Midnight Runner - Jack Higgins [50]
"It's a police matter, Mr. President, because of the drug connection and the fact that the young man who delivered her ran away. Someone got the license number of his car, though--one of the nurses who followed him out."
"So the police will run him down?"
"Absolutely. The license number will lead to the owner's address."
"Then what?"
"There'll be an autopsy, followed by a coroner's inquest. Once that's over, the body will be released."
"Right," Cazalet said. "I've arranged to get Senator Quinn to the U.K. as soon as possible. I'll have Blake Johnson liaise with you on this. The Senator gets our best shot. Anything he wants. If there are any roadblocks with the British police or legal system, use all your Embassy's muscle to overcome them."
"At your command, Mr. President."
"Fine. I know you'll do your best."
"Of course, sir."
Blake cut in. "Hello, Mark, Blake here. I'll notify you when and where Daniel will get in and you can arrange to pick him up."
"I'll do it myself. Leave it with me, Blake."
The line went dead and Cazalet drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking. Finally, he said, "Listen, whatever Frobisher is able to do, he's still at a disadvantage. It's a different country, different police procedures, different legal system."
"So what are you saying?"
"I think we need Charles Ferguson on this."
"I'll speak to him at once."
W hen the news reached Henry Percy, he was horrified. Dauncey's accusation about the funds had been true enough. He'd been mesmerized by the sums passing through his hands, and then temptation had set in. A few thousand here, a few thousand there. Who would notice? But the chickens had come home to roost. Now this.
He telephoned Rupert Dauncey in London. "Thank God you're there. Something terrible has happened."
"And what's that?" Dauncey said, pretending ignorance.
Percy told him. "Such a nice girl. She's the last one I'd have suspected of being on drugs. And what worries me, too, is the position of our organization. That dreadful riot, the violence."
"Yes, it spoils all our good work," Rupert said. "But no one can fault the Trust, Professor. You behaved with great responsibility when you warned the students on the bus and tried to dissuade them."
"That's true." Percy hesitated. "And, of course, so did you, Mr. Dauncey. No one could have done more."
"Yes, and if the matter is raised at the inquest, any student who was present would have to confirm what we both said."
Suddenly, Percy felt much brighter. "Of course."
"You have my personal support. As to the other matter, I've spoken to the Countess, who feels there may have been a genuine error on your part."
"That's very kind of her." Percy was overjoyed.
"We'll speak again," and Rupert smiled as he put the phone down.
A police car was outside the Canal Street house, two constables, a man and a woman. They checked the Escort and found the keys inside.
"That's a trifle careless these days," the woman officer said.
"Still, it's the right car," her colleague replied, as he checked the license plate.
There was a dim light at the back of the hall. They tried the doorbell but got no response, then went up a narrow footpath to the rear and found the kitchen light on. The man tried the door, but it was locked.
Two young men turned the corner at the end of Canal Wharf by the wharf itself. They stopped at the railing to urinate and, in the same moment, looked down to where the tide was receding and saw Alan Grant's body, half in the water, half out.
"Jesus Christ," one of them said, just as the two police officers returned to their car. The young man saw them. "Down here," he called. "There's a body on the beach," and the police hurried toward him.
A t Pristina, the first plane out to London was a Royal Air Force Hercules from Transport Command. Word had gone out and the crew was subdued but saw to Quinn's every need. He was sensible enough to eat some food, have a couple of coffees, and allow the RAF Sergeant looking after him to pour a little brandy