No Mercy

No Mercy Page 12

by Forbes, Colin

  'We'll get back on the towpath,' Tweed said hoarsely.

  'Watch your step on that plank.'

  He walked backwards and forwards on the deck, stiffening his legs, then walked swiftly across the plank. She followed him as he watched her anxiously. They both sank into sitting positions on the towpath.

  'Give me your mobile,' Tweed said. 'I'm calling Buchanan.'

  She walked back and forth along the towpath while he made his detailed call, concluding by saying they'd wait at the inn opposite the houseboat side of the bridge. He gave her back the phone.

  'He's coming. I warned him no screaming sirens or flashing lights in Wensford. We don't want an audience.'

  'Shouldn't we go back and search? I think I saw something floating in the river on the other side.'

  'No, we shouldn't. That's Buchanan's job.'

  A woman with rosy cheeks and a pleasant smile opened the door of the inn. Tweed explained they hadn't eaten for hours. The woman told them lunch was finished, but tea started in an hour's time. Then she looked at them again. 'You do look hungry. What about bacon sandwiches?' 'That will do fine,' Tweed said. 'We're grateful. Any chance of a pot of coffee and a jug of water?'

  'That won't take long. I'll show you into the tearoom.' It was at the back of the inn, a small room with tables laid for tea, toby jugs perched on a mantelpiece, net curtains masking the back garden. No one else was there.

  'I'm not sure I can face bacon sandwiches,' Paula said.

  'Then don't eat them. Drink water if you're in shock.'

  'I am not in shock,' she protested. 'I've seen enough of these murders to feel they're almost a part of the landscape.'

  The food appeared, and the woman left them alone, closing the door. Tweed picked up a bacon sandwich. As he'd hoped, Paula devoured hers. They were substantial and she felt much better.

  'That has to be Jackson, poor soul,' she said.

  'Subject to positive identification.'

  'Where are we now?' she asked.

  'In Wensford.'

  'For God's sake, you know what I mean. That list in Michael's pocket. Are they all victims of this hideous murderer?'

  'The woman's corpse found in the mine shaft on Dartmoor may be Lee Greystoke, wife of the finance director of Gantia. I found out last night during my dinner with Lucinda that she'd left him, supposedly, over three months ago. Marriage was breaking up. Lucinda identified that expensive ring with a diamond as a present Lee tried to give her. She refused to take it. Tell you why later.'

  'And "Christine",' Paula reflected, 'we know is Christine Barton, forensic accountant. What about the male skeleton on Dartmoor?'

  'No idea who he was. We'll have to find out.'

  'And John Jackson,' she continued, 'is just across the road, I'm sure. That just leaves "Ken".'

  'Looks like it,' Tweed agreed.

  'And both Christine and Jackson are closely linked with Anne Barton,' she mused. 'Can't possibly be her. Not strong enough.'

  'You can't assume that,' Tweed warned. 'While we were in her flat I watched her lifting a very heavy hard-backed chair to sit in. She whisked it up as though it weighed nothing.'

  He stopped speaking as their hostess returned. He asked her the question as he paid the modest bill, leaving a generous tip.

  'We came to see the chap who owns the houseboat on the river on the far side of the bridge. Did you ever see him?'

  'No, we didn't. That's me and my husband. He used to leave his car in the car park in the village, then must have walked here. My husband saw lights on in the boat late at night. Haven't seen them for quite a long time.'

  'Any idea how long since you last saw the lights?'

  'Must be about three to four months ago . . . Excuse me, there's the doorbell.'

  'I think the police have arrived,' Paula commented.

  'I think you're right. I heard vehicles pulling up.'

  He stopped talking as the door opened and their hostess ushered Chief Superintendent Buchanan into the room. Hauling up a chair, he sat with them.

  'I've brought a complete technical team. And an ambulance. We've had orders not to touch the body. Professor Saafeld's on his way here. You know what a stickler he is.'

  'Someone should sweep the river on the starboard side,' Paula suggested. 'I saw something floating in the water, could be half an identification card.'

  'The skeletal corpse may be a John Jackson, private investigator,' said Tweed.

  'Jackson!' Buchanan looked appalled. 'He was a brilliant inspector at the Yard. I liked him. He would have gone far. He resigned against all protests from me. Fed up with the paperwork the government has showered us with. Said he'd sooner work on his own, helping people. I'd better get over there now.'

  'We're just leaving. I've sent you a report on most of what we've discovered so far.'

  'Thanks. I must go now.'

  Tweed had driven Paula back only a short distance along the M3 back to London when a Rolls-Royce passed them going the other way. Saafeld tooted them twice.

  'Buchanan and his team got there quickly,' Paula commented.

  'Probably came down the motorway with sirens blaring and lights flashing at ninety miles an hour. Good job it wasn't rush hour.'

  'Where to now?'

  'Straight back to Park Crescent. Could be news, but I very much doubt that.'

  In this assumption Tweed was wrong.

  'I've checked up on Abel Gallagher's tough history,' Newman greeted him.

  'Tough?'

  Monica sat at her computer, burning the keyboard. Butler was on the floor playing with a hand grenade. Paula pulled a face. 'I hope that thing isn't live?'

  'Of course it is,' he chaffed her.

  Nield sat in the other chair, studying a map of London. He looked up as Tweed asked the question.

  'I see you're back from Champton Place, Pete. How is Anne?'

  'She's recovered surprisingly quickly. I got the impression she wasn't all that close to her sister, even felt she'd been a dominating influence. That slipped out while we were chatting, and she covered it up quickly.'

  'I didn't get that impression myself.' Tweed sat behind his desk looking thoughtful. 'You were there much longer and she was probably glad of your company, so less guarded.'

  'We did seem to get on well together,' Nield remarked.

  'According to Pete,' mocked Butler, 'he only has to look at a woman and she swoons.'

  'Remind me to punch your silly face,' Nield rapped back.

  'If you've all finished.' Newman protested, 'I was going to tell you what I found out about Abel Gallagher. Not a nice person. At school he led a gang which beat up other pupils. Later he joined the worst section of the army - he applied to become a military policeman, they accepted him. He had a very tough reputation when he became a quartermaster sergeant. Any squaddie he didn't like he'd find an excuse to put him in the stockade.'

  'What's the stockade?' Paula asked.

  'A fenced-off guarded area where the bad boys are sent. The training's tough, very. They're made to run back and forth for ages with heavy packs on their backs. Gallagher made his special choices keep running until they dropped. Some had to be put into hospital.'

  'A sadist,' Paula commented.

  'A notorious one. When he left the army he applied for a job at Medford's, the big security agency. He can grovel when it suits him. He joined Medford's, worked his way up by stabbing colleagues in the back. He can be cunning and play the gentleman when it suits him. Result? He gets the top job when his predecessor retires. Rumour has it he had political influence. That's our Abel. Oh, when he plays darts he uses knives to aim at the board instead of darts. I thought that said a lot about him.'

  'A real charmer,' remarked Paula.

  'He's also reputed to be dangerous to the ladies,' Newman concluded.

  'Sounds as though he could be capable of anything,' Tweed decided. 'And he'd revel in cruelty.'

  'So a suspect in our murder investigation,' Paula suggested. 'But what
could be the motive?'

  'Whether it's him or someone else,' Tweed reflected, 'I have an idea money is the motive.'

  'There you go,' said Butler. 'We all know now he's up to his neck in a huge debt to a racing bookie.'

  'The real problem,' Tweed warned, 'is to link up all the victims. Buchanan insists they're random killings by a psychotic. I think there's more to it. Maybe something very dangerous indeed.'

  He looked at Monica, who had answered the phone and was waving madly. Tweed asked who it was without enthusiasm.

  'A PA who says Drago Volkanian wants to speak to you now.'

  The voice responding to Tweed's was booming without being domineering. A voice with a lot of character.

  'Mr Tweed, we must meet urgently. At your convenience - would tomorrow afternoon suit you? In Jermyn Street.'

  'I'd like a hint as to the subject.'

  'Aha!' A rumbling laugh. 'I regard you, sir, as a man of rare and exceptional intelligence and insight. Also I never employ flattery, which I regard as hypocrisy. Heaven knows I have been subjected to a flood of that nonsense.' Another of his rumbling laughs. 'I heard your assistant call out my name. Could you please correct that, sir? I do not wish anyone to know I have called, that you are coming to see me.'

  'I can deal with that easily,' Tweed said quickly.

  'I am sure you can, sir. With your usual finesse. I would greatly appreciate it if you ensured that no one knows you are coming to visit me. The address is 490 Jermyn Street, well past Floris, the ancient perfumier. So, would four p.m. tomorrow be convenient to you? If not we can—.'

  'That will be quite convenient,' Tweed interjected.

  'My dear sir, your instant cooperation is a response which puts me in your debt. One more point - you can bring the rare Paula Grey with you. Indeed, you are fortunate to have the services of such a remarkable lady.' Another bellowing laugh. 'So, four p.m. tomorrow. I wish you my warmest regards. Guard your back, sir. We live in a dangerous world.'

  The phone went dead before Tweed could reply. He sat gazing into space. It was a long time since he had heard a voice that radiated such power and courtesy.

  Tweed had been pacing slowly round his office for over ten minutes by Paula's reckoning. Sometimes he paused to stare through the windows towards Regent's Park. Night had fallen, a gloomy evening with drizzle gleaming on the pavements. Commuters were hurrying, crouched under umbrellas as they prepared to face the ordeal of the journey home with few trains running, the street a solid mass of stationary buses and cars. Misery. Only Paula realized what was happening. Tweed was coming to a major decision.

  The door opened and Marler strolled in, wearing a smart beige suit Paula had never seen before. 'Ummm,' she said aloud as he came and stood close to her.

  'For that,' he told her, 'I'll be taking you for dinner to the Savoy Grill.'

  'Not yet you won't,' barked Tweed. 'You're the fifth interrogator I need.'

  He walked swiftly to the front of his desk, leaned against it, surveyed his team. This is it, Paula thought. Tweed's voice was brisk, commanding.

  'We are running out of time. As you know, the likelihood of locating this vicious killer fades with each day that passes. And Saafeld has confirmed the bodies discovered so far were murdered three to four months ago. Action this day is the order. Each of you will be given a key character to visit, to interrogate harshly. Use your SIS folders to gain entrance if anyone tries to keep you out. No pussyfooting this time. Newman, your target is Larry Voles, managing director of Gantia.'

  'Have you already questioned him?' Newman wanted to know.

  'No. You can be tough - whatever it takes. Monica's given each of you a copy of my report to Buchanan. You're well armed with data.'

  'Can't wait to hear who I'm paying a visit to,' Paula said.

  'You'll have to wait. I'm taking the targets in a certain sequence. Nield, you visit Lucinda Voles, put her under a lot of pressure.'

  'If you don't mind,' Nield said quietly, 'I'll handle her in my own way when I meet her.'

  'Anything, but get results,' Tweed snapped. 'Butler, you take on Anne Barton. I know you've met her but only briefly. Don't let her apparently demure temperament fool you.'

  'I'll catch her out on some detail, you'll see.'

  'Marler, your target is Abel Gallagher. He'll try to fend you off with his Special Branch position.'

  'I'm rather afraid that won't impress me,' Marler drawled.

  'Paula,' Tweed snapped, annoyed at her earlier interruption, 'you'll come with me tomorrow morning while I interrogate Aubrey Greystoke, finance director of Gantia,' he added for the benefit of everyone. 'And one discovery you don't reveal to anyone. I'm sure the woman's body found in the Dartmoor mine shaft is that of Lee, Greystoke's missing wife.'

  'I'd sooner have my own target. . .' Paula began.

  'There's one more aid for you all,' Tweed drove on, ignoring Paula's second attempt to intervene. 'As I said earlier, you all have a photocopy of my detailed report to Buchanan. But the amazing Professor Saafeld has provided me with a description of the probable age, height and weight of the skeletons he's examined. Monica will give you a photocopy of that report before you leave.'

  Newman opened his mouth to ask 'when?' but Tweed guessed he was going to say that. He was behind his desk in a whirl, remained standing up.

  'Why are you all still here? You've got an urgent job to do.'

  After the scurry of people leaving, collecting from Monica a photocopy of Saafeld's report, Paula made up her mind to say what she thought. Tweed's whole posture and mood had changed. The swift movements, the tension, the grimness of his expression were transformed as he relaxed in his chair behind the desk.

  'Permission to speak?' Paula asked sharply.

  'Don't be silly. Come and talk to me. I always find your company soothing.'

  She lifted the hard-backed chair opposite Tweed's side of the desk, carried it round, turned it at an angle and sat down facing him.

  'Can I assume the targets chosen for interrogation include all the suspects?'

  'Not necessarily. It's information I'm after. Quickly, too.'

  'I'm not sure you've always chosen the right person to go out and meet these people. Is Harry right for Anne Barton?'

  'Perfect. First, she's apparently reserved. Also I gathered she hasn't got much money. If that's true, Harry also comes from a poor background, plus the fact he's already met her. I think she might open out to him.'

  'You know what,' she said ruefully, 'I think I'd better enrol in some psychology class.'

  'You're the shrewdest woman I've ever known. So forget any classes, unless you want to lecture at them.'

  'I'll keep quiet when we meet Greystoke tomorrow.'

  'Not if you want to ask him a question, challenge him. He has a weakness for attractive women. Since his wife, Lee, disappeared — again, three to four months ago - he's been playing the field.'

  'Could be a motive.'

  'For murdering Lee, but what about all the others?'

  'Sending Marler to roast Gallagher was smart. That brute's going to get the surprise of his life if he tries it on with Marler. And Newman was a good choice for Larry, from what I've seen of him. On second thoughts I think you got it right. Sorry if I was aggressive.'

  'Don't ever lose your aggression.'

  An hour later the phone rang. It was Nield.

  'How did you get on?' Tweed asked. 'You've been quick.'

  'Because I didn't get on. Lucinda wouldn't let me in her flat. Said if you needed more information you'd better damn well come yourself. I couldn't shift her.'

  'Don't worry. Where's your car parked?'

  'In the underground garage below Lucinda's place. It's left open during the day. I'm there now.'

  'Does she know your car? Have you any way of disguising yourself in case she comes down if you stay where you are?'

  'A ridiculous pork-pie hat, pair of glasses with plain lenses, a yellow scarf. Why?'

  'I'm coming
over to see her myself. If she leaves I want you to follow her. You know Paula's number? Good. Stay there unless she comes out. That's it.'

 

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