The Legacy (20 page)

James put down his glass. His nerves were already undermined, now they disintegrated. He had lied in self-protection since he was a child, evading punishment, but lying wouldn't help him now. ‘I didn't steal it,' he protested, ‘I was just curious. Father was so secretive, shutting himself away for hours when we were children. I wanted to see what he had hidden there, so I borrowed it for a while. I would have given it back.'

‘I'm sure.' The smile was unpleasant. ‘Out of interest, how did you know where to look?'

‘I knew my father's love of categories. Everything in the library was filed in alphabetical order.'

‘So now you know what it is,' Rolf said, ‘you can just return it, can't you?'

‘No,' James said, ‘I can't; it was stolen by the man who robbed me. He took the envelope out of the safe, and some money and my cuff-links. I reported the theft to the police; it's on their records. You can check if you don't believe me.' Rolf turned and sat down again.

‘Did you show it to anyone? Did you find out what you'd taken?'

‘I was going to,' James admitted. He slipped in a lie because he couldn't resist it. ‘I thought it might be valuable and I could tell Christa, but I never got round to it. It looked like a lot of Arabic to me. Do you know what it was? Why is it so important, that you come all the way to New York and behave like some thug to get it back?'

Rolf Wallberg fixed him with a cold stare. ‘Because it is worth a million dollars or more. It's a priceless piece of Jewish history, and only your father realized what it was. I couldn't let you give it to your brother, Alan, could I? And you would have done in the end, wouldn't you? Just to show him how clever you are … put him in your debt. So I had to come and persuade you to return it, but it's gone, hasn't it, Mr Farrington? Your thief probably tossed it in the garbage when he saw it wasn't money, so now nobody benefits. What a pity.' He stood up, startling James. James got to his feet too; he felt less threatened standing.

‘Does Christa know you're like this?' he asked. ‘What would she say if I told her you were going to use violence? I don't think she'd like it.'

‘I don't think so either,' Rolf agreed, ‘but you wouldn't gain anything and you'd make an enemy of me. I'm a bad enemy, Mr Farrington, and I'm not pleased with what you've done. You've lost my client a fortune, and I don't like you for that.' He shrugged. ‘But there's nothing I can do, and nothing you can do either. I hope you find a safer place to live. I'll let myself out.'

He moved very quickly and James heard the apartment door close. He swallowed the rest of the whiskey, and when he set the glass down, his hand shook. Very softly, as if he could be overheard, he whispered, ‘Jesus Christ, what kind of lawyer
is
that guy …?' He couldn't answer his own question.

Harry Spannier made the calls. ‘Could I speak with Mr Rolf Wallberg?'

‘I'm sorry, but there's no-one of that name in our office.'

Christina protested. ‘But this is crazy. Harvey & Stone told me Rolf was one of the best-known lawyers in Sweden with an international reputation. Surely they'd have heard of him!'

‘Not necessarily,' Harry contradicted, ‘that was a switchboard operator and that was only one firm; next time I'll ask to speak to one of the clerks. Even if he's not with them, they'll know of him.' He swore at his own stupidity. ‘Hell's teeth, why didn't I think of that before? Bloody bad detective I'd make … More like Inspector Clouseau than Sherlock Holmes. Did you see
The Pink Panther?'

No,
Christina could have screamed with impatience; he often made remarks that had no relevance to anything. ‘No, look—let me try.' She took the telephone out of his hand. ‘Get me the next number and the name of the firm. What … they're the biggest lawyers in Stockholm. They must know him. Hello? Good afternoon. I wonder if I could speak with Mr Helstrom? Oh, he is … yes, his secretary would be a start.' She put a hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Even I've heard of Helstrom and I've never used a lawyer in my life until now. Hello? Yes, my name is Mrs Farrington and I wanted to speak with Mr Helstrom, but I understand he's engaged with a client … yes, well I'm sure you can. Do you have a Mr Rolf Wallberg working with you? You do?' She swung round at Harry in triumph. ‘She says he's in England on a sabbatical.'

‘Yes,' Christina went on, ‘I know he's in England; that's why I wanted to ask Mr Helstrom's advice. You see he's acting for me on a case over there at this moment. Would it be possible to make an appointment?' There was a pause. ‘You can't? Yes, I see. But you will call me? I'm staying at the Emburg for the next day or two. Mrs Christina Farrington. Thank you.'

Harry raised his eyebrows. ‘What was all that about at the end? I don't understand your lovely language.'

‘I thought she might take more notice if she knew I was Swedish. She said Helstrom's very busy but he might see me for a quick consultation. She sounded rather surprised at the whole thing; but, Harry, he's genuine, he's a lawyer with the firm.' He looked at her. ‘You're sure she said sabbatical?'

‘Yes,' she assured him. ‘Why?'

‘Because he's supposed to be working with your solicitors, for God's sake! A sabbatical is a complete break from normal work; it doesn't mean joining a high-powered firm like Harvey & Stone.' Christina said something he couldn't understand. He cupped a hand to his ear. ‘Sorry?'

She glared at him. ‘I was swearing,' she said, ‘in my lovely native language. Can't you be serious? I feel I'm walking through a fog, with you on one side saying he's something sinister, and Wallberg wanting me to trust him, and Richard gloating over a treasure taken from some poor murdered Jewish family …' She fell back into the chair and kicked off her shoes.

‘You've got lovely feet,' he remarked. ‘Very sexy. Now don't lose your temper, Christa, I'm trying to make you lighten up a bit. We're getting somewhere, and a hell of a lot faster than I expected. Let's put the whole thing on hold, shall we? We won't mention the noble Swede for the rest of the day. You put your sexy feet up and stop worrying and I'll leave you in peace, then I'll come back at around seven and take you out for a drink somewhere and dinner; nice and cheap because it's my treat. How would that suit?'

‘It would suit just fine,' she said wearily, ‘and we're not going to spend your money because I'm paying. You've come over here to help me and I insist.'

He went to the door, paused and grinned at her. ‘Oh good, I hoped you'd say that. See you around seven.'

She closed her eyes, wanting him to leave, so she could try and sort out the chaos in her mind. Poulson had been tortured and killed two years ago—that woman's description had made her shudder—tortured for information he didn't have, or maybe killed when at last he gave it … But why should this have any relevance to Richard's discovery? Because it was so rare and so valuable. If Rolf Wallberg knew it existed, then others must have known too and tried to find it. If they were right and James had stolen it, Rolf might have contacted him already. Humfrey Stone would know where to find him. She reached for the phone and dialled the office in London. Humfrey was unavailable but his secretary had the name and number of the hotel where Rolf was staying. Christina checked the time difference; six hours behind their time in Sweden, about twelve noon. He might be there, or at least he'd get a message.

There was no reply from his room. Christina left the Emburg's number and asked him to call, urgently, then she hung up. Telephoning had brought him vividly to life; the ice-pale eyes, the silver-blond hair, the force in him that repelled and invited at the same time. He had brought her to life and she hated herself for it.

Rolf went back to his hotel to pack. He'd booked himself out on the ten o'clock flight from Kennedy airport; he would sleep through the journey. The receptionist smiled at him. ‘There's a gentleman waiting to see you, Mr Wallberg—he's in the bar. And there's a message for you; I have it right here.' She gave him the message about Christina's telephone call, and he looked at it briefly, then put it in his pocket. She was in Stockholm. Why, why after so long away from her homeland would she decide to go there now? Not to see family; the note said she was staying at a hotel. She had left a number to call back. The receptionist was a curious girl and she found this taciturn handsome man intriguing. ‘Not bad news, I hope?' He looked as if it were. Might need a shoulder to cry on when she came off duty. She wouldn't have minded; she loved that white-blond hair … Rolf didn't look up.

‘In the bar, you said? Through there?' Disappointed, she indicated the way.

‘Next to the restaurant, on the left there.' Rolf strode away without saying thanks. Normally foreigners were so polite. She pulled a little face at his back view.

His caller was sitting at a table, with a glass of beer and a dish of pretzels, which he was eating. He looked up, saw Rolf and made a signal. Rolf came over but he didn't sit down. ‘Come up to the room,' he said. The other took a quick swallow of beer and then followed Rolf to the elevator. They went up to the eighth floor in silence and walked into Rolf's room. Inside, Rolf simply held out his hand, and the man opened his jacket and took out an envelope.

‘Everything is there?' Rolf demanded.

‘You want the other stuff too—the Rolex, the jewellery? I can throw it away.'

‘Better if I do,' was the answer. ‘You get to keep the money and the Rolex, if you want it.'

The man shrugged. ‘I can find a use for it. I checked the serial numbers, and they're not in sequence; it was just spare cash. The wallet and the cards—I've burned them.'

‘Good,' Rolf said. ‘Give me the jewellery.' James's three sets of cuff-links were handed over. Rolf put them in his inside breast pocket. He turned away and opened the envelope, drew out the contents and gazed at it in silence. The man watched him quietly.

‘You've done a great service,' Rolf said slowly, ‘I want you to know that. It was a risk, but it was worth it.'

The other smiled slightly. ‘Risks are my business,' he said. ‘I don't know what that is you've got there, but if you say it's worth it, then I'm happy.'

Rolf walked to the door and opened it for him. He held out his hand and grasped the man's firmly. ‘I'll commend you,' he said, ‘to the right people.'

He held it in his hands at last. It was still in its protective cover, and he touched it very gently. It was so ancient, so frail and yellowed, but the characters were strong and clear. He remembered Richard Farrington's ecstatic notes. ‘Unbelievable condition, with very little loss of text!' Hundreds of years of living history, guarded down the centuries by Jewish families. It had survived wars, pogroms and persecutions, moving across Europe with the people who kept it in a sacred trust. That guardianship had ended in a night of cold-blooded mass murder in the North Sea.

Rolf Wallberg closed the cover over the delicate fragment of a people's past. Full circle, he thought calmly, and that stilled the tremble in his hands; he had paid the debt in full. He locked the envelope, resealed now, into his briefcase. The years of searching, of painstaking discovery of a crime and its consequences, had come to fulfilment in a New York hotel room, courtesy of an anonymous man with certain skills and secret affiliations, because he, Rolf Wallberg, had let nothing stand in the way of that fulfilment; neither scruples nor pity, honour nor the rule of law.

He took out the note about Christina's telephone call and her number from his pocket, crumpled it between his strong fingers and threw it accurately into the waste-basket; there was nothing to tell her that couldn't wait till he got back to England. He had felt alarm in the foyer down below when he knew she was in Stockholm, now he didn't care. Like all people with something to hide, he suspected that others must be deceivers, too. She would find out nothing that mattered. The only thing that was important lay in his briefcase on the first stage of its journey home.

He did put through a call to London, to the Lanesborough, where the woman was staying, waiting to hear from him; his contact with the glossy blond hair and the alligator instincts. After a pause he was connected to her room.

There were no civilized preliminaries, no enquiries about each other's well-being.

‘Have you got it?'

‘Yes, I have it with me. I'll be in London tomorrow.'

‘I'll be waiting,' she said. ‘We'll celebrate. Don't make any plans.' Then she hung up. He finished packing, ordered a steak sandwich from room service, and by eight-thirty he was in a cab on his way to the airport. James Farrington's cuff-links were in his pocket. He had forgotten about them.

6

‘It's very kind of you to see us, Mr Helstrom.'

The solicitor smiled. ‘Not at all. I would always make time to help a friend of Rolf's.'

Christina said quickly, ‘Not a friend, a client. He's acting for me in a dispute over my husband's will.' There was a slight frown on the older man's face when she said that, but the professional smile remained.

‘When I heard that, I assumed you must be a friend,' he said. ‘Rolf asked for a year's leave of absence and, after the last three years, we felt he deserved a complete break from legal work.' They spoke in English out of courtesy to Harry.

‘What sort of work was he doing? If we're allowed to know.'

Helstrom answered firmly, ‘Certainly, we're very proud of him. We were engaged to trace Jewish property stolen by the Nazis and dispersed here in Sweden. Of course, we employed private detectives and Interpol co-operated fully, but it was Rolf's assignment. It involved a lot of travelling, both here and in Germany, and a high degree of negotiating skill. He had a very high success rate.' Christina interposed then.