'Good for you. I've had the impression Drago is rather an overwhelming sort of person.'
'He is. If you let him be. I don't.'
Tweed, who had been talking to Larry in the secluded nook, appeared. He laid a hand on Lucinda's bare shoulder. She looked up, smiled.
'Yes?'
'We've exchanged cards so we know how to get in touch. As soon as I can after returning to London.'
'Do that thing,' Lucinda replied crisply.
'I think it might be as well if Paula got to bed. She's had a rather unusual day. See you, Lucinda.'
Larry came over to say goodnight. 'You each have a room at the front overlooking the moor. Mr Tweed has the numbers. Sleep well.'
'Does Larry accept that Michael has amnesia?' Paula asked as they walked together into a deserted hall. 'And does Lucinda know?'
'Wait until we get upstairs. Larry's insisted we stay here for the night.'
'And what are you up to - with Lucinda? Or shouldn't I ask?'
'Wait until we get to our rooms. I'm very worried about this whole Dartmoor business.'
7
At the top of the stairs they turned right, as Larry had told Tweed. The wide hall was long, ill-lit by a few lanterns attached to the walls. A gloomy atmosphere. Tweed gave Paula a large key, holding another in the other hand.
'We're rooms 16 and 17. Next to each other. I'm glad both rooms overlook the moor. We can see what's going on.'
'Chilly up here.'
As they arrived at the door to Paula's room, a stout wooden affair with iron studs, it opened, Mrs Brogan walked out. Her expression was blank as she addressed them.
'Just put 'ot water bottles in both rooms. He won't 'ave central 'eating up 'ere. Wants to keep the feeling of the old monastery. Lord knows why.'
She padded away down the hall, turned a corner to her left and disappeared. Tweed gestured with his hand to the left.
'There's another wing projecting out - as it was hundreds of years ago. Servants' quarters.'
'You realize,' Paula said as they walked inside, 'we'll have to sleep in what we've got on. We left the cases in the car. No. Look. My case is at the foot of that enormous bed. How did that get here?'
Tweed closed the door. 'When I had my private chat in the nook with Larry he said we could stay here for a night -or longer if we wanted to. I mentioned we'd left our cases in the car at Post Lacey. He said he'd send Tarvin on his motorcycle to get them so I loaned him the car key. They're only light so he was easily able to carry them.'
'That means Tarvin would see the skeleton.'
'Not necessarily. He'd be concentrating on keeping his machine on the difficult track. And I told Larry about that skeleton, that a police team would be arriving from London by chopper sometime in the night. At my suggestion he's promised not to mention it to a soul. No point in letting it get into the local grapevine until Buchanan and Saafeld have removed the remains.'
'How did Larry react to the news?' she asked quietly.
'Shock. He recovered quickly. He's got a lot of self-control. Asked me if it was a man or a woman. I told him I'd no idea. Decomposition had gone too far.'
'I'm going to switch off the light. There should be quite a view of the moor from the strange windows.'
Strange was the word. The windows were curved inwards like the original monastery arches. He stood beside her as she pulled back a curtain. By the light of the moon the view was breathtaking. A great sweep of dark moor rolling like the waves of a frozen sea. She took out a monocular glass from her shoulder bag and focused it.
'The skeleton has fallen backwards. I can see the skull.'
She handed the glass to him. 'Follow the track.'
'I've got it. More earth movement, I imagine. Fortunately your scarf shows up clearly. The chopper will bring a searchlight.'
He reached out to another switch on the wall, turned on the dim lanterns as she pulled the curtain closed. She sat down on a tapestry-covered chair. She was tired and had to force herself to speak clearly. She told him about her encounter with Mrs Brogan in the kitchen. The housekeeper's tale about the cult operating on the moor. The reference to cannibalism.
Tweed smiled. 'I'd forget about that if I were you. Both Devon and Cornwall have old families who've lived here for generations. They pass on age-old legends. Plus there are some cases of intermarriages. I think you'd better get some sleep. But when I get to my room I'm going to try an experiment.' He took the walking stick that Alf Garner had given him and hooked it over his arm. On the panelled wall he tapped a tattoo. 'I'll repeat that when I get inside my room on the connecting wall. If you can hear it, repeat it back to me. Just something so you know you can contact me.'
'I've also brought two rubber wedges,' said Paula. 'I'll jam them under the door . . .'
When Tweed had left Paula hauled off her boots. When they arrived she had followed Tweed's example, cleaning them carefully on an old iron bar on the terrace. She walked to the adjoining wall, heard the agreed tattoo clearly. Thankfully, she repeated the tattoo with the heel of one boot. There was one tap from the other side. Tweed had heard her.
Sagging with fatigue, she rammed the wedges underneath the door to the hall. She then forced herself to explore, opening another door. She was taken aback to find a large modern bathroom with a loo. Opening a heavy glass door, she peered into a shower room. She'd have given anything to have a shower but she was dropping.
She washed at the marble basin and cleaned her teeth. Going back into the bedroom, she stared at the huge high bed. 'Need a bloody ladder to get into it,' she said to herself.
Hauling herself aboard, she pulled back the eiderdown and sheets. A large rubber hot-water bottle radiated heat. She tested it with a finger. Boiling hot. She eased it down to the bottom of the bed, took off her clothes, folded them and draped them on a chair beside the bed. Exhausted, she reached up to a dangling switch cord and pulled it. The room was pitch black. Her head flopped on the soft pillow. She fell into a deep sleep.
*
She was standing on the ice-cold moor near where the skull had been found. A strange figure was stooped over the skull, its head hooded.
The nightmare deepened. The hooded figure was wielding the serrated edge of a large blade, scraping flesh from the side of the skull. She opened her mouth to scream as a hand from behind her grasped her shoulder. The hand was skeletal.
She tried to back away. Her feet wouldn't move. As though glued to the moor. Trails of white mist floated across her face. The hooded figure had ceased its foul work on the skull. Now it was turning slowly towards her, the knife in its gloved hand turned so the blade with the serrated edge was held towards her. She vaguely recalled something about the skeleton's throat being cut to the spine. She still couldn't see the figure's face.
She heard what sounded like some monstrous bird hovering above her, slapping its wings. The figure behind her was peering round to see her. It was Mrs Brogan's face, also hooded. She was smiling evilly, her small sharp teeth exposed. Paula tried to lift her arm to strike at Brogan, found she couldn't move her arm. She opened her mouth to scream. No sound emerged. She remembered Mrs Brogan telling her about the cult. Were the hoods their bestial 'uniform'? She was terrified by her powerlessness. Heard a thump.
She jerked herself upwards, found she was in bed. Then she heard several stealthy creaks. The hall outside. The floor had creaked when she and Tweed had approached the bedrooms earlier.
She reached up, desperately trying to locate the hanging cord which switched on the lights. Her hand closed round it. She was alert enough now not to jerk it, to break it. She pulled the cord and the lights came on. No one in the room.
She rolled carefully out of bed. Grabbing the Beretta she had placed on the bedside table, she tiptoed across to the door. She saw immediately the door was open an inch. Someone had tried to enter, had been defeated even after pushing hard at the wedges. She heard more creaks on the floorboards outside. She kicked away the wedges and opened the do
or with the hand not holding the automatic.
Tweed, fully dressed, stood outside, gazing at her with concern. She beckoned him inside. He closed the door quietly.
'What's the matter, Paula? You've lost your usual colour.'
'Had a nightmare. Doesn't matter. What are you doing?'
'The police arrived a while ago. I heard the chopper landing. I'm going down to see Buchanan - I'm sure he'll be there. So get back to bed.'
'Not in a million years. I'm coming with you.'
In the deserted hall where lights were still on Tweed scooped up the door key from under the carpet. He explained he'd warned Larry he might go out when the team arrived. Larry had shown him where the key was hidden, reminded him of the combination to the numbered keypad.
Despite the fact that they'd put on their overcoats, which they had taken from the cupboard near the door, the cold hit them as soon as they reached the terrace. Tweed handed her a torch like the one he held.
'Be very careful to keep to that track.'
'Looks like a lot of activity down there,' she said as they made their way down the moor.
Over the area where the skeleton had been found a large canvas was slung. Beyond were police tapes. A Sikorsky helicopter was perched on the track nearer to Post Lacey. A lot of policemen were moving round, visible by the torches they held.
'Buchanan has brought a big team,' Tweed commented.
They were close enough to see details when Paula saw Warden, Buchanan's assistant. He had a large bandage round his left arm. Buchanan, with Professor Saafeld, the pathologist, behind him, ran to meet them.
'Grim news. There's a second corpse, a second murder.'
8
'Where is it? Tweed asked quietly.
'First of all,' explained Buchanan, who wore a police cape, 'the near skeleton you found has been taken by ambulance up to Professor Saafeld's place in Holland Park so he can perform an autopsy.'
'The ambulance was able to get here from London quickly.'
'I phoned Exeter police HQ and asked for two ambulances to be sent here at once. Exeter wasn't very pleased. Thought they ought to handle the case. I told them the Yard had been called in. That settled it.'
Saafeld, clad in a sports jacket, hands covered by latex gloves, appeared behind Buchanan. In his fifties, he had an unruly mop of thick white hair. He was a well-built man of medium height. His weathered face had sharp features, observant eyes. He smiled at Paula.
'When I heard Tweed was down here I guessed you'd be with him. Must have been a shock when you discovered the corpse.'
'It goes with the job,' she said, returning his smile. She liked him and felt confident the feeling was mutual.
'The second corpse?' Tweed prodded Buchanan.
'Warden discovered it by accident. He was cordoning off the area with tape. I'd warned him to watch his footing. Then he treads on wooden planks, which give way. He finds himself hanging by his hands over a deep hole. It's an old mine shaft. Hence his injury to his arm - he grazed it badly on a piece of sharp wood. Saafeld disinfected it after I'd hauled him up. At the bottom of the shaft was another skeleton.'
'Near-skeleton,' Saafeld corrected him. 'It still has chunks of frozen flesh attached. Want to see? You place your footsteps where I place mine.'
They left the track, walking slowly along a narrow path, their torches beamed downwards. Tweed followed Paula only a short distance behind. Saafeld's powerful torch beamed down the shaft. At the bottom they could clearly see a skeleton stretched out, as though asleep. Except the eye sockets of the skull were staring straight up at Paula. She suppressed a shudder. It was macabre.
A telescopic ladder was perched against one side of the shaft. On the far side, near the edge of the shaft, was a long fold-up cradle wrapped in clean white sheets. A rope coiled round a central wheel dangled down into the makeshift grave. Saafeld pointed to it.
'I always travel with everything I might need. Folded, the cradle easily fitted into the chopper, as did the ladder. I went down there, using the ladder. Took photos, then made a careful preliminary examination. We'll use the cradle to bring up the corpse. Under my supervision.'
'What are your conclusions so far?' asked Tweed.
'There we go again.' Saafeld smiled at Paula. 'Normally, as you both well know, I never comment until I complete the postmortem.'
'I need something,' Tweed persisted. 'I'm investigating this case. That poor devil down there. Man or woman?'
'This one is a woman. The one you discovered was a man. At a wild guess they both died about four or five months ago.' He took off his latex gloves and Paula noticed traces of what looked like dried blood. 'I have several pairs,' he remarked, stuffing them inside a transparent evidence container, which he shoved inside a pocket.
'What I can tell you is they were both murdered. Brutally. The killer used a knife with a serrated blade to slash through their throats to the spine, without completely severing it. Could have been a double-edged blade. Razor-sharp on one side. He jerks his victim's head back from behind, cuts the throat, then reverses the knife and uses the serrated edge to saw halfway through the spine. So the skull remains attached to the body.'
'Someone with anatomical knowledge?' Tweed enquired.
'Don't think so. After he completed the killing process he used the knife to savage the flesh, randomly removing chunks.' He shone his torch down inside the shaft. Piled up in a corner were small transparent bags. 'See those?'
'What's inside them?' Paula asked without much enthusiasm.
'Bits of decomposing flesh. If the bodies had been dumped anywhere else there wouldn't be a shred of flesh surviving.'
'Why here then?' Paula prodded.
'Because this is Dartmoor.' Saafeld swept a hand round over the landscape. 'It's like a refrigerator in winter - and the recent winter has been exceptionally cold. I've put ice in those bags you were looking down at - to preserve the remains until I get back to Holland Park.'
Paula had been aware that Buchanan had been standing close to them. He hadn't moved or said a word, but had simply listened. Now he placed a hand on Tweed's arm, nodded for him to come with him. Paula stayed with Saafeld, sensing Buchanan had something to say to Tweed he didn't want anyone else to hear.
'When I dumped the Michael amnesia business on you,' the chief superintendent began quietly, 'I had no idea it was going to turn into this. A search which may never end. For a maniac.'
'A psychotic, possibly,' replied Tweed.
'What's the difference?'
'You know as well as I do, Roy. A psychotic can appear to be quite normal for long periods. Then the mood and the opportunity come together. He starts a killing spree.'
'What I'm saying, Tweed, is I can root round the Yard and hand the case over to someone else.'
'I don't think so,' Tweed said quietly. 'This case has got a hold on me. Besides which, I have information, know people up in that house perched on the ridge. Any idea who owns it? Thought not. Drago Volkanian.'
'The armaments and supermarket king?'
'Yes. Which reminds me, I must try and locate their plant where the arms are produced. It will probably be hidden away.'
'So you're determined to carry on with this case?'
'Yes, I am. I'm ahead of anyone else who might take it over — knowing some of the family. A new man might not be accepted by them.'
'In that case,' Buchanan sighed, 'I'll give you the one item we found on Michael when we searched him to try to identify who he was.' He took out an envelope and extracted from it a folded sheet of paper, which he handed to Tweed.
'It's just a list of four typed names and, presumably, all first names. I suspect it could be the devil of a job tracing them. I wonder what it means,' Tweed mused.
'I agree.' Buchanan grinned. 'You've taken the case on so that will be your problem. Incidentally, that's your car parked down the track in Post Lacey. You don't want to have to slog it back to that house. I'll get Warden to drive you.'
'Wou
ld be a help,' Tweed agreed.
Warden, obviously glad of the chance to leave the moor and the horrors found there, assured Tweed his injured arm had not affected his ability to drive. Tweed and Paula sat in the back and relaxed.
Beyond the southern outskirts of Post Lacey, Warden turned to the right, away from the route that had brought them to Dartmoor. Warden looked at Tweed in his rear-view mirror.
'I know the quickest route back to where you want to get.'
'Fair enough.' Tweed closed his eyes and appeared to fall asleep. Paula also felt drowsy, but later sat up as Warden turned the car right on to a country lane. She opened her mouth to say something, then desisted as Tweed placed his finger over her lips. They soon started to climb and she realized they were recrossing the moor. Arriving at a main road Warden drove across it into another wide gorse-lined lane. She gripped Tweed's arm, whispered.
No Mercy Page 5
