The Freedom Trap

III

‘So you think it’s practicable,’ said Mackintosh.

I nodded. ‘I’ll want to know a bit more, but it looks all right so far.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Number one – when is the job to be?’

Mackintosh grinned. ‘The day after tomorrow,’ he said airily.

‘Christ!’ I said. ‘That’s not allowing much time.’

He chuckled. ‘It’ll be all over in less than a week after you’ve set foot in England.’ He winked at Mrs Smith. ‘It’s not everyone who can make forty thousand quid for a week’s not very hard work.’

‘I can see at least one other from here,’ I said sarcastically. ‘I don’t see that you’re working your fingers to the bone.’

He was undisturbed. ‘Organization – that’s my forte.’

‘It means I’ve got to spend the rest of today and all tomorrow studying the habits of the British postman,’ I said. ‘How many deliveries a day?’

Mackintosh cocked his eye at Mrs Smith, who said, ‘Two.’

‘Have you any snoopers you can recruit? I don’t want to spend too much time around Leather Lane myself. I might get picked up for loitering and that would certainly queer the pitch.’

‘It’s all been done,’ said Mrs Smith. ‘I have the timetable here.’

While I was studying it, she unrolled a plan on to the desk. ‘This is a plan of the entire second floor. We’re lucky on this one. In some buildings there’s a row of letter-boxes in the entrance hall, but not here. The postman delivers to every office.’

Mackintosh put down his finger with a stabbing motion. ‘You’ll tackle the postman just about here. He’ll have the letters for that damnably named clothing company in his hand ready for delivery and you ought to see whether he’s carrying the package or not. If he isn’t you pass it up and wait for the next delivery.’

‘That’s what’s worrying me,’ I said. ‘The waiting bit. If I’m not careful I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.’

‘Oh, didn’t I tell you – I’ve rented an office on the same floor,’ said Mackintosh blandly. ‘Mrs Smith went shopping and all home comforts are installed; an electric kettle, tea, coffee, sugar and milk, and a basket of goodies from Fortnum’s. You’ll live like a king. I hope you like caviare.’

I blew out my breath sharply. ‘Don’t bother to consult me about anything,’ I said sarcastically, but Mackintosh merely smiled and tossed a key-ring on the desk. I picked it up. ‘What name am I trading under?’

‘Kiddykar Toys, Limited,’ said Mrs Smith. ‘It’s a genuine company.’

Mackintosh laughed. ‘I set it up myself – cost all of twenty-five quid.’

We spent the rest of the morning scheming and I didn’t find any snags worth losing any sleep over. I found myself liking Lucy Smith more and more; she had a brain as sharp as a razor and nothing escaped her attention, and yet she contrived to retain her femininity and avoid bossiness, something that seems difficult for brainy women. When we had just about got everything wrapped up, I said, ‘Come now; Lucy isn’t your real name. What is?’

She looked at me with clear eyes. ‘I don’t think it really matters,’ she said evenly.

I sighed. ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘Perhaps not.’

Mackintosh regarded us with interest, then said abruptly, ‘I said there was to be no lally-gagging around with the staff, Rearden; you just stick to doing your job.’ He looked at his watch. ‘You’d better leave now.’

So I left the gloom of his nineteenth-century office and lunched again at the Cock, and the afternoon was spent in the registered office of Kiddykar Toys, Ltd, two doors away from the Betsy-Lou Dress Manufacturing Co, Ltd. Everything was there that Mackintosh had promised, so I made myself a pot of coffee and was pleased to see that Mrs Smith had supplied the real stuff and not the instant powdered muck.

There was a good view of the street and, when I checked on the timetable of the postman, I was able to identify his route. Even without the telephone call Mackintosh was to make I ought to get at least fifteen minutes’ notice of his arrival. That point settled, I made a couple of expeditions from the office, pacing the corridor and timing myself. There really was no point in doing it without knowledge of the postman’s speed but it was good practice. I timed myself from the office to Gamage’s, walking at a fair clip but not so fast as to attract attention. An hour in Gamage’s was enough to work out a good confusing route and then work was over for the day and I went back to my hotel.

The next day was pretty much the same except I had the postman to practise on. The first delivery I watched from the office with the door opened a crack and a stopwatch in my hand. That might seem a bit silly; after all, all I had to do was to cosh a man. But there was a hell of a lot at stake so I went through the whole routine.

On the second delivery of the day I did a dummy run on the postman. Sure enough, it was as Mackintosh had predicted; as he approached Betsy-Lou’s door the letters for delivery were firmly clutched in hand and any box of Kodachromes should be clearly visible. I hoped Mackintosh was right about the diamonds; we’d look mighty foolish if we ended up with a photographic record of Betsy-Lou’s weekend in Brighton.

Before I left I telephoned Mackintosh and he answered the telephone himself. I said, ‘I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.’

‘Good!’ He paused. ‘You won’t see me again – apart from the hand-over of the merchandise tomorrow. Make a neat job of that, for God’s sake!’

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘Got the wind up?’

He didn’t answer that one. Instead, he said, ‘You’ll find a present awaiting you at your hotel. Handle with care.’ Another pause. ‘Good luck.’

I said, ‘Give my sincere regards to Mrs Smith.’

He coughed. ‘It wouldn’t do, you know.’

‘Perhaps not; but I like to make my own decisions.’

‘Maybe so – but she’ll be in Switzerland tomorrow. I’ll pass on your message when I next see her.’ He rang off.

I went back to the hotel, picked up a small package at the desk, and unwrapped it in my room. Nestling in a small box was a cosh, lead-centred and rubber-padded with a non-skid grip and a neat strap to go round the wrist. A very effective anaesthetic instrument, if a bit more dangerous than most. Also in the box was a scrap of paper with a single line of typescript: HARD ENOUGH AND NO HARDER.

I went to bed early that night. There was work to do next day.

IV

Next morning I went into the City like any other business gent, although I didn’t go so far as to wear a bowler and carry the staff of office – the rolled umbrella. I was earlier than most because the first postal delivery of the day was before office hours. I arrived at Kiddykar Toys with half an hour in hand and immediately put on the kettle for coffee before inspecting the view from the window. The stallholders of Leather Lane were getting ready for the day’s sales and there was no sign of Mackintosh. I wasn’t worried; he’d be around somewhere in the neighbourhood keeping an eye open for the postman.

I had just finished the first cup of coffee when the phone rang. Mackintosh said briefly, ‘He’s coming.’ There was a click as he hung up.

In the interests of his leg muscles the postman had put in a bit of time and motion study on this building. It was his habit to take the lift to the top floor and deliver the letters from the top down on the theory that walking downstairs is easier than climbing them. I put on my coat and hat and opened the door a couple of inches, listening for the whine of the lift. It was ten minutes before I heard it go up, and then I stepped out into the corridor, carefully drawing the office door closed but not quite shut so that the least push would swing it open.

It was very quiet in the building at that hour and, as I heard the postman clattering down the stairs to the second floor, I retreated down the flight of stairs to the first floor. He hit the second floor and turned away from Betsy-Lou’s door to deliver the post to other offices. That was his usual routine and so I wasn’t worried.

Then I heard him coming back a few steps at a time, the intervals punctuated by the metallic bangs of swinging letterbox flaps. Just at the right time I came up the stairs and headed for the Kiddykar office which brought me facing him. I stared at his hands but there was no little yellow box to be seen.

‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’ He went past at a quick pace and I fumbled my way into the office, faking the opening of the door with a key. As I closed it behind me I found that I was sweating slightly; not much but enough to show that I was under tension. It was ridiculous, I suppose – I had only to take a little box away from an unsuspecting man, which should have been the easiest thing in the world and no occasion for nerves.

It was the contents of that box which set up the tension. A hundred and twenty thousand quid is a hell of a lot of money to be at stake. It’s rather like the man who can walk along a kerbstone unconcernedly and never put a foot wrong, yet let him try the same thing with a two-hundred-foot drop on one side and he’ll break into a muck sweat.

I walked over to the window and opened the casement, not so much to get fresh air as to signal to Mackintosh that the first delivery was a bust. I looked down into Leather Lane and saw him in his appointed place. He was standing before a fruit and vegetable stall prodding tomatoes with a nervous forefinger. He flicked his eyes up at the window then swung around and walked away.

I lit a cigarette and settled down with the morning papers. There was quite a while to wait before the second post.

Two hours later the telephone rang again. ‘Better luck this time,’ said Mackintosh, and hung up.

I went through the same routine as before – there was no harm in it as this would be a different postman. I waited on the landing just below the second floor and listened intently. It would be more difficult now that the building was inhabited and a lot depended on whether I could catch the postman alone in the corridor. If I could then it was easy, but if there was anyone else present I would have to grab the box and run for it.

Steady footsteps warned me that he was coming and I trotted up the stairs at the critical moment. I swung my head back and forwards like someone about to cross a street, and found that all was clear – no one in the corridor except for me and the postman. Then I looked at his hands.

He was carrying a bundle of letters and right on top of the bundle was a little yellow box.

I stepped right in front of him as he drew abreast of the Kiddykar office. ‘Have you anything for me?’ I asked. ‘I’m in there.’ I pointed to the door behind him.

He turned his head to look at the name on the door and I hit him behind the ear with the cosh, hoping to God he hadn’t an unusually thin skull. He grunted and his knees buckled. I caught him before he fell and pushed him at the door of the office which swung open under his weight, and he fell over the threshold spilling letters before him. The Kodachrome box fell to the floor with a little thump.

I stepped over him and hauled him inside, pushing the door closed with my foot. Then I grabbed the yellow box and dropped it into the innocuous brown box that Mackintosh had had specially tailored to fit it. I had to pass it on to him in the street and we wanted no flash of that conspicuous yellow to be seen.

In less than sixty seconds from the time I greeted the postman I was outside the office and locking the door on him. As I did so someone passed behind me in the corridor and opened the door of the Betsy-Lou office. I turned and went downstairs, not moving too fast but not dawdling. I reckoned the postman wouldn’t come round for two or three minutes, and then he still had to get out of the office.

I came out on to the street and saw Mackintosh staring at me. He averted his eyes and half-turned away and I strode across the street among the stalls in his direction. It was easy enough, in the throng, to bump him with my shoulder, and with a muffled ‘Sorry!’ I passed the packet to him and continued in the direction of Holborn.

I hadn’t gone far when I heard the smash of glass behind me and a confused shouting. That postman had been smart; he had wasted no time on the door but had broken the window as a means of drawing attention to himself. Also he hadn’t been unconscious for as long as I had hoped – I hadn’t hit him nearly hard enough.

But I was safe – far enough away not to be spotted by him and moving farther all the time. It would take at least five minutes to sort out the confusion and by that time I intended to get thoroughly lost – and I hoped Mackintosh was doing the same. He was the hot one now – he had the diamonds.

I ducked into the rear entrance of Gamage’s and made my way through the store at an easier pace, looking, I hoped, like a man who knows where he’s going. I found the men’s room and locked myself into a cubicle. My coat came off and was reversed – that so carefully chosen coat with the nicely contrasting colours. The natty cap came from my pocket and the hat I was wearing was regretfully screwed into a shapeless bundle. It wouldn’t do it much good to be jammed into my pocket but I didn’t want to leave it lying around.

Clothes make the man and a new man left that men’s room. I wandered casually about the store, drifting towards the front entrance, and on the way I bought myself a new tie just to have a legitimate reason for being in Gamage’s, but that precaution was unnecessary. I emerged on to the pavement of Holborn and set off to walk west. No taxis for me because taxi-drivers would be questioned about pickups in the area at that time.

Half an hour later I was in a pub just off Oxford Street near the Marble Arch and sinking a thankful pint of beer. It had been a good smooth job but it wasn’t over yet, not by a hell of a long way. I wondered if I could trust Mackintosh to do his half of the job properly.

V

That evening, as I was preparing to go out on the town, there came a firm knock at the door of my room. I opened it and was confronted by two very large men dressed very conservatively and in the best of taste. The one on the right said, ‘Are you Joseph Aloysius Rearden?’

I didn’t have to bend my brain too far to realize that these two were coppers. I gave a twisted grin. ‘I’d rather forget the Aloysius.’

‘We are police officers.’ He flipped a wallet in front of me negligently. ‘We hope you can assist us in our enquiries.’

‘Hey!’ I said. ‘Is that a warrant card? I’ve never seen one of those before.’

Reluctantly he flipped open the wallet again and let me read the card. He was Detective-Inspector John M. Brunskill and indubitably the genuine article. I babbled a bit. ‘You see these things happening at the bioscope; I never thought it would happen to me.’

‘Bioscope?’ he said dubiously.

‘The films – we call a cinema a bioscope in South Africa. That’s where I’m from, you know. I don’t know how I can help you in any enquiries, Inspector. I’m a stranger to London – in fact, I’m a stranger to England. I’ve been here only a week – less than that, really.’

‘We know all that, Mr Rearden,’ said Brunskill gently.

So they’d checked on me already. These boys moved fast – the British police are wonderful.

‘May we come in, Mr Rearden? I think you will be able to help us.’

I stood on one side and waved them into the room. ‘Come in and take a seat. There’s only one chair so one of you will have to sit on the bed. And take your coats off.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Brunskill. ‘We won’t be staying long. This is Detective-Sergeant Jervis.’

Jervis looked an even harder nut than Brunskill. Brunskill was polished and had the suavity that maturity brings, while Jervis still had his sharp corners and was all young, rock-hard cop. But Brunskill would be the more dangerous – he’d be tricky.

I said, ‘Well, what can I do for you?’

‘We are making enquiries about the theft of a package from a postman in Leather Lane this morning,’ said Brunskill. ‘What can you tell us about it, Mr Rearden?’

‘Where’s Leather Lane?’ I asked. ‘I’m a stranger here.’

Brunskill looked at Jervis and Jervis looked at Brunskill and then they both looked at me. ‘Come, Mr Rearden,’ said Brunskill. ‘You can do better than that.’

‘You’ve got a record,’ said Jervis suddenly.

This was the shot across the bows. I said bitterly, ‘And you johns will never let me forget it. Yes, I’ve got a record; I did eighteen months in Pretoria Central – eighteen months of stone cold jug – and that was a long time ago. I’ve been straight ever since.’

‘Until perhaps this morning,’ suggested Brunskill.

I looked him straight in the eye. ‘Don’t pull the old flannel on me. You tell me what I’m supposed to have done, and I’ll tell you if I did it – straight out.’

‘Very good of you,’ murmured Brunskill. ‘Don’t you think so, Sergeant?’

Jervis made a nasty noise at the back of his throat. Then he said, ‘Mind if we search your room, Rearden?’

‘It’s Mr Rearden to sergeants,’ I said. ‘Your boss has better manners than you. And I most certainly do object to you searching my room – unless you have a warrant.’

‘Oh, we have that,’ said Brunskill calmly. ‘Go ahead, Sergeant.’ He took a document from his pocket and slapped it into my hand. ‘I think you’ll find that in order, Mr Rearden.’

I didn’t even bother to look at it, but just tossed it on to the dressing-table and watched Jervis do an efficient overhaul of the room. He found nothing – there wasn’t anything for him to find. As last he gave up, looked at Brunskill and shook his head.

Brunskill turned to me. ‘I must ask you to come to the police station with me.’

I was silent and let the pause lengthen for a long time before I said, ‘Well, go ahead and ask.’

‘We’ve got ourselves a joker here, sir,’ said Jervis. He looked at me with dislike.

‘If you do ask I won’t come,’ I said. ‘You’ll have to arrest me to get me anywhere near the nick.’

Brunskill sighed. ‘Very well, Mr Rearden; I arrest you on suspicion of being involved in an assault on a postman on premises in Leather Lane at about nine-thirty this morning. Does that satisfy you?’

‘It’ll do to be going on with,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ he said. ‘Anything you say will be noted and may be used in evidence.’

‘I know the form,’ I said. ‘I know it only too well.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ he said softly.

I expected them to take me to Scotland Yard but I found myself in quite a small police station. Where it was I don’t know – I don’t know London at all well. They put me into a small room unfurnished except for a deal table and two bentwood chairs. It had the same institutional smell of all police stations anywhere in the world. I sat in a chair and smoked one cigarette after another, watched by a uniformed copper who stood with his back to the door, looking undressed without his helmet.

It was nearly an hour and a half before they got around to doing anything and it was tough boy Jervis who started the attack. He came into the room and waved abruptly at the uniformed john who did a disappearing act, then he sat down at the other side of the table and looked at me for a long time without speaking. I ignored him – I didn’t even look at him and it was he who broke first. ‘You’ve been here before, haven’t you, Rearden?’

‘I’ve never been here before in my life.’

‘You know what I mean. You’ve sat on hard wooden chairs with a policeman the other side of the table many, many times. You know the drill too well – you’re a professional. With another man I might 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.