by Colin Forbes
And that weird business about the gold,' she went on. `I'll know more about that when I've consulted Bob Newman. After all, he is a reporter, or was before he joined us.'
Tweed suppressed a yawn and Paula realized she'd been asking him questions for a long time. She got up to clear the table and Tweed insisted on helping her. When they had arrived at the house he had taken off his jacket and tie to feel more relaxed. `Time for bed,' she told him when they had completed the clearance. `I think so,' he agreed, suppressing another yawn. `When you can I'd like you to draw an Identikit picture of the head of Mr Evelyn-Ashton, who you met at the Duke's Head. You did spend time at art school in the evenings once.' `I'll do it first thing tomorrow while he's fresh in my mind.'
Forcing himself to undress, Tweed flopped on the bed. The moment his head hit the pillow he was fast asleep.
Paula was restless. The nerve-racking episode with Evelyn-Ashton kept intruding. She could see his face perfectly, the weird change in his attitude before he confessed why he was really there. She crept into the drawing room. From a drawer she took out an artist's pad of cartridge paper, some sticks of charcoal. She sat down in front of a desk and began. She worked confidently and the sketch was completed in half an hour. She stood up, studied it under the shaded desk light. `Got you, Mr Evelyn-Ashton,' she murmured to herself. 'First time.'
Which was when she heard a car crawling along the street below. She parted the closed curtains carefully. A brown Ford was stopped. She saw the driver jump out, then arch his right hand back like a cricketer about to lob a ball. Under the light of a street lamp she saw the face clearly. Mr Evelyn-Ashton. She heard the shattering of glass as the object crashed through into Tweed's bedroom.
She ran to the door. Tweed, who woke swiftly, was already out of bed. He had automatically switched on his bedside lamp. By its illumination she saw an object on the carpet shaped like a massive pine cone. A grenade. `Get back into the bloody living room!'
She was frozen still. Frozen with terror for Tweed's life. He rushed forward, bent down, grabbed the object, hurled it out through the window. They both waited for the detonation. The silence was only broken by the sound of the brown Ford racing away up the street. `I'm calling Harry,' Tweed said. 'He's the explosives expert.' `What actually happened?' Paula wondered. `Harry will tell us. After that I'm getting dressed.
Won't sleep tonight.' `Neither will I.'
She fetched a dustpan and brush while Tweed was phoning. She swept up the broken glass, including tiny shards.
When she entered the kitchen, Tweed, fully dressed, was preparing toast, boiled eggs, orange juice and coffee for an early breakfast.
During their meal they heard Harry's square steel- plated truck arrive. Paula got up, rushed to the window. Tweed followed at a steady pace. Looking out, they saw the truck parked and Harry, carrying a metal box in one hand, a powerful torch in the other, walk towards the object lying in the road.
He picked it up after shining his torch on it, raised it to his ear, shook it, placed it inside the metal box. Paula never ceased to be amazed by Harry's insouciance in such situations. Looking up he saw them peering out, walked to the front door which Paula had darted down to open. Tweed followed at his normal deliberate pace. `Morning folks,' Harry greeted them. 'Grenade? It was a dud. No hole to pull out the pin. A frightener. See you later…' `They knew which window to throw it through,' Tweed commented. 'They know too much,' he concluded as they went back up to the first floor. `I saw who threw the thing,' Paula told him, producing her charcoal sketch. 'I saw him. Evelyn-Ashton. Here he is.' `When we get to Park Crescent have a photocopy made for all the members of the team so they'll know who they're looking for.'
The time bomb at Hengistbury predicted by Tweed had detonated within minutes of their arrival at Park Crescent.
9
Paula just had time to obtain photocopies of her sketch of Evelyn-Ashton, then distribute one to every member of the team. Tweed had explained to them tersely the significance of Evelyn-Ashton. 'Very much doubt that's his real name…' `Commander Roy Buchanan needs to see you very urgently,' Monica broke in after answering the phone. `On the phone, you mean?' `No, he's just arrived, waiting downstairs.' `Ask him to come up.'
Paula stood up from her corner desk. Marler, leaning against the wall near her, was by her side when she looked out of the window. An unmarked police car was parked below. Behind it stood a gleaming Rolls-Royce. `That Rolls belongs to Professor Saafeld, the eminent pathologist,' she whispered. 'I don't like this a bit.'
Commander Buchanan came into the office. Tall and lanky, in his late forties, he was an old friend of Tweed's. Paula had expected him to be wearing his uniform as Commander of the Anti-Terrorist Squad. Instead he wore a dark grey business suit. Normally his expression was amiable but now it had a grim set to it. He ignored an armchair, picked up a hard-backed chair, planted it in front of Tweed's desk, folded his arms. `I am the bearer of grim tidings,' he warned as he placed his briefcase by the chair. `Then tell me,' Tweed said calmly. `Mrs Bella Main has been murdered in her study at Hengistbury Manor. The method used is strange and quite horrific.'
A rare and heavy silence descended on the office. They were all staring at Tweed. He had been told about a number of hideous events and his expression had always been impassive. Not this time.
He sat very still, almost like a statue. Brief flashes of different emotions crossed his face. Something akin to grief. Fury. A distant gaze as though he was recalling his interview with Bella, a woman he had admired and liked. Admired for her character, for her brainpower. Eighty-four years old. He'd thought she might live to be a hundred. `She was so regal,' Paula said very quietly, 'so courteous: `Regal! That's the word for her,' Tweed agreed, suddenly alert again. 'Her murderer must be tracked down however long it takes, no matter what risks it may involve.' was just about to ask you,' Buchanan began, 'to take over as chief investigator of the case.' `I'll do it,' Tweed said quickly. `I have brought Professor Saafeld with me. He is waiting downstairs in the visitors' room.' `What the hell has he been parked in that cell for?' `His idea, not mine,' Buchanan said quickly. 'He thought I should tell you first. He knew Bella. He had a phone call from her about you after you'd left. She was very fond- I mean she had developed an admiration for you. Now,' he went on briskly, opening his briefcase, producing papers, 'in this case you have full powers, even an authorization of the fact signed by the Assistant Commissioner, together with a search warrant covering the whole of Hengistbury Manor and its three-hundred-acre estate called The Forest – or the large chunk of it belonging to the Manor.'
Tweed was examining the thick sheets of paper Buchanan had placed on his desk. The Assistant Commissioner's signature flourished at the bottom of both documents. `Also,' added Buchanan, 'you have the full backing of the Home Secretary.' `Who could be one of Bella's depositors,' Tweed said with a smile, his normal iron self-control now recovered. `I wouldn't know.' `With all this power I detect a political element.' `Well…' Buchanan hesitated. 'Certain Ministers are concerned that the Main Chance Bank could now be bought out by an immensely rich and ruthless gentleman – who might then use his ownership of this powerful organization to go on to bid successfully for one of our Big Four banks. Which would practically give him control of the country.' `He is British?' `No.' `He originates from the East?' `He does,' said Buchanan grimly. `And his name is?' `I'm not allowed to disclose that.' Buchanan's mood became more light-hearted. 'As assistant you will have Chief Inspector Hammer.' `Always save the best bit till last, don't you?'
Paula groaned, turned to Newman, who had been comforting her when the news about Bella had been first announced. 'Old Hammerhead,' she rasped well above a whisper. `I'm very short of senior detective officers,' Buchanan said, turning to shake a friendly finger at Paula. 'And he is very clear he is your assistant,' he went on, turning back to Tweed. `When does he go down to Hengistbury?' Tweed enquired. `He's gone down there ahead of you with three photographers, two fingerprint experts
and the other technicians.' `Then we'd better get down there right away. Pete, you stay behind for the moment. My director, Howard, gets back from holiday tomorrow. Explain everything to him in detail and tell him I'll call him by phone soon as I can.' `Will do, sir,' Nield answered tersely. `You're in charge here for the moment,' Tweed added.
He walked to where Paula stood with two suitcases, took his own off her and hurried down to the visitors' room with Roy Buchanan and the rest of his team following. Opening the door he found Professor Saafeld comfortably ensconced in a chair, his legs perched on another, reading a book. `I really think this is dreadful,' Tweed began, 'leaving you in a place like this while Commander Buchanan filled me in on-' `I've been enjoying Robert Newman's huge bestseller, Kruger: The Computer That Failed.' He stood up. `Isn't that Mr Newman just behind you? Well, Mr Newman, you must be at the least a millionaire from the proceeds. Deserve to be. This is my third reading of your masterpiece. A millionaire at least.' `I have got a bit stashed away,' Newman said, smiling as they shook hands. `You two can talk later,' Tweed said firmly. 'Don't imagine you know the complex route to Hengistbury?' he said to the Professor. 'Thought not. So I'll lead the way with Paula in her red Porsche. You follow in your Rolls. Bob, you'll keep behind the Rolls, bringing the team in your Merc. Now we move.
As they turned out of Park Crescent with the Rolls behind them Tweed issued his warning. `Paula, Saafeld drives his Rolls at a stately speed, as he should. So time your speed to his.' `I had already thought of that,' she chastised him. 'If you like you can take over driving this dynamo. Now I'm wondering what horror we'll see at Hengistbury.'
10
`I phoned Shape before we started out,' Paula said.
She had just stopped her Porsche when the tall wrought-iron gates swung inwards. She drove slowly down the drive with the stately Rolls following and Newman's Mercedes bringing up the rear. `I have the oddest feeling I'm in a dream,' she remarked. 'I suppose it's because we were here so recently.'
Parking near the steps leading up to the terrace, she jumped out to where Saafeld had briskly leapt out with his bag in one hand. Of medium height and in his mid- fifties the pathologist had a shock of white hair, was clean shaven. Below his well-shaped forehead his eyebrows were thick and white, but it was the penetrating grey-blue eyes which attracted attention. His nose was long above a strong wide mouth and the jaw had a pugnacious look, although he was the least aggressive of men except when dealing with fools.
They trooped up the steps and Snape was there to greet them. He smirked and as they entered, Marshal Main, wearing a black suit with a black tie, held out a hand, smiling unctuously. Tweed made a mental note for later that neither man appeared in the least distressed.
Tweed made introductions briefly. From nowhere Chief Inspector Hammer appeared, an even more bulky figure than Paula recalled. His aggressive features appeared even more domineering. `I'll take you up to where she is, Professor,' he smarmed. `Has the body been touched by anyone at all?' Saafeld demanded. `Of course not, sir,' Hammer said with a trace of indignation. `You are quite sure about that?' Saafeld snapped. `It's my job… sir,' Hammer replied sullenly. 'This way.' `I would prefer Mr Tweed took me up. Staircase, first floor?'
It was obvious Saafeld had taken an instant dislike to the chief inspector. Which was unusual, Tweed noted, since the Professor rarely showed his reaction to anybody. He led the way across the hall. At the side of the staircase; seated in a hard-backed chair, was Lavinia.
She wore a black dress, underneath which was a white blouse with a ruffled collar. Perfect, Tweed thought, she had not overdone the mourning. He smiled at her and let it go at that.
Saafeld walked quickly, alongside Tweed, while Paula followed them. When they entered the library adjoining the study they found it was occupied by four paramedics in white coats, all standing. Saafeld gestured towards them. `I arranged for this squad to come here from Leaminster, which is closer to this mansion,' he explained to Tweed_ 'They know the way to my place at Holland Park but I'll guide them in my Rolls.'
There were four other men, uniformed policemen. Two had large cameras slung round their necks, the third carried a briefcase. One of the fingerprint experts, Paula assumed. At that moment the study door was opened from the inside and Sergeant Warden, Buchanan's personal assistant, stood in the opening. Paula was surprised. She hadn't seen him for a long time. Buchanan had moved very fast to get this technical team here already. And so had Saafeld, arranging for the paramedics to arrive from Leaminster.
Warden, clad in a business suit, as always had a wooden expression and stood very erect. He addressed Tweed as he spoke. `Since I arrived no one except myself has entered the study. May I show you in, sir?' `If I may suggest it,' Saafeld said kindly, looking at Paula, 'it might be best if Tweed and I go in first.' `I'll come out for you in a minute,' Tweed said quickly to Paula.
Paula did not feel self-conscious, standing in a room with so many strange men. She felt she should say something.
One of the photographers was eyeing her lecherously. 'Not often we get the pleasure of being so close to such a tempting lady,' he said with a leer. `George,' his fellow photographer snapped, 'clean out your friggin' mouth with a strong disinfectant.'
Paula nodded her appreciation to him, didn't look at the lecherous type. The door from the study opened and Tweed stood there. He beckoned to her. `Thank you very much,' she said to the man who had told off his fellow photographer. `Up to you whether or not you come in,' Tweed said to her lowering his voice. `I'm coming in,' she said firmly.
He closed the door behind her. Sergeant Warden was standing close to a panelled wall. Saafeld was waiting behind Bella's chair. Paula took in a silent breath. Bella was still seated in her chair, her magnificent head drooped forward. Her clothes were drenched with blood and she had a brutal collar round her neck, a collar of barbed wire with vicious spikes. The section of her neck still visible was slashed open with a deep bloodstained wound. It was one of the most horrible sights Paula had ever seen.
When she had entered the study Paula had tucked both her hands inside the pockets of her windcheater and both were now clenched tight. Her expression was calm and Saafeld was watching her closely before he spoke. `To understand how it was done you need to come behind the chair.'
She walked steadily forward with Tweed close behind her. Joining Saafeld, she saw the ends of both sections of the fiendish barbed wire-collar had small wooden handles. The handles had been drawn close together and the ends of the wire twisted together to tighten the collar. `I think I see how it was done,' she said, relieved that her voice sounded normal. `The killer stood behind this chair and dropped the necklace over her head to her neck, then grasped the handles, tied the wire together as you see.'
He spoke as though explaining an anatomical point to a class of students. She nodded as she studied the blood soaking the back of the neck. Saafeld added a comment which was out of character. `One of the most ghastly methods of murder I have so far encountered.' `I don't understand how the murderer carried what you call a necklace into the study without Bella seeing it. And whoever did this must have been someone she knew well and trusted.' A thought struck her. 'Of course it could have been carried in concealed in something like a briefcase.'
She looked at Tweed, who was keeping silent, listening to her with an expression of admiration. He nodded agreement. `But then,' Paula continued, 'the killer had to stand behind her to drop the necklace over her head.' She was glad to see Bella's short grey hair was undisturbed. There was at least some dignity left to her. The trim short cut of her hair would help the killer – the necklace would slip smoothly down over it to her neck. Do you think it took long?' she asked. `Very quick if the killer had strong agile hands. I doubt if she knew what was happening since the carotid arteries are severed.'
Paula realized her hands were no longer clenched. She took them out of her pockets and stared at the carpet as she slowly walked round the desk to join Tweed. `The rail-like gulleys w
e saw when we were here have gone,' she observed. `I noticed that too,' said Tweed. 'Someone has used a vacuum cleaner. I'll find out who did that and when.' `If you've seen all you need,' Saafeld said crisply, 'I need the police photographer to take pictures. The paramedics can come in. I want a sheet to cover her. I want her moved as little as possible, which means taking her away in the chair. Won't be easy navigating those stairs.' `There is a lift,' Paula told him. 'It comes up from the main hall, stops just opposite the exit door from the library.' `That's going to make things a lot easier.'
Tweed and Paula followed Saafeld to the library where he gave precise instructions. Tweed followed Paula onto the landing. She leaned over and saw Lavinia standing up while she talked to Newman. She called down. `Lavinia, could you arrange for Snape to bring the lift up to this floor? Snape should stand by the open doors until they bring out your grandmother, please.' `Consider it done,' Lavinia called back in a businesslike voice. `What now?' Paula asked as they descended the staircase. `I'm going to start interrogating people immediately. How is Lavinia?' he asked Newman as the granddaughter appeared on the far side of the hall with Snape in tow. `She's down, naturally. I've been asking her about her trips to London to get her mind on to something else. We seem to get on quite well together.' `Keep her talking. May stop her thinking…'
With Paula he headed for the downstairs living room. As they entered the only occupant was Marshal Main, pacing briskly up and down in his sombre clothes. A glass of champagne, already used, was perched on a round drum table with a bottle resting in an ice bucket. A peculiar drink to be imbibing under the circumstances, Tweed thought. He started his interrogation without formality. `Mr Main, who discovered the body?' `Don't waste much time, do we,' Marshal said with a smile as he ushered them to chairs round the drum table and sank into an armchair, the champagne glass in his hands, his long legs sprawled out, crossed at the ankles. `Some refreshment,' he rattled on. 'Champagne may seem a trifle odd but Bella would have approved. She was never one to make a fuss in an emergency. Coffee instead?'
