Silhouette in Scarlet - Elizabeth Peters [26]
Predictably, Leif said, ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ I wondered whether this evening’s outing would go on his expense account. The prices didn’t prove anything one way or the other The only people I know who enjoy lavish expense accounts are politicians and business executives.
Covertly I studied my companion over the top of my menu. He wasn’t looking at me. One finger nervously stroked his moustache; the other hand beat a restless tattoo on the table as his eyes moved around the room, inspecting the faces of the diners. I had been too preoccupied with my own thoughts to notice that he had something on his mind too. He was looking for someone – possibly John, possibly someone else. But if he was a policeman of any variety, I was a Short Person.
He just didn’t have the right look. I’m not referring to his physical appearance; as we all know from movies and television, undercover cops aren’t supposed to look like cops; they are supposed to look like pushers or hookers or crooks. But all of them have one thing in common – professionalism. They wouldn’t live long if they didn’t know their trade. Leif’s performance as a member of the Special Branch had a few glaring flaws. The way he picked me up, for instance – pretty crude, for a pro. Yet he knew me, my reputation and my background, including the fact that I was on good terms with members of the Munich police. So why didn’t he take me into his confidence if he wanted me to help him? And if he didn’t want my help, why was he hanging around?
There was an obvious answer to that question, but I wasn’t conceited enough to believe it. He was mildly interested, but it was only too apparent that he was even more interested in John. Surely he didn’t suspect me of being John’s confederate. Even if he knew about the Paris affair . . . If he was a police official, he probably did know about it; the whole damned embarrassing business was on record at the Sûreté. However, the French police had cleared me completely, and if Leif was familiar with that episode he would have every reason to assume I wanted to get even with John. There was only one thing I could think of that might arouse official suspicions of my present trip, and that was the message John had sent. I had flushed it down the toilet in a fit of pique – but the package had been opened before I received it.
Maybe Leif was a cop after all. It isn’t easy for a private citizen to interfere with the mails.
I decided it was time to get a few things off my chest ‘You owe me an explanation,’ I said.
Leif started. ‘What?’
‘You heard me. All you’ve told me is that you are following John . . . No, damn it, you haven’t even told me that much. Were you following him? Is that why you were at the airport – or were you waiting for me to show up? Why didn’t you arrest him when I identified him? Do you suspect me? Was one of your men following me today, and is six to midnight your shift?’
I had Leif’s complete attention now. He quit fiddling with his moustache and folded his hands on the table. He was trying to look cool, but the whitened grip of his fingers destroyed the image.
‘It is known that you have been in communication with Smythe,’ he said.
‘How? Mind you, I’m not admitting that I have; I’m just asking what gives you that idea.’
‘I am not at liberty to divulge my sources. You understand – ’
‘No, I don’t understand. I’m sick and tired of oblique hints and vague accusations. And, what’s more – ’
‘Be quiet!’
My rising voice had attracted attention. Fortunately for me, he had stopped me before my big flapping mouth had made any damaging admissions or accusations.
We glared at one another. Leif was breathing so hard the air from his nostrils made the ends of his moustache flap. After a moment his tight lips relaxed and he chuckled softly.
‘The little kitten spits and hisses,’ he said. ‘It is charming. I suppose many men have told you that you are beautiful when you are angry.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re the first.’
He looked pleased. I guess he thought I was complimenting