It took him five years, and Anna Townsend spent those five years in various brothels.”

  “That lovely girl?”

  “That lovely girl. Do keep your eye on the road.”

  “Sorry, sir.” Druce concentrated. “But that ended a couple of years ago, didn’t it?”

  “I don’t think something like that ever ends,” Walton observed.

  “Oh, quite. A dreadful experience. What I meant was, if . . . ah, she had been diseased, it would have come out by now, surely.”

  “Not necessarily,” Walton said. “If it was syphilis. It could be lying dormant in her body, waiting to manifest itself as she grows older, either in various unpleasant physical ailments or to be transmitted to her children.”

  “That’s a somewhat gloomy prognosis,” Druce observed.

  “It happens to be true. The truth is often a bit gloomy.”

  “Couldn’t the possibility be diagnosed?”

  “Certainly, by means of a blood test. They’re mandatory in the States, before anyone can get married.”

  “Well, then . . .”

  “This isn’t the States, Harry. It is not a legal requirement in England. And I hope you are not thinking of taking up with this girl.”

  “Well . . . is there anything unethical in asking her out, as we’re representing the defence?”

  “Nothing at all, although I will have to inform Bullard. But why do you wish to take her out?”

  Druce flushed. “She has to be about the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”

  “So all you wish to do is look at her. In my experience, young men who take young women out generally have a further idea in mind. And if they are honourable young men, as I know you are, Harry, the further idea is supposed to end in marriage.”

  “Well . . .”

  “So I would like to hear your plan of campaign. You will, after taking Anna Townsend out a few times and determining that you love her, ask her to marry you. But, you will say, do you mind awfully if we trot along to your doctor and have him take a blood test, just to make sure you do not have syphilis? If she doesn’t slap your face, Berkeley will probably blow your head off. He’s very sensitive where his children are concerned, and especially Anna.”

  “I would put the matter to him first,” Druce said.

  “Very proper. Well, then, let’s look on the bright side. Berkeley doesn’t hit you over the head but welcomes you as a prospective son-in-law. He agrees to Anna having a blood test and she is found to be all clear. You marry. Can you guarantee that when you, ah, consummate the event, you will not find yourself thinking of all the men who have been that way before you, wondering if she is mentally comparing you with them, whether every endearment, every gasp of passion that she emits is not part of the responses she was trained to make to keep her clients happy?”

  “If you weren’t my senior in the firm, Mr Walton,” Druce said. “I’d stop this car and punch you on the nose.”

  “Which would be an entirely honourable thing to do, if I had raised the point after you had proposed and been accepted. I am merely trying to point out that you need to be very, very sure before you take an irrevocable step. Or you could be ruining both your life and hers.”

  “Well,” Druce said. “It seems to me we’re putting the cart a long way before the horse. All I want to do is take her out to dinner.”

  A Visit from the Past

  “Well,” Berkeley said, throwing his hat at the stand, “I think this calls for a drink. Champagne. There’s some in the cellar.”

  “I will get it,” Martina said. She seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her temporary role as cook-housekeeper and was, in fact, an excellent cook, if somewhat heavy-handed with the spices.

  “Was there ever any doubt?” Anna asked.

  “Not according to Walton,” Berkeley said. “Do you know, that is the first time I have ever been put on trial for killing someone?”

  “When do I get my gun back?” Savos asked.

  “I imagine, now the case is over, that the police will release it in a day or two,” Berkeley said.

  “And then?”

  Berkeley went to the window and looked out at the snow-covered drive and fields. Christmas had come and gone, a very sombre Christmas, and the children had returned to school, reluctantly. But life had to be resumed, even if normality remained some distance in the future. If his own court appearance was out of the way, Helen Karlovy’s trial was still some months away; there was nothing any of them could do until after that. And then? He had heard nothing from either Julia Hudson or the Cohns to whom he had written before the holiday.

  And he had Helen Karlovy on his conscience. He had attended the magistrate’s court where she had been committed for trial and never had he seen so despondent a figure. For all the harm she had done him, on reflection he could understand that she had been driven by a force deep in her subconscious so that, as if hypnotised, she had felt obliged to carry on the blood feud once presented with the opportunity to do so. In the blood-soaked jungle in which he had spent most of his life, he could not hate her for that; he could only feel sympathy. And unless Walton or his friend Bullard could produce a miracle, she was going to hang.

  He turned back to face the room as Martina brought in the tray of champagne and glasses.

  “You must go home,” he said.

  Both the Savoses gazed at him with arched eyebrows.

  “You’ve been here more than a month,” he pointed out. “I can’t ask you to devote the rest of your lives to me.”

  “But who will protect you?” Savos asked. “You still have not found out who this man Himmler is.”

  “Well, until I do, Anna and I will ha
ve to protect ourselves. We can do that, can we not, Anna?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said.

  Martina filled the glasses and handed them out. “We have to be here to give evidence at that Karlovy woman’s trial,” she said.

  “That is unlikely to happen before the summer. I can’t ask you to stay here for several months.”

  “We would like to,” she said. “Wouldn’t we, Alexandros?”

  “Oh, yes,” Savos said. “It would be a great pleasure. And then, when this Himmler character tries again, we will be waiting for him.”

  Berkeley looked at Anna. She appeared perfectly happy; she liked both Alexandros and Martina. More important, she trusted them.

  “Well,” he said, “I can’t pretend I’m not grateful, although I still feel it’s an imposition. Hello, who’s that?”

  A car was slithering to a stop on the snow-covered forecourt.

  “And I have no gun,” Savos said. “You will have to lend me your pistol, Berkeley.”

  “I’ll get it,” Anna volunteered, as the doorbell rang.

  “No,” Berkeley said, “I’ll get it.”

  “I still have my gun,” Martina said, picking up her handbag.

  “You didn’t take that thing to court?” Berkeley was aghast,

  “Of course, I have it with me at all times.”

  “You and I are going to have to have a serious chat,” Berkeley said, as he went into the hall. He unlocked the front door. “Hello. Druce, isn’t it? Did I forget something in court? Or have you an account for me already?”

  “No, no, sir,” Druce said. “And I do apologise for this intrusion . . .”

  Berkeley had observed that the young solicitor was carrying a bouquet of flowers.

  “Ah,” he said, “I suspect that you haven’t actually come to see me at all.”

  “Well, sir . . .” Now he was flushing. “Have you any objections?”

  Think, goddamit, Berkeley told himself. To have some well-mannered and probably well-to-do young man come courting Anna was what he had dreamed of over the past year . . . while all the time dreading it. His fears were far greater than mere fatherly possessiveness. This was the only possible way Anna was ever going to regain normality and perhaps even happiness. But it was also the situation which might prove she would never be able to do that, which was too terrible to contemplate.