Midnight Runner - Jack Higgins [60]
Dillon ran a finger along the names and found Alan Grant's pigeonhole. There was no mail in it, but the box wasn't empty. Dillon reached in and pulled out a pen. He looked at it curiously, then dropped it in his pocket. There was something about it...
The door to the principal's office opened and he came out. "There you are, Senator." He held out a hand. "I can't tell you how distressed we all are."
They shook hands.
"You'll have come for your daughter's clothes and belongings. I asked some members of the staff to pack her suitcase. I hope we did right."
"That was kind of you."
"Do you need me to come with you?"
"That won't be necessary."
"Here's the key to her room." The principal handed it over, hesitated, and then said, "Your daughter was a wonderful young woman, well liked by the staff and other students. What I heard of the circumstances, it's beyond belief. It simply is so out of character that it doesn't make sense."
"To me, neither, but I'm grateful you said it." Quinn turned away and Dillon followed.
The room was on the first floor. There was a single bed, two suitcases beside it, a carrying bag open and empty on the bed, a wardrobe, table desk, and chair. Books were on two shelves, a photo of Quinn with his arm around Helen stood on the desk. It was very quiet, very simple, and yet the room was filled with her presence. He leaned on the desk, a dry sob wracking him.
Dillon put a hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy. Just breathe slowly."
"I know. I'll be okay. I'll pack the carrying bag with her books and the odds and ends."
He started taking them down and Dillon moved to the window and took out the pen and examined it.
"What have you got there?"
"I noticed it in Alan Grant's pigeonhole. It looks familiar somehow, like I've--" He snapped his fingers. "Of course!"
"What?"
"I've seen one of these before. This isn't an ordinary pen. It's a recording device."
Quinn paused as he put books into the bag. "What? Are you sure?"
"You twist and put the top down. It has a surprising amount of volume."
"But what was Alan Grant doing with that?"
"Let's find out," and Dillon turned it on.
And he was right. The sound was particularly clear as Rupert Dauncey said, "There are three pieces of candy in there, chocolates. Each has an Ecstasy tablet inside. I want you to offer the girl one..."
Dillon pressed down with his thumb. There was silence. Quinn stared at him, his face drained, the skin stretched tightly over the cheekbones.
"I know that voice," he whispered.
"Rupert Dauncey."
Quinn sat on the edge of the bed. "Let's hear the rest of it."
Afterwards, he sat with his head in his hands for a while. Finally, he looked up. "That bastard was responsible for my daughter's death."
"I'm afraid so."
"But why did Grant go along with it?"
"I don't know. Dauncey may have had something on him--it's clear from the recording he was under pressure. And he might not have thought it was any big deal. Lots of students try that stuff. A pound to a penny, he'd experimented himself." Dillon shook his head. "He didn't mean for Helen to die."
"Which is why he killed himself?"
"If he killed himself. The more we look into this, the more we see Dauncey's fingerprints. I've a hunch we'll find even more before we're through. Dauncey's capable of anything."
"Well, so am I." Quinn got up. "Let's get back to London, Sean. Can the recording on that pen be copied?"
"I believe so. I have a friend who could probably handle it for us."
"Then let's get moving." He picked up the two suitcases, Dillon got the carrying bag, and they left.
A t Regency Square, Dillon made the introductions and Roper examined the pen. "Yes, I know how these things work. I can put it onto a cassette tape. That would enhance the sound."
"Just the one," Quinn said. "No other copies."
"As you wish. I'll need to run it through first." He pointed Dillon toward the kitchen. "After your comments about my wine, Sean, I got a bottle of Irish whiskey in. It's not Bushmills, but I presume it will do. On the shelf