'You can't do that.' Tweed's voice hardened. 'I was given complete charge of the investigation - because you're up to your neck in anti-terrorist manoeuvres.'
'Where the hell are you now?' Buchanan raved.
'On the verge of discovering the identity of the fourth body found on Dartmoor,' Tweed lied, furious.
'I've read your reports on progress - if you can call it that — so far. On the basis of your data I've sent a team to arrest Michael on suspicion of murder.'
'Cancel the instruction immediately. Withdraw the teams now. You're doing a marvellous job of messing everything up. And since when did you take major decisions on the basis of press reports? You're making an arrest to cover your backside. I am ordering you to get out of the way of my investigation.'
'I do have the Home Secretary's backing.'
'He gave the order to arrest Michael? Did he?'
'Well, he left the decision to me, so—'
'Buchanan.' Tweed's tone was grim. 'If you do not withdraw the order to arrest Michael, to recall your teams, I shall at once phone the PM.'
There was a long pause. Buchanan knew Tweed could always gain the PM's support in an emergency. Paula, standing with her hands in the pockets of her windcheater, was watching Tweed's expression with delight. In a battle with the establishment she thought she knew who would win.
'Are you still there, for God's sake?' Tweed shouted.
'Yes. You don't have to be so tough. All right, I will now radio the teams, tell them the order to arrest Michael is cancelled, that they must return to base. Be it on your head.'
'This investigation has always been on my head. Have I your word? I need a direct unequivocal reply.'
'All right,' replied Buchanan. 'I've told you I'll cancel the whole operation immediately. I only hope you know what you're doing.'
'At least one of us does . . .'
He hit the 'end' button on the mobile. The whole team were gathered round him as he explained tersely what had happened. As he concluded Paula tentatively made her comment.
'Supposing Buchanan is right about Michael?'
'That's what we'll eventually find out, probably later tonight.' He then gave them a brief report on the Stonehenge terror, the end of Charmian. Harry frowned, stared at Paula, worried.
'When did you last eat, Paula?'
'Frankly, I'm starving, but I'll survive.'
'Might be able to help,' said Harry. He disappeared to where the second Land Rover was parked. He returned with Monica's insulated enamel food carrier, opened it, produced packets of wrapped sandwiches, a small bag of fruit and a bottle of water. 'Which Rover are you travelling in?'
'She'll travel with me,' Tweed ordered. 'We'll be in the back so I can think.'
'I'll drive,' Marler told him.
'Then I'll drive the other one,' Harry announced, 'with Pete and Newman as my passengers.'
'We'll wait here a few minutes,' Tweed said, taking the food carrier from Harry, then escorting Paula to the vehicle.
'Thought he was in a rush,' Marler remarked.
On the back seat of the Land Rover Paula was devouring one sandwich after another as though she hadn't eaten for days. Tweed checked his watch.
'We'll give them ten minutes,' he decided.
'Who?' Paula enquired as she started on the fruit after a long drink from the bottle of water.
'You'll see, if they come.'
A few minutes later they saw the approaching police cars. Two cars tore past in the direction of the M3. Tweed smiled grimly.
'Buchanan has obeyed my request. He's recalled that team he was sending to Abbey Grange. Now we can get started. Marler, you take us in the lead with Harry following behind us. I'll navigate - it gets tricky near Exeter. We are aiming for the A30, then we turn off left along the A382 down to Moretonhampstead — which is where we turn right again along the road which eventually lands us outside Abbey Grange.'
'Then we're not going to Post Lacey?' Paula asked.
'No. This first lap is so I can check Abbey Grange. See who's there. Also to look at the place Lucinda called Nowhere Village. It's on the second lap, later, that we may well need Harry's heavy armoury.'
'That line of old thatched cottages all joined together?' she suggested.
'That's the place.' He again checked his watch. 'Now all of you. Move!'
Marler kept up a good speed, especially driving along the frequent dual carriageways with Harry keeping a sensible distance behind him. Traffic was light and the night was pitch black as a heavy overcast of clouds drifted above them.
'I know what I was going to ask you,' Paula said, suppressing a yawn. 'You seem to think all Armenians are devious. Why?'
'Some,' he corrected her. 'It's understandable recalling their history, which few people do. In the middle of the Great War, about 1915 to 1916, the Turks, who hate Armenians, launched a terrible massacre campaign. A form of genocide. They slaughtered over one million Armenians. Those who survived did so by becoming very devious. It was the only way to stay alive. The world has forgotten that horror.'
He looked at Paula. It was obvious she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. He folded his overcoat into a pillow once more, laid it on the seat between them, told her to curl up and go to sleep. He had heard Marler remarking to Harry in the lay-by how he had done the same thing.
She fell into a deep sleep immediately. She was woken only by a nightmare. She dreamed that the giant megaliths were marching on her, were about to stamp her to death. She blinked, sat up, gazed out of the window. Unlike their earlier trip, the vast bulk of Dartmoor, like a threatening menace, was no longer white with snow. Its immense bulk was black and looming up on her left.
'Where are we?' she asked.
'We're way beyond Exeter, on the A30, just about to turn left down the road to Moretonhampstead. Then it won't be long before we're on the road to Abbey Grange. I've told Marler to park about a hundred yards this side of the mansion. Then we can arrive unexpectedly.'
'That could be difficult.' she commented.
'No, it won't. We'll see the huge bulk of Hooked Nose Tor now it's moonlight. That tor is close to the east side of the mansion.'
'So you see, Paula.' Marler joked, 'we've been plotting while you were in the land of Nod.'
They soon arrived at the ancient town of Moretonhampstead. Paula gazed out. The streets were deserted at that hour, the shops all closed. There were lights in residential houses.
'It's attractive.' she said. 'A lot of character. Looks as though it's been here for ages.'
'It has.' Tweed told her as they took the road for Abbey Grange.
They were soon well clear of the town and Dartmoor closed in on both sides. Even in the moonlight it looked forbidding and bleak. She stared ahead as Marler slowed down, parked. The silhouette of Hooked Nose Tor stood out sharply in the moon's glow. The strange similarity to a man's head had a sinister look seen in profile. Harry's Land Rover parked a dozen yards behind them. Tweed got out, ran back.
'You all stay here until you see me again. You can get out to stretch yourselves, but walk away from Abbey Grange.'
He ran back and Paula was waiting for him in the silent road by the high wall round the mansion. Marler peered out to speak softly.
'You want me to stay here to keep an eye on the vehicle? Good. See you sometime . . .'
28
'It's very quiet,' said Paula as they approached the double-gate entrance. 'No one about. A bit creepy.'
'It's Dartmoor,' Tweed replied as he opened the left-hand gate leading to the path round the end of the mansion to the terrace.
They had reached the end of the path when Lucinda appeared on the terrace. She was very smartly dressed in a pair of white slacks with razor-edge creases and a thick woollen white polo-necked jumper.
'Well,' she called out, smiling, 'the great detective is back again. Come to find another murder?'
'I hope not. Where is everyone?'
She ticked them off on her fingers
. 'Michael is floating about somewhere on the moor; Larry has arrived, not sure where he is; and the superior Aubrey is probably inside having a drink - not his first, I'm sure.'
She hugged them both and Paula noticed that her long blonde hair was perfectly brushed, a golden cascade. As they reached the French windows leading inside, Mrs Brogan appeared with her normal disapproving expression.
'More of 'em,' she grumbled. 'So how many am I supposed to cook for? No advance warning, of course.'
'We shan't be eating,' Tweed assured her. 'I'm going for a stroll by myself.' He gazed along the terrace, beyond it. 'Is there a path up Hooked Nose Tor?'
'Two paths,' snapped Mrs Brogan. 'One up, one down.
Don't advise you to go up there.' Wearing an apron, she raised one meaty arm, pointed at the tor. 'Paths are narrow. You go up there, slip off the top, then you falls 'undreds of feet, end up as spiked meat at the bottom.'
'Thank you for the warning,' Tweed said with a smile. 'I have done a little mountaineering in the past.'
'Do you want the bathroom, Paula?' asked Lucinda. 'Top of the stairs, then third door on your left.'
'I could do with a quick shower,' Paula admitted.
'Don't hurry,' Tweed urged her. 'I'm not sure how long it'll take to scale this fellow.'
He descended the steps from the terrace. The windows facing the moor were a blaze of lights. He kept his gaze away from them to preserve his night vision, then took out his torch. He reached the base of the giant, had the choice of two paths, chose the one on the left, which looked less steep.
He held the torch in his left hand so the right was free to feel his way along the steep rock surface. The path was narrow and curved continuously round the massive rock. He had a motive he had not mentioned for his climb. He guessed the view from the top would be panoramic, well above the roof of the mansion and with a clear sight of the church tower, the church - and the Nowhere Village beyond, as Lucinda had nicknamed it.
Looking up, he saw above his path a wide ledge which, he guessed, was the second path leading downwards. There was a light breeze blowing from the west and the air was refreshing. Not relying on the moonlight, he beamed his torch on the path. On his right the granite wall rose steeply. He was very high up now. Glancing down, he saw far below at ground level large pointed rocks. Hence Mrs Brogan's remark about 'spiked meat'.
Leaning back against the rock, he took out his monocular and focused it on the church tower. There was a light on behind a Norman arched window. Curious, at this hour. He glanced down again. The killing height he had reached did not worry him. Affected by any trip, on the sea, Tweed had never been bothered by vertigo.
The huge hooked nose of the tor was only a few feet ahead of him. He focused the monocular on the church. No lights. He then switched his focus to Nowhere Village, then to the road in front of the line of cottages. Large black oil marks, two lines, well apart and recent. He frowned.
He was vaguely aware of a white shape behind him as a strong hand rammed into his back, unbalancing him, swaying him to the brink of the precipice. He forced himself to lurch forward, his right hand clutching for something to hold on to. His gloved hand grasped the lower part of the projecting nose as he felt dizzy. He leaned his body against the wall of the tor, his hand still grasping the nose. He felt helpless, disarmed. The Walther was tucked into a hip holster on his left side. No way could he reach for it with his right hand, which was the only chance of getting his balance back and not falling off the ledge.
He concentrated on repeating the letters of the alphabet from A to Z. The pain from the blow against his back was subsiding. His legs, which had felt like marshmallow, were stiffening. He determined to test his legs, standing first on the right one and bending the left at the knee. Then he reversed the process. They were holding firm.
He found himself reluctant to release his grip on the nose. 'I can't stay up here all night,' he said aloud. Clenching his jaw, he took his right away from the support, began to take short steps along the path winding its way round the tor. The steps became longer, but only by a few inches. The dizziness had cleared, he felt more normal. He rounded a corner. The path split into two sections, one continuing upwards - presumably to the summit - the other section descending. He chose to go down.
Descending was surprisingly tricky. His calf muscles ached with the strain. He still kept his body leaning against the tor's wall to help maintain balance. He didn't look down once. Not a good idea at this stage of his ordeal. Just concentrate on not making a single mistake.
It was a surprise when he arrived at ground level. He sat on a large flat stone to take stock. He was glad now he had made the attempt. From high up he'd glimpsed a faint light in Nowhere Village. He'd also seen the light in the bell tower, which struck him as odd. Time to get moving again.
He was walking below the terrace towards the steps when Larry appeared, as though he had just walked up the track. Tweed stared. Larry was dressed in a smart white suit: white jacket, white trousers, white shirt, white tie and white handmade shoes.
'Tweed, of all people,' Larry greeted him with his usual warm smile. 'You can join our party,' he went on as they mounted the steps side by side. 'You will be most welcome. I'll have someone intelligent to talk to instead of being bored to death by Aubrey.'
At the open French windows Lucinda appeared, a glass of champagne in one hand.
'Tweed is going to join our party,' Larry called out buoyantly.
'That's great. . .' Lucinda began.
'I'm afraid not,' Tweed said firmly. 'I have another appointment.'
'Did you do it?' Lucinda wanted to know.
'Do what?' Larry asked as Lucinda handed him a champagne glass she had grasped from a tray on a table just inside.
'Climb Hook Nose Tor, of course,' Lucinda said gaily, addressing Tweed.
'Yes, I just about managed it,' Tweed replied.
'What!' Larry sounded appalled. 'Climbing that thing in daylight is bloody dangerous. At night it could have been suicide.'
'I managed,' Tweed repeated.
Paula appeared, holding a champagne glass, which Tweed noticed was nearly full. For appearance's sake she.had just been sipping it. She was sparkling, her eyes fully alert, then she saw Tweed clearly. Her expression changed. Placing her glass on the table she jumped on to the terrace.
'Your right coat sleeve is covered in rock dust.'
She began using her hand to brush it off after putting a glove on. Her head was shielding Tweed from Lucinda and he frowned at her, warning her not to ask any questions. Larry leaped athletically into the living room, then turned round.
'Do join the party,' he said cheerily. 'Be a sport. Excuse me. Must go upstairs and freshen up.'
'Lovely idea,' Lucinda purred. 'You can sit next to me with Paula on my other side.'
'Please thank Larry for the invitation,' Tweed replied, 'but as I told him I do have another appointment. May I ask, what is the party celebrating?'
'Come along the terrace for a moment,' Lucinda suggested, taking him by the arm. 'You, too, Paula,' she called over her shoulder. She lowered her voice. 'It's called a White Party. Hence we're all dressed the way we are. Every now and again Larry has this irritating idea of holding a party for all the chief executives to reward them for their dedicated service. His words, not mine. Larry insists it has a theme, so this is the White Party. Last time it was the New Orleans Party, which was hell. I had to mug up how they dress in the Quarter, as they call it over there.'
'Where's everyone else?' Tweed enquired casually.
They heard slow footsteps corning up on to the terrace from the moor. It was Michael, clad in what looked like a white dinner suit, except he wore his normal shoes. Lucinda called out, 'Where have you been?' Then she swore softly. 'I still make the mistake occasionally, saying something to him and forgetting he still hasn't spoken one word. That awful amnesia.'
Tweed was watching Michael. He was walking in the stiff-legged manner, back erect, which was
the only way Tweed and Paula had seen him walk, leaving the psychiatrist's clinic in London to get into Tweed's car, on the moor later. He looked along the terrace and Paula saw the same blank glazed look. He showed no sign of recognizing anyone as he proceeded into the mansion. Tweed lit one of his rare cigarettes, gave one to Lucinda when she asked for one and lit it for her.
'I just wonder,' he remarked in an offhand manner, 'how Michael knows what clothes to put on.'
No Mercy Page 26
