by Colin Forbes
'Is that all?' Nield asked with a grin.
'I'm off to Professor Saafeld's place. Could be there for a couple of hours. Have the info for me when I get back.'
'Should give me plenty of time.' Nield grinned again. 'Don't be surprised if I'm still out when you get back.'
Tweed, still speaking rapidly, turned to Monica. 'If a Chief Inspector Hammer arrives or phones tell him I've gone abroad. You don't know where or when I'll be back. Now I must get moving.'
'I'm coming with you,' Paula said firmly.
She had already slipped on a windcheater over her slacks and jumper. Tweed stood uncertainly.
'Thought you were in a hurry,' Paula said, grabbing his arm.
Harry followed them downstairs, talking as they hurried. 'I got here early. Spotted our friends had fixed up cameras to the lampposts on the other side of the road. The cameras are difficult to see. They were aimed to cover the entrance here.'
'Were?' queried Paula.
'I covered them with black goo - same colour as their spy cameras. They'll need new lenses.'
'Don't waste much time, do they?' commented Tweed.
'Neither does Harry,' Paula replied.
The drizzle had stopped. Above was a clear blue sky and it was bitterly cold. Tweed had slipped on his overcoat as he skipped nimbly down the stairs.
They were driving through heavy traffic, approaching Holland Park, when Paula looked back again through the rear window. She swore softly.
'We're still being followed. Big black car picked us up as we left Park Crescent. Look to be two men in the front. Black coats, I think, and black peaked caps.'
'The uniform Nelson said they hadn't got round to. I'll lose them.'
Tweed slowed down as they approached traffic lights on green. He waited for amber, pressed his foot down, passed the lights as they turned red. A police car was parked by the kerb. Tweed recognized the driver, used one hand to hold up his SIS folder. The police driver saluted him.
'That was Ned,' Tweed remarked. 'He knows me well.'
'Well, you've lost our friends,' said Paula after glancing back. 'They were caught by the lights . . .'
Shortly afterwards Tweed swung into the side street where Saafeld's mansion was located. He drove to the end, parked the car round a corner. They walked back quickly to where a pair of high wrought-iron gates were closed at the end of a curving drive. Tweed pressed the button on the speakphone.
'Yes. Who is it?' Saafeld's clear voice enquired.
'Me,' said Tweed. 'The "me" you're expecting.'
The electronically operated gates swung open and they walked quickly up the drive. Little time was given to allow a car to drive in, to stop the vehicle being followed. Rounding a corner of the drive bordered by evergreen shrubs the elegant mansion came into view. The massive front door was open as they mounted the steps. Saafeld, wearing a white gown closed at the neck, ushered them inside, stared at Paula as he shut and relocked the door. They were standing in a large hall with a marble floor.
'Paula,' Saafeld said gently, 'I'm not sure you want to see this.'
Knowing the drill, Tweed and Paula removed overcoat and windcheater. Saafeld slipped them over hangers, put them in one cupboard, opened another, took out white coats, white caps and two pairs of latex gloves. As they put them on quickly their host stared again dubiously at Paula. Her reaction was instant and sharp.
'I've been in there before. Stop treating me like a schoolgirl.'
Saafeld shrugged, walked to a heavy steel door, took out a key card, inserted it in the slot. The door slid open and Paula breathed in powerful disinfectant. They went down several steps to another heavy steel door which Saafeld opened.
Underground now, they followed him into a large room
37with tables of metal and gutters along each side to catch any blood which spread too far. The first two tables had corpses lying on them while white-coated assistants went about their grisly work. There were large cameras overhead and X-ray machines poised above each table, held by telescopic arms. Now there was another odour which Paula recognized, the odour of bodies that would never move again.
'Here she is, poor woman,' Saafeld said quietly.
It was unusual for him to express any emotion about what was brought into his mortuary. Paula stood very still, her palms clammy. The body of Viola Vander-Browne was lying on the table. The severed head, ashen, was placed an inch or so from the neck, coated with dried blood, now darkish brown in colour. Paula's teeth were clamped tightly behind her closed lips as she continued her survey. The severed left lower arm was also placed an inch or so below the elbow. The same applied to the right arm, to the lower limbs severed below the jagged ends of the knees. Paula found the strange sequence hideous. Saafeld seemed to read her mind. He began talking in his detached professional voice.
'This is exactly how I found the corpse on the bed at Fox Street. The killer had first slammed her naked body on to the wooden floor, by the side of the bed. I think he—'
'Why "he"?' Paula interrupted. 'Couldn't it have been a woman?'
'You could be right, possibly,' Saafeld agreed. 'Except that after gagging her the murderer raped her. He used a condom - no traces of semen. That doesn't rule out a woman completely, if a condom pulled over one of those sex toys was used. After the rape the murderer used a sharp-bladed instrument to cut her up - a meat cleaver, I suspect. The head was severed last - severing the carotid arteries. Hence the jet of blood which covered the window.'
'Excuse me,' Tweed suggested, 'but was there a light on in the room when you arrived?'
'Yes, left on after the killer left, so when the police arrived before me the blood-covered window was very prominent. Now, I said earlier the body was found laid out on the bed. There were blade notches deep into the floor, which is how I know for certain that's where she was killed. He - or she -afterwards lifted the several pieces of the body on to the bed, created an arrangement as I have done on the table.'
'That's horrible,' Paula said after clearing her throat.
'One of the worst cases in my experience - and I've just about seen everything, or so I thought. I think now we ought to adjourn to the drawing room. My wife will provide refreshment. We can discuss the case in more pleasant surroundings.'
He turned to a youngish man who was washing his hands at a deep sink.
'John, I know you've taken X-rays and photos of the lady on my table. I'd like you to take more photos, concentrating on every angle. Thank you . . .'
In the small room they had passed through earlier he relieved them of their white clothes. As he closed the cupboard doors he turned to Tweed.
'I'm very fussy. Those clothes will be burned, in case you picked up something undesirable while in the mortuary. Now for that tea.'
They mounted the steps into the hall. Saafeld closed the heavy door and did not bother to use his key card. Paula guessed it locked again automatically.
They were seated in armchairs in the luxurious comfortable drawing room when a tall grey-haired lady, in her late fifties Paula guessed, came in carrying a large silver tray laden with plates of cakes, Wedgwood china, a teapot and another pot containing coffee.
Saafeld started to get up. 'I'll take that. . .' 'No, you won't, Willy,' she said firmly. 'I can still cope with this.' She laid the tray on a table between the chairs.
'Hello, Paula. So nice to see you again. And you, Mr Tweed.'
'You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble,' Paula said, returning her warm smile.
'You'll have to excuse me,' Mrs Saafeld went on. 'We have people coming to dinner so my place is in the kitchen.'
'We have . . . ?' Saafeld began, then stopped as she gave him a certain look, then left the room. She knows what we've seen, Paula thought, so she's tactfully leaving us alone.
Paula accepted tea with a little milk but no sugar when their host also offered her both plates of cakes. She forced herself to smile when she refused. She had arrived hungry but her appetite had deserted he
r. Tweed accepted coffee but he also declined anything to eat.
'We had lunch before we came to you,' fibbed Paula.
'Can you tell us anything about the killer?' Tweed asked.
Saafeld settled back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling as though choosing his words carefully.
'The killer is exceptionally strong,' he began. 'That's proved by the fact that each time he wielded the cleaver - if that's what it was, but I think so - it not only sliced through bone, muscle and flesh in one blow but ended up leaving a deep gash in the oak floor. It must have taken more strength to ease the weapon free for the next strike.'
'Surely he must have had blood all over his clothes?' Tweed suggested.
'Not if he was clad as you two were in the mortuary, plus the kind of face mask used by surgeons. Afterwards he'd have taken all his whites off and stuffed them inside some container he took away with him.'
'Any sign of forced entry at Fox Street?'
'None at all. Which suggested Vander-Browne knew whoever killed her. Very premeditated murder,' Saafeld went on. 'The way he - or she -' he glanced over at Paula -'arrived with all his equipment - weapon, the whites. I suspect he arrived in normal dress. I say this because in the bathroom was cotton wool, traces of powder. Vander-Browne's visitor may have arrived early. He puts on his whites while she is in the bathroom. I think that's about all I can tell you.'
'Is it?' Tweed pressed.
'Well, I'm not a psychiatrist. We may be dealing with a psycho, but that's a vague word. What happens to some people who are strong-blooded and evil is that the pressure starts to build up inside them. The process probably accelerates over a period of days, maybe even a few weeks. They reach the stage when they are ready to murder - and revel in what they are doing.'
'Difficult to detect,' Tweed muttered half to himself.
'I call it blood storm,' Saafeld concluded.
6
As Tweed drove them back towards Park Crescent, Paula glanced several times at him, pretending she was looking at traffic. His expression was unusual - grave, despondent. And he had not said a word since they entered the car.
'Please pull in,' she asked.
He signalled, turned the vehicle to the side of the road, looked at her. She told him to turn off the engine. He did so, then slumped in his seat. She took hold of his arm.
'What is it?' she enquired gently.
'Nothing. I'm OK.'
'You're not - by a long chalk. Tell me. Talking it out always helps.'
He drank half the water from the slim flask she had taken from the pocket in her door. He sipped first as she'd suggested, then drank large quantities. He handed back the flask.
'Thanks. I'm all right now.'
'You're not,' she repeated firmly. 'Tell me. This is Paula.'
'When we were in the mortuary I was thinking of how Viola had looked when we had dinner at Mungano's. Ravishing and young. I liked her. I think she liked me. If only I'd escorted her home - instead of slinking back into that alley and falling asleep. She'd be alive now. I'll never forgive myself. . .'
He paused as Paula's mobile buzzed. She answered, listened, asked very few questions, then slipped the mobile back into her pocket.
'That was Professor Saafeld,' she said quietly. 'He sends you his apology but he forgot to tell you the results of the blood test. He said your margarita was laced with Percodin.' She spelt it. 'Not Percodan, an American drug, but quite different. Percodin dulls the nervous system, neutralizes it. Puts you completely out of action. You told him you'd only drunk about a fifth of the margarita. It creeps up on you, then suddenly you get the full effect. He also said if you'd drunk the lot your mind would have been destabilized for twenty-four hours. So how the hell could you have escorted Viola home? You couldn't have done. Feel a bit better about things now?'
'What I want to do is to find out who fed me that bloody drink.' Tweed had straightened up; his expression was grim, determined, even ferocious. 'I can remember the waitress who served the thing to me. Mungano should be able to identify her. We'd better get moving . . .'
Tweed was still silent when they reached Park Crescent. Thank God Saafeld phoned me, Paula said to herself.
Entering the office they found that Nield had returned, looking rather pleased. Monica relieved Tweed of his coat.
'Your friend Chief Inspector Hammer called,' she said, 'wanted to come and see you, said it was urgent.'
'Urgent to him,' Tweed commented sarcastically as he settled behind his desk.
'I told him you'd left the office and I had an idea you had gone abroad. No, I had no idea where or when you'd be back.'
'One in the eye for him,' Paula commented from behind her desk. 'Where is Harry?'
'He went out, dressed even more like a tramp, if that's possible. Said he had some pals in the East End he wanted to question.'
'Good for Harry. How have you got on, Pete? You're back quickly.'
'You know me,' Nield said, perching on the front edge of Tweed's desk, arms folded. 'I don't waste time. So far I've found out Benton Macomber is married to a woman called Georgina. Has a successful fashion-design business. Is reputed to be very clever and popular. Benton has a house in Hampstead. I've got the address and phone number. Noel, the youngster, is a different proposition. Likes women, plenty of them. He has girlfriends, drops them when he spots something he fancies more. Just dumps them when he wants variety. A real lady-killer. Has charm which he can turn on and off like an electric light. Very brainy. All three brothers were at Oxford together, Noel had junior status because of his age, still came down with three double firsts, which is rare. He has a pad in a street off Pall Mall. It's all in here, addresses and phone numbers - except for Noel, who is ex-directory and keeps his number quiet.'
'You've done amazingly well,' Tweed said, looking at the notebook Nield had dropped on his desk.
'There's a bit more,' Nield went on in his well-educated voice. 'Nelson, Benton and Noel are looked after by a senior civil servant called Zena Partridge, known behind her back as the Parrot or Freaky-Deaky. A control-freak, my informant told me. The father, General Lucius Macomber, has a cottage on a large plot of land down at a tiny hamlet on the Surrey-Sussex border, Peckham Mallet. That's in the notebook. End of the story.'
'This informant is a gold mine,' Tweed remarked. 'Who is she?'
'I don't recall saying it was a woman. And don't ask for a name. You know the rule. None of us reveal anything about an informant. That's it. I'll be going out again in five sees.'
'Good hunting and many thanks,' Tweed said as Nield went out of the office.
'I don't think either you or Paula have eaten,' Monica said firmly, standing up. 'Just before you came in I prepared hot food for you both in the upstairs kitchen. Be back in no time . . .'
'I'm hungry,' Tweed mused.
'So am I now,' Paula exclaimed. 'I'm dropping through my pockets, as they say up north.'
They both cleaned their plates of shepherd's pie, carrots and spinach, followed by hot apple pie and tea and coffee. Paula stood up to collect the plates. Monica took them off her, placed them in a dumb waiter in her corner, pressed the bell informing the kitchen upstairs there was work on the way.
Still on her feet, Paula stared down out of the window into the Crescent leading off the main road. She frowned, turned round as she spoke.
'I think we have yet another visitor. An odd-looking person.'
Monica joined her to peer out from behind the heavy net curtains. A tall slim figure wearing dark trousers, a dark blue coat, a trilby hat pulled well down over the face was striding stiffly but briskly to the entrance. Paula had just caught sight of large horn-rimmed spectacles when the figure climbed their steps.
'He's coming here, whoever he is,' Monica said and sat down to wait for the phone to ring from the guard downstairs. It rang. Monica looked up.
'A Zena Partridge wants to see you. Now!'
'I thought you said it was a man,' Tweed remarked.
'Looked like one.'
'Nield reported on his findings just in time. Send this odd-looking person, as you described her, up. Why on earth would she be calling on me?'
'We'll find out, won't we?' Paula chaffed him.
Heavy heels clacked on the stairs, the door was opened without anyone knocking, and the visitor entered.
