Slay Ride Page 16

  He smiled. ‘It’s much safer to be paid a lump sum into a nice anonymous Swiss bank account than to start dealing in shares. Any geologist dealing much in significant shares would be detected at once.’

  ‘Do people approach geologists, asking them to sell information?’

  ‘They do. We try to protect our geologists here by not letting them know exactly where the material they’re working on has come from. But obviously we have not been entirely successful’ He looked bleak. ‘We know from past experience that a working geologist is usually approached by a middle man, an entrepreneur who buys information from the research source and then sells it to a bigger fish who operates in the world markets.’

  ‘Am I dealing with the middle man or the big fish?’

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘Can’t tell. But the middle man, I suspect, as you found the chart so close to source.’

  ‘What exactly do these columns mean?’ I asked.

  He picked up the chart and showed me. ‘The first column is lithology… the composition of the rock layers. The second is the original particle type… that means micro and macrofossils and micrite. The third…’ He compressed his lips, clearly most upset by this one. ‘The third is a fairly new and highly secret process, scanning electron microscopy. Our clients will be particularly furious that this finding has been leaked. They paid a mint for it. We can stay in business here only as long as every client remains convinced that the analysis he is paying for will never be seen by anyone except himself.’

  I said, ‘This chart wouldn’t be much use, though, without the key to the various shadings.’

  ‘No.’ He thought. ‘If I had to guess, I’d say that this might be used as a sort of appetiser, or a proof that the middle man had the real goods to sell. We don’t normally make up charts in this form. This is an abbreviation. A condensed, composite edition. Specially made.’

  ‘But would the rest of Bob Sherman’s package be worth anything without this chart?’

  ‘Oh, sure. It depends what else was in it. A written analysis would be just as good as a chart. If they had a written analysis it wouldn’t matter all that much if they lost the chart.’

  I thanked him for his help. ‘Could you tell me where that drilling was made… and what for?’

  He glanced at it. ‘I can tell you in general just by looking at it. But do you want to know precisely, to the half mile?’

  ‘Please,’ I said.

  ‘Then come with me.’

  He led me along a wide passage, through some swing doors, and into a modern wing tacked on to the back of the original house. We were bound, it seemed, for the records department, but to get in there even the managing director had to announce himself to the inmates and get the door unlocked electronically from inside.

  He smiled wryly at my surprise.

  ‘We usually pride ourselves on our security. We’re going to have a great upheaval sorting out which of our people sold the information on this chart.’ A thought struck him. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t like to come back and work on it yourself?’

  I wouldn’t have minded, but explained about the jockey Club.

  ‘Pity,’ he said.

  He unerringly sorted out one particular folder from the thousands in the filing cupboards which lined the walls. He knew exactly which company had commissioned the analysis, and he knew roughly from where the core had been taken.

  He turned a few pages, comparing the chart with the notes.

  ‘There,’ he said finally, pointing with his finger. ‘Those are the co-ordinates you want.’

  I looked over his arm. Read the co-ordinates.

  Read the name of the company.

  I’d never heard of it.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ I said.

  14

  I called to see Emma.

  The cottage was warm and welcoming in the cold afternoon, alive with a glowing log fire and a huge vase of bronze chrysanthemums. None of the furniture had been replaced and the curtains were still at the cleaners, but Emma herself during the past week had made strides. There was at last a shade of colour in her cheeks and the faintest of sparkles in the eyes. The pretty girl had come back to life.

  ‘David! How great to see you. Have a hot scone. They’re just out of the oven.’

  We sat in front of the fire eating the scones with butter and jam and concentration.

  ‘Golly, you must have been hungry,’ she said later, eyeing the almost empty dish. ‘I really made them to take over to Grandfather.’ She laughed. ‘Guess I’d better make some more.’

  ‘They were lovely.’ What with bombs and general chasing around I had missed a lot of meals and picked at others. With Emma, for the first time in days, my stomach nerves felt safe enough to encourage intake.

  ‘I don’t know whether to ask,’ she said, ‘but have you found out anything about Bob?’

  ‘Not enough.’ I looked at my watch. ‘May I use your telephone?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I called a stockbroker I knew who owned racehorses and asked him about the share movements of the company which had commissioned the analysis of the core.

  ‘That’s easy,’ he said. ‘About two months ago the share price started to soar. Someone had a hot tip, bought at the bottom and made a real packet.’

  ‘Who?’ I said.

  ‘Impossible to tell, but probably a syndicate, considering the huge sums involved. All done through nominees, mostly on overseas markets.’

  I thanked him and rang off; and after that I called S.A.S., who made warm noises and said sure there was a free seat on the six-thirty. A lot of my mind persisted in telling me that there was another flight in the morning and widows were meant for consoling: well, maybe, but not this one, not yet.

  I kissed her goodbye.

  ‘Come again,’ she said, and I said ‘I will.’

  I handed in at Heathrow the car I’d hired that morning in Cambridge, and squeezed into the six-thirty at the last call. I didn’t seem able to help the tension screwing up again as we began the descent into Oslo, but a harmless taxi took me uneventfully to the hotel, where the reception desk resignedly let me choose my own room.

  I telephoned to Erik.

  ‘Where are you?’ he demanded.

  ‘At the Grand.’

  ‘For God’s sake… didn’t you go?’

  ‘There and back.’

  ‘Did you find out…?’

  ‘Up to a point. I know what it is, but not who it belongs to. Look… could you give me Knut’s home number?’

  He told me. ‘Do you want any more driving done?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, if you can face it.’

  ‘Count,’ he said, ‘on me.’

  I rang Knut who yawned and said he’d just come off duty and wouldn’t be back until two o’clock the following afternoon.

  ‘Do you know a place called Lillehammer?’ I asked.

  ‘Ja. Of course.’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘How do you mean? It is a big town. A tourist town in the summer, and a ski place in the winter. No visitors go there in October and November.’

  ‘If you wanted to meet someone secretly in Lillehammer, within fairly easy walking distance of the railway station, where would you suggest?’

  ‘Not in a public place?’

  ‘No. Somewhere quiet.’

  There was a pause. Then he said, ‘It might be better to walk away from the town itself. Down towards the lake. There is a road going down to the bridge over the lake. It is the main road to Gjøvik, but there is not much traffic, and there are some small side roads down to the houses round the lakeside. Is that what you want?’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’

  ‘Who are you going to meet?’

  I told him at considerable length. Somewhere along the way he shed his fatigue, because when he next spoke his voice was alert and even eager.

  ‘Ja. I understand. I will arrange everything.’

  ‘I’ll see you in the morn
ing, then.’

  ‘Ja. Agreed. And… er… take good care, David.’

  ‘You bet,’ I said.

  I rang Erik again, who said certainly he would come to breakfast, drive me to Knut’s office, and get me to the station in time to catch the ten o’clock to Lillehammer.

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘No… Would you meet me again when I get back? Four thirty, I think.’

  ‘All right.’ He sounded almost disappointed.

  ‘Bring knuckledusters,’ I said, which cheered him.

  Next, Lars Baltzersen.

  ‘Of course I’ve heard of that company,’ he said. ‘Their shares are booming. I bought some myself a few weeks ago and already they show a good profit.’

  ‘Do you know anyone else who bought any while the price was still low?’

  A pause, then he said, ‘Rolf Torp did. I believe it was Rolf who told me about them, but I can’t be sure.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I have heard worrying rumours, though, that the really big buyers were in the Middle East. One cannot be sure. There is much secrecy. But it seems likely.’

  ‘Why would that be worrying?’ I asked, and he told me.

  Last of all I telephoned Arne. Kari answered, her voice warm, amused, and full of memory from our last meeting.

  ‘Haven’t seen you since Friday,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you come to dinner here tomorrow?’

  ‘Love to,’ I said, ‘but I don’t think I can.’

  ‘Oh. Well… how’s the case going?’

  ‘That’s really what I wanted to talk about with Arne.’

  She said she would fetch him, and he came on the line. He sounded glad that I’d called.

  ‘David… haven’t seen you for days,’ he said. ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘Ferreting,’ I said. ‘Look, Arne, I’ve had a piece of luck. Some man in a place called Lillehammer telephoned and said he could tell me something about Bob Sherman being killed. He said he almost saw it happen. He wouldn’t say any more on the phone, but I’m going to meet him tomorrow. The thing is… I wondered if you’d like to come with me. I’d be glad of your company, if you could spare the time. And he didn’t speak very good English… so you could interpret for me, if you would.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. I’m catching the ten o’clock train in the morning.’

  ‘Where in Lillehammer are you meeting this man?’

  ‘On the road to Gjøvik, down near the bridge over the lake. He’s going to be there at midday.’

  He said doubtfully, ‘I suppose I could…’

  ‘Please do come, Arne,’ I said.

  He made up his mind. ’Ja. I’ll come. Are you still staying at the Grand?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But you are nearer the station. I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Right.’ He hesitated again. ‘I hope he isn’t some lunatic, making up stories.’

  ‘So do I.’ I said.

  I slept with my bed pushed right across the door, but nobody tried to get in.

  Erik had brought Odin again to assist with the guard duty, although I now knew from longer acquaintance that the Dane’s fierce appearance was only a front. A right great softy lived inside the sandy skin.

  Together nonetheless they conveyed me safely to the police station where Knut met us, keenly awake a good five hours before he was due on duty. Up in his office I gave him the geological chart, which he inspected curiously.

  ‘Don’t lose it,’ I said.

  He smiled. ‘Better to lose my life, I suspect.’

  ‘You’ll get it photo-copied?’

  He nodded. ‘Straight away.’

  ‘See you this evening, then.’

  We shook hands.

  ‘Be careful,’ he said.

  Erik and Odin stuck beside me while I bought my ticket and walked to the barrier. It was the worst morning yet for jumpy nerves, with me far outstripping Arne in the matter of looking over my shoulder. By this evening, I thought grimly, I’d either be safe or dead. It seemed an awful long time to the evening.

  Arne, already waiting on the platform, greeted me with a big smile.

  ‘What number is your ticket?’ he asked.

  I hadn’t realised that each ticket bore a seat number on the train, but it was so.

  ‘I’ll see if I can change mine to be next to you,’ he said, and vanished on his errand at high speed. While he was gone I found my allotted number, a window seat facing forward, halfway up one of the large airy coaches. With only a few minutes to go to departure time about half the seats were filled with respectable-looking citizens, and I managed to look over my shoulder only twice.

  Arne returned with an air of satisfaction and the ticket for the seat beside mine.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, and gave all the worthy fellow travellers a severe inspection before sitting down. ‘I should have waited for you at the ticket office… didn’t think of it in time.’

  Erik, with Odin still beside him, suddenly appeared on the platform outside the window, rapping to attract my attention and vigorously beckoning me to talk to him. I pointed to the rear of the carriage, excused myself past Arne, and went to the door to hear what Erik wanted to tell.

  ‘I saw him,’ he said, almost stuttering with urgency. ‘Get off the train and come with me.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘It’ll go if you don’t get off quickly. The man who planted the bomb. Big, with a butterfly birthmark. I saw it. He was buying a ticket… he dropped some change and bent to pick it up. I saw his neck… and I saw his eyes. They really are a sort of yellow. Very light and bright and odd. Do hurry David. There was another man with him. They got on this train, in the rear carriage. Three carriages back from here.’

  A whistle blew. He practically danced with frustration.

  ‘Get off. Get off…’

  I shook my head. ‘I’ll find a way of avoiding them.’ The train began to move. ‘Thanks a lot. See you this afternoon. Mind you come.’

  ‘Of course I’ll come.’

  The train gathered speed, diminishing my protectors second by second until I could no longer see the bewilderment on Erik’s face or the patient lack of comprehension on Odin’s.

  ‘Who was that?’ Arne asked as I returned to my place.

  ‘Someone I hired to drive me around.’

  ‘Extraordinary looking chauffeur, isn’t he?’

  I smiled. ‘His driving is pretty hair-raising as well’

  ‘Tell me about this man we’re going to see.’

  ‘I dont’ know much, really. He said his name was Johan Petersen…’

  Arne granted. ‘There are dozens of Johan Petersens.’

  ‘He said he was at the races the day Bob Sherman disappeared. He said he would like to tell me something about that. He said he lived at Lillehammer and worked there in the timber yard. I asked him to come to Oslo, but he said he couldn’t take the day off. He said he’d meet me during his lunch break today. It was very difficult to understand him clearly, as he spoke so little English. It’ll be fine with you there.’

  Arne nodded, blinking away as usual. The train took things easily, sliding quietly through the outer suburbs in a typically unhurried Norwegian fashion.

  ‘How will you know him?’

  ‘He said he would know me. All I have to do is walk down towards the bridge carrying an English newspaper.’

  ‘Did you bring one?’

  I nodded. ‘In my coat pocket.’

  The train was well heated. Coats were expected to be shed, and there was a rail at the rear equipped with hangers, where Arne’s coat and mine hung side by side.

  The line ran north through farmland and woods and alongside an extensive lake. On any other day I would have enjoyed the journey but it was extraordinary how a little fear could keep the mind focused close at hand. Old yellow eyes and his pal were a sight too near for comfort, and I’d developed an even worse over-the-shoulder compulsion through passengers walking up the centre aisle through the train.
Every bang of the door from one carriage to the next had me looking to make sure.

  A woman in a blue overall pushed a trolley into the carriage, selling from it hot drinks, biscuits and sweets. Arne bought me coffee. The trolley trundled away, and bang went the door behind her.

  We stopped lengthily at a largish town, Hamar, a junction with masses of open windswept platforms and no air of shunting or bustle. Then on again, moving faster, on towards Lillehammer. Two and a half hours, altogether, on the train.

  ‘I missed you at the races on Sunday,’ Arne said.

  ‘Yes. I meant to go, but it was so cold.’

  He gave me a look of friendly contempt.

  ‘I might be going home soon,’ I said.

  ‘Are you?’ He was surprised. ‘I thought… you’d never leave us without finding out…’

  ‘Well, after this trip today we should know a lot more. With a bit of luck. And then there’s the key…’

  ‘What key?’

  ‘I found a luggage-locker key stuck in Bob Sherman’s riding helmet.’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  I nodded and told him about the trail to Paddy O’Flaherty’s. ‘So you see, although I’ll go home soon, we should have most of the answers.’

  Arne was enthusiastic. ‘That’s great,’ he said. ‘All we have to do now is find what’s in the locker which the key fits.’ A thought struck him. ‘Perhaps it’s that money. In the canvas bags… you know, the money that was stolen.’

  ‘It’s a thought,’ I said. I didn’t launch into explaining what actually had been in the locker; time enough for that later, as from the way the other passengers were standing up and putting on their coats it was clear we had nearly arrived. The train ran beside Lake Mjøsa and in the distance I could see the timber yard, with acres of pine tree logs floating in the water.

  Arne held my coat for me, and I his for him. He smiled a little sadly.

  ‘Kari and I will miss you.’

  ‘I’ll be back one day. I like Norway very much.’

  He nodded. The train passed the end of the bridge to Gjøvik, climbed a hill slowly, inched into Lillehammer station, and sighed to a stop. We stepped out into a stinging wind under a grey cloud-filled sky. So much, I thought, for all those happy holiday posters of sun and snow and people on skis showing their suntans and teeth. It was odd, too, how none of the far frozen north railway stations had sheltering roofs over the platforms. Perhaps no one ever stood waiting in the open air, so that roofs were redundant and there was some point in them all still looking like the last scene in Anna Karenina.