No Mercy

by Forbes, Colin

  'Did he say anything else?'

  'Wanted to know where Michael was. I said I hadn't a clue. I'd had enough. I erupted. I stood up and told him to get the hell out of my apartment or I'd throw him out. He's a big man and that made him sneer.'

  'What happened next?'

  'Oh,' she said calmly. 'I got up, used my jujitsu on him. Pushed him to the door, opened it, flung him out so he landed flat on his face, closed the door, locked it. End of story.'

  Tweed was in a quandary. He'd intended to put Lucinda through the wringer with his interrogation. Not a good tactic after what she'd just described.

  'I was disturbed,' he began quietly, 'when I realized you had lied to me.'

  'Lied?' Lucinda was taken aback. 'What are you talking about?'

  'You gave as a possible reason for Lee's disappearance that she had a woman friend in Richmond, Virginia. That she might have gone there. I've recently talked to Greystoke. He says his wife disliked the States when he took her there ten years ago. Also, they never went anywhere near Virginia. I'm afraid you won't look back on this as one of your best mornings. Lee is dead,' he said gently. 'Her body was found in a mine shaft on Dartmoor.'

  'Oh, my God!' Lucinda sat very still before reacting. 'That is simply ghastly.' She stood up. 'I need a good stiff Scotch.' She brought a glass back, sat down.

  'Might be best to drink water first,' Paula advised.

  Lucinda poured water from a carafe into the glass, swallowed the contents, refilled the glass, swallowed again. She took deep breaths, then poured herself a stiff Scotch into the same glass. She sipped it.

  'Aubrey's lying about Lee and America,' she said.

  'Someone is lying,' Tweed responded.

  'Then you'll have to decide which one of us is. Is he handling funeral arrangements?'

  'I don't think so.'

  'Then I'll take care of them. Where is poor Lee now?'

  Tweed took one of Professor Saafeld's cards from his breast pocket, handed it to her. 'Quote my name. That gentleman should know. Does Aubrey travel much? I'm thinking about, say, three to four months ago.'

  'Yes, on any excuse. And during the period you mention he was in the States, apparently checking costs with suppliers.'

  'And you were away during that time?'

  'I think so. Yes, I was - also in the States. I like to keep up with any new security developments. The Americans can be very good - and very bad - with new ideas. Can I go soon? I should be at the plant.'

  'Yes. I'm sorry to have to tell you about Lee. Thank you for your patience,' Tweed said, standing up.

  'Drink some more water before you drive,' Paula advised. 'In case you're stopped by the police.'

  'What do you think?' Paula asked as they descended in the elevator.

  'The most significant item was how she so easily handled Gallagher, a very large and tough individual.'

  'And just before we arrived at Lucinda's apartment you said you're looking for someone capable of grabbing a man -or a woman - from behind and murdering them. Makes me wonder,' Paula mused.

  Her mobile rang as they approached the underground garage. Tweed unlocked the car and settled himself behind the wheel and waited for Paula to join him.

  'Next on my programme of interrogation is Larry Voles,' said Tweed. 'I know we've only recently interviewed him, but I know a lot more now.'

  'Wait . . .' Paula laid a hand on his as he reached for the gear lever. 'That call was from Monica. Keith Kent has arrived at Park Crescent and wants to see you urgently.'

  'Then we'd better first head back to the office.'

  Kent was seated when they walked in, a slim leather folder in his lap with a blue folder on top of it. Smartly dressed in a business suit, he started to stand up when he saw Paula. She put a hand on his shoulder, pressed him back into the chair.

  'Don't stand on ceremony for me, Keith. You're always so polite.'

  'Have you got anywhere with those balance-sheet figures?' demanded Tweed. 'I'm convinced now that the motive for these ghastly murders is money and power. Christine Barton may have found something vital.'

  Kent stood up as Tweed sat behind his desk, and spread out in front of him several sheets. Most contained figures but two sheets were Kent's typed report. He smiled.

  'Funny you should say that. I've cracked Christine's code. According to Christine's calculations Gantia is worth two to three billion - and Drago owns it outright. But four hundred million has gone missing.'

  'Four hundred million!' Paula gasped. 'You do mean four hundred million pounds?'

  'Exactly. A huge amount by any millionaire's standard.'

  'How was it done?' Tweed asked, his eyes gleaming. 'Can you tell me that? Where did it come from?'

  'Gantia's enormous reserves of money. I do know this huge sum was transmitted to a shell company called Livingston, Antilles, Cockcroft and Keyforf - LACK for short. Somebody secretly bought LACK - which was worth nothing, then sent the money to it. Shortly after the money was in LACK it was withdrawn by electronic transmission and vanished. You have to use a reference and it was AB200017 X. I can't identify whose is that reference number.'

  'When did all this happen?' Tweed asked quickly.

  'The dates are a bit muddled, but it was quite some time ago.'

  'And the murders of four people took place about three to four months ago, according to Saafeld.' Tweed had jumped up, was pacing restlessly. 'And who was murdered? Christine Barton, forensic accountant who produced the figures you've just deciphered, Keith. She was hired by someone suspicious that something was terribly wrong . . .'

  'Drago Volkanian, who was abroad?' Paula suggested.

  'Very likely. Then the detective, John Jackson, is hired by her sister, Anne Barton, to find her. The detective is murdered. And then Lee Greystoke, whom I think Drago trusted, starts ferreting around late at night at the Gantia plant. She is also foully murdered. It's beginning to form a pattern.'

  'What's a shell company?' Paula asked.

  'It's a company,' Kent explained, 'which has gone bust or out of business. You can buy one cheaply. Financiers do it to start up a new enterprise. Incidentally, those sheets -' he pointed to them on Tweed's desk '- that Paula found hidden in Christine's flat are original. I don't think they were ever sent to whoever hired hen'

  'Drago,' Paula repeated.

  'I think you might be right,' Tweed agreed.

  'So what do we do now?' she asked.

  'I'm recalling that abandoned landing stage we saw deep in the clear water off the He des Oiseaux.'

  'Now I'm confused,' Paula protested.

  'That makes one of us.'

  'Thanks a lot,' she snapped.

  'We have to narrow it down to certain suspects.' Tweed was still pacing like a caged tiger. 'We need to locate anyone with accountancy knowledge who could have worked this trick.'

  'Unless two people were working together,' Paula told him. 'The killer and the accountancy person. Once the scheme is pulled off the killer then murders his collaborator.'

  'That is a remote possibility. We have to identify who needed four hundred million pounds urgently. For a while now I've sensed the killer was in a desperate state -someone who had to eliminate anyone who might expose the motive.'

  Kent checked his watch, stood up. 'I've done all I can and concentrating on this has put me behind work from regular clients. I'll send you my bill.'

  'Do that,' said Tweed.

  'It'll be a hefty bill. I've worked through nights on it.'

  'Congratulations on pulling it off, Keith. It will be worth every penny.'

  'Pennies won't come into my fee,' Kent said. He went over to Paula, kissed and hugged her. 'You have my sympathy -I can tell Tweed is in a relentless hunting mood.'

  'So,' an exasperated Paula said once more, 'what do we do now?'

  'Drive down to Gantia. I need more information from Larry.'

  'If I could get a word in now,' Monica said, 'before you rush off I had a phone call from Professor Saafel
d. He wants to give some data to you personally. He said it could be important. You ought to phone him now.'

  'All right.' Tweed, his overcoat already on, sighed impatiently. 'Get him on the line.

  'Tweed here, Saafeld,' he said, sitting on the edge of his desk. 'I gather you called.'

  'I owe you an apology. I fear I'm not infallible. When you rang me from your flat you said you wished we could identify the fourth corpse, the one of a man found in the snow on Dartmoor.'

  'Yes, I did.'

  'I decided to check the corpse again myself,' Saafeld went on. 'Most of the work on this one was done by an assistant.

  He had overlooked the right ankle. At some stage the victim had broken it. Someone had done the best they could to fix him up but I have no doubt he walked with a limp.'

  'I see. That is valuable. No apology is necessary. I must go now.'

  'Wait, I haven't finished. I started from scratch. I found a tiny screwed-up ball of paper caught under the right big toe. It was wet. Working with a chap who is good at this sort of thing, we dried it carefully, then managed to straighten it out and, under a microscope, read certain lettering. Jacko Kenwood, broker, Haldon Street.'

  'You're a genius. I'll buy you dinner at the best place in town. I'll call you when I'm less rushed.' He stood up. 'Locate Haldon Street for me,' he told Monica as he opened the door. 'Place where brokers work. Stocks and shares and so forth.'

  'I do know what a stockbroker is,' she told him sarcastically.

  'Where are you going?' called out the only other occupant of the office, Harry Butler.

  'Can't I go anywhere without reporting in?' Tweed snapped.

  Monica stood up, blazing. 'I know you're the boss but here we work as a team. Just in case you'd forgotten.'

  'We're driving down the M3,' Tweed told them, 'to see Larry Voles so I can interrogate him. And anyone else who catches my eye while we're there.'

  Paula waited until they were driving well down the M3 before she spoke. They were close to the Gantia plant.

  'You really should remember every member of the team knows about the bullet which missed you by inches further down this route. They're concerned for your safety.'

  'I know. You're right. But I'm building up a head of steam to track down this hideous killer. What he - or she — did showed no mercy. I want to get my hands on them.'

  The gates were closed at the entrance to Gantia. Tweed grunted. 'I'm not wasting time on their blasted speakphone.'

  He began honking his horn nonstop. Paula pursed her lips. As she looked towards the front of the building she saw someone peering out of a first-floor window. She put a hand on Tweed's arm.

  'I think Lucinda's seen us. She'll open the gates.'

  She had hardly spoken when both gates automatically swung inward. Tweed pressed his foot down, scuffing up pebbles from the drive, braked suddenly at the platform below the entrance door. Paula was jerked forward against her seatbelt. She raised her eyes to heaven.

  The door opened and Lucinda greeted them with a smile. 'I'm beginning to get used to you both appearing without any warning. Welcome to Gantia.'

  'I've come to see Larry.' Tweed said. 'It's urgent.'

  'It's getting more urgent all the time,' she chided him. 'I'll take you up. Larry's in his office. I'll leave you alone with him.'

  'Thank you,' Tweed said as they entered the elevator. He took off his overcoat. It was warm inside the building. Lucinda took it off him, looked at Paula, who shook her head. They walked down a long corridor. The walls were decorated with a selection of Van Gogh prints.

  'I like Van Gogh,' Tweed remarked. 'Who chose the prints?'

  'Larry, of course.' Pausing before a closed door, she rapped on it. Larry's distinctive voice called out 'Come in.'

  Not just 'Come', thought Tweed, who disliked the single-word invitation. It betrayed arrogance, someone who thought he was the cat's whiskers. Lucinda inserted a card in a slot, turned the handle, opened the door and ushered them inside.

  Larry was already walking to meet them, after jumping up athletically from his large desk facing the windows overlooking the front. Dressed in a polo-necked white pullover and white trousers, he was the image of informality. He is good-looking, Paula thought, had such a nice smile, and yet there was a commanding air about him. The perfect managing director.

  'Saw you coming,' he said, kissing Paula on both cheeks. 'Hoped you were here to visit me. Do sit down. What are you drinking? Coffee, something stronger? The sun's going down.'

  They both asked for coffee and Lucinda disappeared to get their beverages. Larry escorted them to a large couch, pulled up a chair to face them. A very easy manner, Paula was thinking.

  'How can I help you?' Larry enquired as Lucinda appeared with the coffee on a tray, placed it on a small table, then left.

  'This has become a very serious murder investigation,' Tweed began grimly. 'So I have to ask some personal questions. For example, where were you three to four months ago?'

  'Which means I'm a suspect,' Larry replied with a smile.

  'We do have a number of suspects,' Paula assured him.

  'I don't even have to refer to my diary to answer your question,' Larry said with another smile. 'I was touring the States. Visiting some of our more important customers. I felt it important to keep up contact when our top salesman, Michael, went missing. We have two other sales executives, but not up to his calibre. Half the people I wanted to see were away - golf tournaments. Would you believe it? But I'd left a note so they knew we were trying to look after them.'

  'So no alibi?'

  'I agree. I could give you a list.'

  'Not necessary,' Tweed said abruptly. 'Another question. Who has keys to get into any office at night?'

  'Myself, Lucinda and Michael had one - but I gather all his belongings had been taken by whoever left him sitting on some steps in Whitehall. Superintendent Buchanan's been to see me.'

  'Anyone else?' Tweed whipped back.

  'Yes. Aubrey Greystoke needs one. And . . .' He paused. 'This is sad. Lee Greystoke had a key, which I assume she'd obtained from Drago. No one else. Lucinda's very hot on security.'

  'Who among the executives has a knowledge of accountancy?'

  Larry leaned back in his chair, frowned. 'That's an odd question. I'm not going to enquire why you've asked it. First, I have a broad knowledge of balance sheets. I need to because of my position. But no qualification. Aubrey, of course, is a qualified chartered accountant. A finance director must have that. Lucinda doesn't like figures but she is qualified. Oh, and Michael also is a chartered accountant. Disliked the subject but qualified in half the normal time. Typical of his astute brain. Didn't like the subject so he wolfed it down.'

  Tweed sipped some coffee, then spoke more quietly. 'How is Michael now?'

  'No change so far, I regret to report. Never says a word. I find it perplexing, distressing.'

  'So how does he spend his days? He's still at Abbey Grange, I presume?'

  'All the time, so far as I know. Promptly at eight every morning he walks down the track to Post Lacey as he used to do when he was working for us. Then walks back to the Grange. Spends a lot of his time in his room reading odd books.'

  'Odd?'

  'Strange. Gray's Anatomy seems to be his favourite.'

  'What did you think of Lee Greystoke?'

  Paula smiled to herself. She'd experienced this before when Tweed was in full flood. The unexpected switching to some quite different topic.

  'Lee? I liked her.' He stood up. 'I think I need a Scotch. Would you join me?'

  'No, thank you,' both of them said.

  Larry returned with a large glass of Scotch. He drank half of it, put down the glass. 'I liked Lee,' he repeated. 'I didn't know her all that well, but I once had a long conversation with her. I was struck by her exceptional intelligence. You do know, of course, that Aubrey can't keep his hands off an attractive, willing woman. Tragic. For Lee. So when she disappeared we all thought she'd at l
ong last walked. A ghastly business.'

  'Indeed.' Tweed stood up. 'I don't think there's anything else. For the moment. Thank you for your time.'

  'Anything else you want to know, just contact me.'

  Earlier, Charmian, the expert French assassin, had got off his motorcycle, hiding it behind a hedge. Then, after checking this isolated spot to make sure no one was about, he walked into a public phone box.

  He attached a small metal device to the phone before he made the timed call to M. The device ensured that, if the call was hacked into, the number that would come up would be that of a Mrs Wilson. This innocent lady lived in Hammersmith, a long way from the phone box. Charmian had obtained the number by the simple method of tracking through the London phone book.