Be Careful What You Wish For Read online

“Yes, but only for a few minutes. And be warned, darling, he’s covered in plaster and bandages, so you might not even recognize him.” Emma took his hand and led him up to the first floor, where they came across a woman dressed in a dark blue uniform who was bustling around, keeping a close eye on the patients while giving the occasional order to her staff.

  “I’m Miss Puddicombe,” she announced, thrusting out her hand.

  “Matron to you,” whispered Emma. Harry shook her hand and said, “Good day, Matron.”

  Without another word, the diminutive figure led them through to the Bevan Ward to find two neat rows of beds, every one of them occupied. Miss Puddicombe sailed on until she reached a patient at the far end of the room. She drew a curtain around Sebastian Arthur Clifton, and then withdrew. Harry stared down at his son. His left leg was held up by a pulley, while the other one, also encased in plaster, lay flat on the bed. His head was swathed in bandages, leaving one eye to focus on his parents, but his lips didn’t move.

  As Harry bent down to kiss him on the forehead, the first words Sebastian uttered were, “How’s Bruno?”

  * * *

  “I’m sorry to have to question you both after all you’ve been through,” said Chief Inspector Miles. “I wouldn’t unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  “And why is it necessary?” asked Harry, who was no stranger to detectives or their methods of extracting information.

  “I’m yet to be convinced that what happened on the A1 was an accident.”

  “What are you suggesting?” asked Harry, looking directly at the detective.

  “I’m not suggesting anything, sir, but our back-room johnnies have carried out a thorough inspection of the vehicle, and they think one or two things just don’t add up.”

  “Like what?” asked Emma.

  “For a start, Mrs. Clifton,” said Miles, “we can’t work out why your son crossed the central reservation where he so obviously risked being hit by an oncoming vehicle.”

  “Perhaps the car had a mechanical fault?” suggested Harry.

  “That was our first thought,” replied Miles. “But although the car was badly damaged, none of the tires had burst, and the steering-wheel shaft was intact, which is almost unknown in an accident of this kind.”

  “That’s hardly proof of a crime being committed,” said Harry.

  “No, sir,” said Miles, “and on its own, it wouldn’t have been enough for me to ask the coroner to refer the case to the DPP. But a witness has come forward with some rather disturbing evidence.”

  “What did he have to say?”

  “She,” said Miles, referring to his notebook. “A Mrs. Challis told us she was overtaken by an open-top MG which was just about to pass three lorries that were in convoy on the inside lane, when the front lorry moved into the outside lane, although there was no other vehicle in front of him. This meant that the driver of the MG had to brake suddenly. The third lorry then also moved across into the outside lane, again for no apparent reason, while the middle lorry maintained its speed, leaving the MG with no way to overtake or move to the safety of the inside lane. Mrs. Challis went on to say that the three lorries kept the MG boxed in this position for some considerable time,” continued the detective, “until its driver, without rhyme or reason, careered across the central reservation straight into the face of the oncoming traffic.”

  “Have you been able to question any of the three lorry drivers?” asked Emma.

  “No. We’ve been unable to track down any of them, Mrs. Clifton. And don’t think we haven’t tried.”

  “But what you’re suggesting is unthinkable,” said Harry. “Who would want to kill two innocent boys?”

  “I would have agreed with you, Mr. Clifton, if we hadn’t recently discovered that Bruno Martinez didn’t originally intend to accompany your son on the journey to Cambridge.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Because his girlfriend, a Miss Thornton, has come forward and informed us that she had planned to go to the cinema with Bruno that day, but she had to cancel at the last moment because she’d caught a cold.” The chief inspector took a pen out of his pocket, turned a page of his notebook and looked directly at Sebastian’s parents before asking, “Do either of you have any reason to believe that someone might have wanted to harm your son?”

  “No,” said Harry.

  “Yes,” said Emma.

  3

  “JUST MAKE SURE you finish the job this time,” Don Pedro Martinez almost shouted. “It shouldn’t prove too difficult,” he added as he sat forward in his chair. “I was able to stroll into the hospital unchallenged yesterday morning, and at night it ought to be a whole lot easier.”

  “How do you want him disposed of?” asked Karl, matter-of-factly.

  “Cut his throat,” said Martinez. “All you’ll need is a white coat, a stethoscope and a surgeon’s knife. Just make sure it’s sharp.”

  “Might not be wise to slit the boy’s throat,” suggested Karl. “Better to suffocate him with a pillow and let them assume he died as a result of his injuries.”

  “No. I want the Clifton boy to suffer a slow and painful death. In fact, the slower the better.”

  “I understand how you feel, boss, but we don’t need to give that detective any more reason to reopen his inquiries.”

  Martinez looked disappointed. “All right then, suffocate him,” he said reluctantly. “But make sure it lasts for as long as possible.”

  “Do you want me to involve Diego and Luis?”

  “No. But I want them to attend the funeral, as Sebastian’s friends, so they can report back. I want to hear that they suffered every bit as much as I did when I first realized it wasn’t Bruno who’d survived.”

  “But what about—”

  The phone on Don Pedro’s desk began to ring. He grabbed it. “Yes?”

  “There’s a Colonel Scott-Hopkins on the line,” said his secretary. “He wants to discuss a personal matter with you. Says it’s urgent.”

  * * *

  All four of them had rearranged their diaries so they could be at the Cabinet office in Downing Street by nine the following morning.

  Sir Alan Redmayne, the cabinet secretary, had canceled his meeting with M. Chauvel, the French Ambassador, with whom he’d planned to discuss the implications of Charles de Gaulle’s possible return to the Elysée Palace.

  Sir Giles Barrington MP would not be attending the weekly Shadow Cabinet meeting because, as he explained to Mr. Gaitskell, the Leader of the Opposition, an urgent family problem had arisen.

  Harry Clifton wouldn’t be signing copies of his latest book, Blood Is Thicker Than Water, at Hatchards in Piccadilly. He’d signed a hundred copies in advance to try to placate the manager, who couldn’t hide his disappointment, especially after he’d learned that Harry would top the bestseller list on Sunday.

  Emma Clifton had postponed a meeting with Ross Buchanan to discuss the chairman’s ideas for the building of a new luxury liner that, if the board backed him, would become part of the Barrington shipping line.

  The four of them took their seats around an oval table in the cabinet secretary’s office.

  “It was good of you to see us at such short notice,” said Giles from the far end of the table. Sir Alan nodded. “But I’m sure you can appreciate that Mr. and Mrs. Clifton are worried that their son’s life might still be in danger.”

  “I share their anxiety,” said Redmayne, “and allow me to say how sorry I was to learn of your son’s accident, Mrs. Clifton. Not least because I feel partly to blame for what happened. However, let me assure you that I have not been idle. Over the weekend I spoke to Mr. Owen, Chief Inspector Miles and the local coroner. They couldn’t have been more cooperative. And I have to agree with Miles, there just isn’t enough evidence to prove that Don Pedro Martinez was in any way involved in the accident.” Emma’s look of exasperation caused Sir Alan to quickly add, “Nevertheless, proof and not being in any doubt are often two very differe