Inspector West Takes Charge by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Inspector West Takes Charge
ISBN: 9780755125494
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2013-01-08T16:00:00+00:00

12: Three, Plus Claude

They did their best, or claimed to. Their torches carved little arcs of light about the darkness, but they found no man with a rifle, although there were footprints in the damp earth on the side of the road which would be useful for the police. Mark was in two minds about what to do now; Morgan certainly would not want to reveal himself. He had done his share, and would want to fade into the background. The three Dreem directors were unknown quantities.

Mark thought with a start: ‘Where’s Potter?’

Transom spoke in his portentous way.

‘Mr Lessing, it is time you explained something of your presence here.’

‘Not yet. If you’ll leave your doors wide open you must expect what you get. Where’s Gabriel Potter?’

Hauteby said: ‘Isn’t he here?’

Mark forced back a retort. He wished he could see faces instead of pale blurs, that he could examine the motor-cyclist, go to see Potter, and telephone the police. He would have to do the latter himself, or at least be there when Lampard arrived; there would be too many questions. He decided to attend to the motor-cyclist first.

‘Is any one of you a doctor?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Widdison answered. He had a croaking voice, and to look at was an ogre of a man. The darkness was kind to him.

‘Will you get to the house and telephone the police,’ said Mark. ‘And try to persuade Potter to wait for them to arrive.’ He turned on his heel, wondering whether one of them would follow. None did. He was alone when he reached the motor-cyclist, whose legs were held down by his machine. He could not have moved, in any case. Torchlight revealed a small hole in his forehead; it had bled very little.

The face was unfamiliar.

Out of the gloom came Morgan’s voice: ‘Want me any more, Mr Leasing?’

‘You get off, thanks,’ said Mark. ‘But have a glance at this chap first.’ He waited while Morgan obeyed. Morgan hadn’t seen the dead man before; it was an ordinary-looking face with no special characteristics. The dark scarf which he had worn over his mouth and chin was now about his neck.

‘Poor devil,’ said Morgan. ‘Okay, I’ll beat it. Sure there’s nothing else?’

‘No need for us both to get in a jam,’ Mark said. ‘What shoes are you wearing?’

‘Don’t worry about me, they won’t trace my shoes from prints,’ said Morgan. ‘Shall I tell Mr West?’

‘I’ll do that,’ said Mark.

It was cold, bleak, and lonely when Morgan had gone, and Mark was surprised that none of the men from Yew House had thought it necessary to join him. They were probably in a huddle, discussing how best to answer the inevitable awkward questions. Any one of the three, as well as Potter, might have fired the shot which had killed the motor-cyclist, but he had seen no rifle. Transom might have brought one from the house, of course, but was Transom a dead shot? And was Potter?

Mark rubbed his hands to get them warm.

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