No Mercy

by Forbes, Colin

  He turned to Paula, who was holding out her phone for him. 'I'm going over to Lucinda's,' he said.

  'Time you got your own phone,' she told him.

  'Thanks. I'll see you later. You and Monica hold the fort.'

  When Tweed drove down inside the underground garage most of the slots were empty. Didn't anyone else live here? Probably most were away at their workplaces. He found Pete's blue Ford, checked the number plate to be sure. No sign of Pete. What had happened?

  He parked, got out, approached the Ford cautiously. Pete had pushed back his driving seat. He was sprawled in it out of sight. The pork-pie hat did look ridiculous but, combined with the glasses and the scarf, he was hardly recognizable even to Tweed. He sat up, lowered the window.

  'She hasn't come down so must still be up there. Alone, I'd imagine.'

  'Hold tight. I'm going up.'

  He entered the open elevator, pressed the button for the third floor, where it had stopped the time she had left him after the dinner at Santorini's. No, where he had left her.

  The third-floor hall he stepped into was luxuriously furnished. Wall-to-wall carpet, mirrored walls, a Regency half-table against the wall outside her door. He caught sight of himself in a mirror, looked away. Never had liked seeing his reflection. He pressed the bell, the heavy door swung inward immediately, so swiftly he was startled. She stood in the doorway, waved him inside.

  He immediately thought he'd made a mistake coming. Lucinda wore a white sweater and white trousers, a gold belt round her slim waist, a pair of gold slippers on her feet. She closed the door once he was inside and locked it.

  'I'll take your coat,' she said in her soft voice, which Tweed found so appealing. 'And don't send a boy over again. You come yourself, whatever you want,' she went on with a slow smile. 'How about a brandy?'

  'A glass of Chardonnay would be acceptable.'

  'Coming up. That's your chair by the couch.'

  Chair? He saw she had prepared the furniture for his visit. The seat of the chair was very long with a sloping back. It had been placed close to the wide couch. More like a bed. She was bringing the drinks when he tried to sit on the chair with his feet on the floor. Impossible. Placing the drinks on a table by his side, she slid on to the couch, her back alongside his, sloping against a large cushion. He handed her the brandy. They clinked glasses.

  'Here's to us,' she said with a ravishing smile. 'We should do this more often.'

  'Lucinda,' he began firmly, 'I've come to ask you questions concerning my murder investigation.'

  'Time you relaxed. Good for that fertile brain of yours.'

  'You knew Lee Greystoke quite well, I gather. Can you describe her? Height, weight, that sort of thing. Hair colour.'

  'Don't like the sound of this. Well, here goes. Height five feet six, I'd say. Weight about eight stone. Hair a lovely brown.'

  Tweed almost gulped on his Chardonnay. The statistics she'd given matched those suggested by Saafeld for the skeleton of the woman found down the mine shaft on Dartmoor. She pushed a lock of her blonde hair from her face, laid the hand on his lap.

  'Why?' she asked.

  'It's an exercise we're conducting about everyone concerned in any way in the case. For our records.'

  'I hope Lee's OK,' she said slowly.

  'Well, Aubrey should know about that. When did she do a moonlight flit on him?'

  'Thought I'd told you that. Three to four months ago. At a guess. She could have gone to the States. She had a woman friend in Richmond, Virginia.'

  'What was her connection with Gantia?' he persisted.

  'You're a beaver. You know that?' She used her index finger to stroke down the side of his face. 'Nice clean shave. For me? Lee's connection with Gantia? She was close to Drago. For some reason he liked and trusted her implicitly.'

  'In what way?' Tweed asked.

  'Apart from the main directors — myself, Michael, Larry and her not loved husband, Aubrey - Lee was the only other person who had a master key to the plant. She'd arrive in the middle of the night, tell the guard to stay at his post, then check the executive offices to make sure they were locked.'

  'She'd hardly come at that hour just to do that.' - 'I know. She'd stay awhile. Maybe she was searching her husband's office - looking for evidence of his numerous infidelities. That's a guess.'

  'But what was she like? Her personality?'

  'Lively. Highly intelligent. Maybe a bit nosy, but I liked her. Full of life.'

  Not now, if I'm right, Tweed thought grimly. His expression must have changed briefly. Lucinda laid her hand on his sleeve. He waited.

  'You look worried. You're here to enjoy yourself. I'm sure you don't get enough fun out of life.'

  'I've never really thought about it.' He jumped up, checked his watch. 'You'll excuse me but I have to be going.'

  Now, the look on her face was not pleasant. He wanted to get out of the room. He wanted to stay. But he had no intention of becoming involved with someone, however attractive, who was on his list of suspects. He walked quickly towards the door, grabbed his overcoat, put it on swiftly, opened the door and walked into the hall, closing the door behind him.

  He'd pressed the button and the elevator seemed to take forever to arrive. He was half expecting to hear the apartment door behind him open. Lucinda was a determined woman. The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside, jamming his finger on the button. With a sense of relief he felt it descending.

  The doors opened and he was stepping into the underground garage. Pete was sitting in his parked car, staring at the elevator. He waved.

  'Get what you wanted?' Nield asked him.

  Tweed nodded, told Pete he was driving back to Park Crescent. Pete followed him out. Tweed was driving along Park Lane when a large brown Volvo with tinted windows cut straight in front of him. He swung out of its way but found he was heading for a pavement full of pedestrians.

  Pure horror. A woman pushing a pushchair with a baby inside. Three teenage girls, transfixed. An elderly couple, gazing at him in terror. Tweed had a vision of bodies sprawled on the pavement. Blood everywhere. He swung his wheel way over to his right, signalling. He'd slam into the Volvo. He hoped.

  The road ahead was clear. No Volvo. Honking of horns behind him. He proceeded at a sedate pace up Park Lane, searching for the Volvo. It had gone, lost inside another traffic crawl. He took a deep breath, glanced in his rear-view mirror. Pete Nield's vehicle was behind him. He headed back for Park Crescent.

  'That was deliberate,' Nield growled as they walked to the entrance of the SIS building. 'Imagine the trial, the headlines. Your career would have been ruined. Someone doesn't like you.'

  'Someone wants me out of the way,' Tweed mused calmly. 'I've triggered someone's worst fears. By what I've said or seen. The devil of it is I don't know what the trigger was.

  'I must phone Lucinda,' Tweed continued as he entered the office.

  'And you've just been with her for ages!' exclaimed Paula.

  'One vital question I forgot to ask,' he told her as he picked up the phone.

  'Tweed here, Lucinda.'

  'Can't keep away from me?'

  'I forgot to ask you where Lee Greystoke lives.' He just stopped himself saying 'lived'.

  'She has a retreat of her own out in the country. Ready with a pen and pad? Address: Ivy Cottage, Boxton, Heel Lane. You take the A355 from Beaconsfield to Amersham. About halfway along on your right Heel Lane turns off. The cottage is very much on its own, very isolated. It's what Lee liked. Ivy Cottage is on the right.'

  'Thank you. Incidentally, how's Michael?'

  'According to Larry he's just the same. At eight in the morning, after breakfast, he walks down the track to the village, turns round, comes back to the house, then straight up to his bedroom. He's reading a lot.'

  'What sort of books?'

  'No idea. I haven't been down to Abbey Grange recently. The whole business is weird. Don't understand it.'

  'Amnesia's weird. I must go
now.' -

  The phone rang the moment he'd ended the call. Monica said it was Newman on the line.

  'How did you get on, Bob?'

  'I didn't. First time I've been rebuffed. Larry has a grim assistant. Attractive but, after contacting Larry, she came back and said under no circumstances was he available. When I persisted she shut the door in my face.'

  'Right. What's Larry's address?'

  'Five Marlow Street. That's off Pall Mall. St James's Square side of the Mall.'

  Tweed repeated the address, told Newman to come back. When he stood up swiftly Paula was fetching his overcoat, helping him on with it, then grabbing her own. Tweed looked at her.

  'Five Marlow Street,' she said. 'Larry's address? Then I'm coming with you. He likes women.'

  'How do you know that?' he asked as they hurried downstairs.

  'Saw the look he gave me at Abbey Grange. Not the leering type, but he noticed me.'

  As they drove to their destination it was getting dark again. Not because of the time of day, but because of a threatening overcast that was descending on London. Tweed found a space, parked, then walked swiftly back to Marlow Street. Larry's personal HQ had a heavy black door, a spy camera perched above it. Tweed pressed his thumb on the bell and kept it there.

  A slim girl with an aggressive expression, smartly dressed in a black two-piece suit, opened the door and stood with her arms crossed, glaring.

  'Do you have to keep pressing the bell? Once is—'

  'I'm here to see Mr Larry Voles.' Tweed held his folder under her nose. 'We have an urgent appointment.'

  'I don't think so.'

  'Can't you read?' he growled. 'Left your glasses on your desk? When I arrive I have an appointment. Get moving - go and tell him. I've met him, for heaven's sake.'

  'That doesn't mean—'

  'Stop wasting my time or I'll arrest you for obstruction of the security services. We'll wait inside.'

  'You can't—'

  'Excuse me.' Gently but firmly he sidled past her with Paula in his wake. He closed the door, checked his watch openly. 'I said tell him we're here. I haven't got all day!'

  She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it without uttering a word. By now she was worried, almost intimidated, as she scuttled off.

  'You don't have to scare the girl stiff,' Paula said quietly.

  'I'm in no mood to be road-blocked. I feel time is not on our side.'

  The girl had knocked on a door, disappeared inside. It was Larry who came out, smiling at them. He wore a smart blue suit with a chalk stripe.

  'Do come in,' he invited. 'And good to see you again, Paula.' He held out his hand, clasped hers, but did not hang on the way some men did. His large office was well furnished without flaunting wealth. He hauled three leather chairs in front of his cedarwood desk, waved a hand for them to join him. He offered drinks. They both refused. Tweed also kept on his overcoat when Larry offered to take it. Paula was studying him as he sat in the circle of chairs, facing both of them.

  His blue eyes looked at her briefly, conveyed interest without embarrassing her. His manner suggested a managing director who dealt with his staff politely but didn't hesitate to show a tougher side with inefficiency.

  'How can I help you, Mr Tweed?' he asked with a smile.

  'I gather you gave my senior assistant, Robert Newman, rather a rough ride. Hence my coming over myself.'

  'That was my mistake, not Cherry's, my assistant. When I heard he was here I immediately thought a journalist, the press. Newman is famous as a reporter. When he'd gone I thought, Lord, that was someone on Tweed's staff. Do give him my apologies.' He smiled again. Paula noticed he smiled a lot. 'Now, how can I help you?'

  'I'm a bit muddled about the relationship of the Voles family.'

  No, you're not. It's a ploy, Paula thought.

  'Well, Michael is my younger brother, as you know. Only a couple of years between us. He's still in the same worrying state. I whisk down there when I can to see how he is. Not a word so far. I find it unnerving. If I can't get down to Dartmoor I phone Mrs Brogan. Not that she's a lot of help, as you might imagine, having met her.' He smiled again. 'Lucinda is my sister.'

  'And do you know where Drago is now?'

  'No idea. He could be in America, France, Sweden. You name it. I'm sending reports in code to a postal address in New Orleans. Doesn't mean he's there. Simply that he has been there. Then he turns up out of the blue without warning. He's a character.'

  'What does that mean?'

  Larry laughed. He waved both hands in a circular motion.

  'He's everything we'd all like to be. I can't describe such a fabulous character. You'd have to meet him to understand - that is if you ever do.'

  'A personal question, Mr Voles . . .'

  'Larry, please.'

  'Here goes, then. A personal question. Are you married?'

  'Wonderfully so. That was my lucky day when I met Evelyn ten years ago. She's very much a member of the family but doesn't mix with them a lot. We also have a penthouse flat in the same building as Lucinda. One floor above her.'

  'Really. So Evelyn maybe has Lucinda as a friend? Living in such close proximity.'

  'I suppose you could say that.' Larry rubbed a hand over his chin as though deciding how much more to say. 'On the rare occasions when they meet they are ultra-polite to each other.'

  'Which means,' Paula suggested quietly, 'they tolerate each other when they do meet but are not on the same wavelength.'

  Larry leaned forward, patted Paula's hand perched on an arm of her chair, withdrew his hand quickly. 'It takes a woman to detect female relationships. I couldn't have put it so well. These things happen in the best - and the worst - of families. Lucinda is a very independent lady. Goes to a gym regularly. Among other delights she boxes with the instructor. Once knocked him out. A fiercely efficient lady, our Lucinda.'

  'Fierce?'

  'She's a tigress. I wouldn't like to take her on - physically, I mean.'

  'Larry,' said Tweed, standing up, 'I appreciate the time you've given us. You've been more useful than you perhaps realize.'

  As they crawled through the West End towards the City, Paula locked her shoulder bag with the special device invented by the boffins in the basement at Park , Crescent. Tweed had told her the final interview for that day was with Greystoke, finance director at Gantia. He used Paula's mobile to check Aubrey was in the building known as the Tower. She guessed the security would be strict.

  Tweed kept glancing in his rear-view mirror to see if they were being followed. Paula asked him why he was worried.

  'Just a precaution.'

  He hadn't told her about the brown Volvo incident in Park Lane. He didn't want to recall an incident that had terrified him. The traffic was a solid wedge at times. They weren't crawling; they were stationary. It was in such a situation that a Jaguar was stopped behind them. The driver jumped out.

  144Marler. He ran along to Tweed's open window, kept his voice down.

  'Crisis. Marin wants us to travel to Marseilles tomorrow. We go Eurostar, transfer to the TGV. I'll need a couple of hours in Paris on my own. Weapons. In late afternoon we're at Waterloo.'

  Then he was gone.

  'Marseilles, here we come,' Paula said enthusiastically.

  'You may change your mood,' said Tweed. 'Marseilles is the most dangerous city in Europe.'

  16

  Eventually they reached the Tower. Paula stared out, pressing her face close to the window. The Tower was so tall, shaped like a torpedo, the cone at its summit. As Tweed parked the car at the foot of the escalator leading up to the monster's entrance, a warden appeared.

  'Can't park that here.'

  'Can't you read, man?' Tweed demanded, holding up his identification folder.

  'Oh, well, I suppose you have the authority, sir.'

  'I damned well know I have.'

  Tweed hated the pompous manner adopted by certain lowly officials. At the top of the escalator his fol
der took them past a guard armed with an automatic weapon. Inside, a severe-looking girl behind a counter stared unpleasantly at Paula.

  'You can't take that bag into this building.'

  'So why don't you keep it for me?' Paula said, perching her bag on the counter.

  'It's locked,' the girl in uniform snapped. 'I have to see inside. It could be a bomb.'

  'I've been holding my folder for you to look at. Look at it and tell us where we'll find Aubrey Greystoke.'