The Freedom Trap. Desmond Bagley
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pussyfoot around – use a bit of psychology, maybe – but that wouldn’t work with you, would it? So I’m not going to do it. There’ll be no tact, no psychology with you. I’m going to crack you like a nut, Rearden.’
‘You’d better remember Judges’ Rules.’
He gave a sharp bark of laughter. ‘See what I mean? An honest man wouldn’t know Judges’ Rules from Parkinson’s Law. But you know, don’t you? You’re a wrong ‘un; you’re bent.’
‘When you’re finished with the insults I’ll go,’ I said.
‘You’ll go when I say you can,’ he said sharply.
I grinned at him. ‘You’d better check with Brunskill first, sonny.’
‘Where are the diamonds?’
‘What diamonds?’
‘That postman is in a bad way. You hit him a bit too hard, Rearden. The chances are he’ll cash in his chips – and where will that put you?’ He leaned forward. ‘You’ll be inside for so long that you’ll trip over your beard.’
I must say he was trying hard but he was a bad liar. No dying postman could have busted that window in the Kiddykar office. I just looked him in the eye and kept my mouth shut.
‘If those diamonds aren’t found it’ll go hard for you,’ said Jervis. ‘Maybe if the diamonds turn up the judge will be a bit easier on you.’
‘What diamonds?’ I asked.
And so it went on for a good half-hour until he got tired and went away and the uniformed man came back and took up his old stance in front of the door. I turned and looked at him. ‘Don’t you get corns? Isn’t this job bad for your feet?’ He looked at me with a bland face and expressionless eyes and said exactly nothing.
Presently a bigger gun was brought to bear. Brunskill came in carrying a thick folder bulging with papers which he put on the table. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Rearden,’ he said.
‘I wouldn’t like to bet on it,’ I said.
He gave me a pitying, though understanding, smile. ‘We all have our jobs to do, and some are nastier than others. You mustn’t blame me for doing mine.’ He opened the folder. ‘You have quite a record, Mr Rearden. Interpol have a fat dossier on you.’
‘I’ve been convicted once,’ I said. ‘Anything else is not official and you can’t use it. What anyone might have to say about me isn’t proof of a damned thing.’ I grinned and, pointing at the folder, quoted: ‘“What the policeman said isn’t evidence.”‘
‘Just so,’ said Brunskill. ‘But it’s interesting all the same.’ He mused over the papers for a long time, then said, without looking up, ‘Why are you flying to Switzerland tomorrow?’
‘I’m a tourist,’ I said. ‘I’ve never been there before.’
‘It’s your first time in England, too, isn’t it?’
‘You know it is. Look here, I want an attorney.’
He looked up. ‘I would suggest a solicitor. Have you anyone in mind?’
From my wallet I took the scrap of paper with the telephone number on it which Mackintosh had given me with this eventuality in mind. ‘That’ll find him,’ I said.
Brunskill’s eyebrows lifted when he read it. ‘I know this number very well – he’s just the man to tackle your type of case. For a man who’s been in England less than a week you know your way around the fringes.’ He put the paper on one side. ‘I’ll let him know you’re here.’
My throat was dry from smoking too many cigarettes. ‘Another thing,’ I said. ‘I could do with a cup of tea.’
‘I’m afraid we can’t run to tea,’ said Brunskill regretfully. ‘Would a glass of water be all right?’
‘It’ll do.’
He went to the door, gave instructions, and then came back. ‘You people seem to think that we spend all our time in police stations drinking tea – running a continuous cafeteria for old lags. I can’t think where you get it from unless it’s from television.’
‘Not me,’ I said. ‘We have no TV in South Africa.’
‘Indeed!’ said Brunskill. ‘How curious. Now, about those diamonds. I think that …’
‘What diamonds?’ I broke in.
And so it went on. He shook me more than Jervis because he was trickier. He wasn’t stupid enough to lie about something I knew to be true, as Jervis had done, and was better at the wearing down process, being as persistent as a buzzing fly. The water came – a carafe and a tumbler. I filled the tumbler and drank thirstily, then refilled it and drank again. Brunskill watched me and said at last, ‘Had enough?’
I nodded, so he reached out and took the tumbler delicately in his fingertips and carried it out. When he came back he looked at me sorrowfully. ‘I didn’t think you’d fall for that chestnut. You know we can’t fingerprint you until you’re booked. Why did you let us have them?’
‘I was tired,’ I said.
‘Too bad,’ he said sympathetically. ‘Now, to get back to those diamonds …’
Presently Jervis came into the room and beckoned to Brunskill and they stood by the door and talked in low voices. Brunskill turned around. ‘Now, look here, Rearden; we’ve nailed you. We have enough evidence now to send you up for ten years. If you help us to get back those stones it might help you when the judge sentences you.’
‘What diamonds?’ I asked tiredly.
His mouth shut with a snap. ‘All right,’ he said curtly. ‘Come this way.’
I followed, the meat in a sandwich between Brunskill and Jervis. They escorted me to a large room occupied by a dozen men lined along one wall. Jervis said, ‘No need to explain what this is, Rearden; but I will because the law says I must. It’s a line-up – an identification parade. There are three people coming in to see you. You can insert yourself anywhere in that line, and you can change your position in the intervals if you like. Got it?’
I nodded and walked over to the wall, putting myself third in line. There was a pause in the action and then the first witness came in – a little old lady, someone’s darling mother. She went along the line and then came straight back to me and pointed at my chest. ‘That’s the one.’ I’d never seen her before.
They took her out, but I didn’t bother to change position. There wasn’t any point, really; they had me nailed just as Brunskill had said. The next one was a young man of about eighteen. He didn’t have to go all the way along the line. He stopped in front of me. ‘That’s ‘im,’ he said.’ ‘E did it.’
The third witness didn’t have any trouble either. He took one look at me and yelled, ‘This is the boyo. I hope you get life, mate.’ He went away rubbing his head. It was the postman – not nearly as dead as Jervis would have me believe.
Then is was over and Jervis and Brunskill took me back. I said to Jervis, ‘You’d make a good miracle-worker; you brought that postman back to life pretty smartly.’
He gave me a sharpish look and a slow smile spread over his face. ‘And how did you know that was the postman?’
I shrugged. My goose was cooked whichever way I looked at it. I said to Brunskill, ‘Who is the bastard of a nark that shopped me?’
His face closed up. ‘Let’s call it “information received”, Rearden. You’ll be charged tomorrow morning and you’ll go before a magistrate immediately. I’ll see that your solicitor is in attendance.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.