by Colin Forbes
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 we 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 appea
red 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?'
'Yes, please. For Paula too, I imagine.'
`I'll bring a pot,' a voice said from the door. Tweed swung round and a serious-faced Lavinia was standing by the open door, which she closed.
`Black as sin, if I remember rightly last time you were here. Well, the ultimate sin has been committed now,' he remarked cheerfully, raising his glass to Paula.
`Who discovered the body?' Tweed repeated in a grimmer tone.
`Well, as a matter of fact I did. About eight o'clock in the evening Bella used her desk box to ask me to bring up some accounts at ten o'clock.'
`How did you carry up the accounts?'Tweed enquired.
`How? In that blue folder on that desk over there.
The accounts are still inside it.'
`What did you see when you entered her study?'
`Gave me a bit of a turn, I don't mind admitting it. She had her desk lamp on so it shone on her. I knew quickly something awful had happened. I saw that beastly thing round her neck and it was dripping blood...'
`You're sure the blood was dripping?' Tweed had leaned forward across the table. 'It's important because it helps to establish the time of the murder. Couldn't have been too long before you arrived when the murder was committed. What time did you arrive in her study?'
`I told you. Ten o'clock. She liked people to be punctual. I actually checked my watch before I knocked on the study door. Ten o'clock. On the dot.'
At that moment Lavinia appeared with a silver tray and the coffee pot with all the accoutrements neatly arranged. Tweed looked straight at her.
`Who discovered the body?'
`Marshal, my father.'
She glanced at him as though surprised he hadn't already told them. Tweed thought the way she referred to her father, using his Christian name, was very odd. He smiled, thanked her for the coffee. She left the room, closing the door behind her.
`Checking up on me, eh?' Marshal said savagely. `Part of my job. I'll be talking gradually to the rest of the family and I need to know if they're telling me the truth.' He changed the subject suddenly and Paula smiled to herself, knowing it was a technique he used to throw suspects off balance.
`Bella was, I gathered, Chairman of the Main Chance Bank, so who controls it now?'
Marshal straightened up. 'Well, I am managing director.'
`Co-managing director,' Tweed corrected him. `There is also Warner Chance. I need to know,' he said emphatically, 'who legally will take over.'
Well...' Marshal stroked his thick hair. 'After I had phoned the Yard and, eventually, been put through to a Commander Buchanan to report what had happened I then at once phoned Bella's solicitors, Hamble, Goodworthy and Richter in Threadneedle Street, to ask them to send her will here. It is being rushed to me by courier tomorrow morning. Then we shall know what arrangements she made in the case of her demise
Good enough for you?'
`I shall need to see that will before anyone else.'
`I say!' Marshal's face had turned red. 'It will have my name on it.'
`And probably Warner Chance's. Perhaps I'd better remind you I am in charge of this murder investigation.' `So?' Marshal snapped indignantly.
`The will may well have a bearing on leading me to who was the killer of Bella Main.'
`It's not good enough!' shouted Marshal. 'I am entitled to read what is addressed to me. Something I had the wit to ask for.'
`Didn't waste any time, did you?'Tweed said quietly.
`What does that mean, damn it!'
`It means that within a very short period of time after you knew your mother had been foully murdered you were most anxious to see who inherited. That worries me,' he ended grimly.
`You haven't the authority,' Marshal raved.
Tweed produced the document Buchanan had given
him. He handed it to Marshal. Paula, watching him read it, saw his hands tremble. Eventually he gave it back to Tweed.
`You are a big bug. Signed by the Assistant Commissioner.'
`So, when the courier arrives you will hand the envelope to me unopened.'
`I'm tired.' Marshal stood up. 'I think I will have my meal in my apartment.'
`Are you married?' Tweed said suddenly.
Paula again suppressed a smile. Tweed had again thrown him off balance. Marshal paused in midstride, turned, returned to his chair.
`Of course I was. You know Lavinia is my daughter.'
`Past tense,' Tweed continued mercilessly. `So what did happen to her? I need to know everything about you.'
`Don't see that it matters twopence. But as you insist. My wife was killed in a road accident when Lavinia was eighteen. That was sixteen years ago. Lavinia was very upset.'
`As I suppose you were'
`Oh, these things happen,' Marshal said airily. 'One copes.'
The door opened and Lavinia stood with an apron wrapped round her black dress. She waited to make sure no one was speaking.
`Lunch will be served in the dining room in ten minutes. I am sorry we didn't consult you. I suppose it's because of what has happened. I've told Mr Newman.'
Marshal jumped to his feet, obviously glad of an opportunity to get away from Tweed. He hurried towards Lavinia.
`I'll have mine in my apartment.'
`Mr Main,' Tweed called after him. 'Have you ever heard of Mr Calouste Doubenkian?'
`Sounds like one of those foreigners we keep letting in at Dover. Never heard of anyone with a name like that.'
`What do you think?' Paula asked, keeping her voice down even though the door was now closed and they were alone. 'It's so often the person who discovers the body who turns out to be the murderer.'
`That's a myth. When I was at the Yard I got someone to compute the statistics of murderers who had not found the body. They far outnumbered the type you mentioned. Was it my imagination or did
Marshal look startled when I asked him about Doubenkian?'
11
Doubenkian's mobile buzzed. He looked at Max, answered it cautiously. `Dunfield, sales director, speaking.
The voice which spoke to him was again horribly distorted. They were using some kind of instrument: it wag impoggible to tell whether it was a man or a woman, which irked him.
`Bella Main has died suddenly.'
`Good. How did that happen?'
`Also Tweed has arrived at Hengistbury with Paula Grey. He brought with him Robert Newman, Harry Butler and a man called Marler.'
`You did my Newman?' Doubenkian enquired.
He swore. His informant had gone off the line. He was disturbed, looked round the interior of the cottage for a hammer. Knowing what he wanted, Max handed him the hammer he always kept for these occasions.
They had driven with Max behind the wheel from the second base in Norfolk that day. They were now ensconced in an isolated cottage, owned by Doubenkian, situated well outside Leaminster, also located within fifteen miles of Hengistbury Manor, just outside the edge of The Forest. Max expected the
y would soon be moving on.
He watched as Doubenkian, his back to him, removed his dark glasses and replaced them with a protective pair. On a large wooden table he then proceeded to smash the mobile phone to pieces.
Substituting his dark glasses for the protective version, he turned round to Max.
`Isn't that going a bit far?' Max suggested. 'Once you have used a mobile you destroy the SIM card, then select from your collection a fresh one.'
`The report regarding Hengistbury is good — and bad. You know that Bella Main controlled the Main Chance Bank. She mistakenly refused to sell it to me. She is dead.'
`Murdered?' Max asked.
`My anonymous informant didn't say. Now we have to wait and see who inherits.'
`Who might that be?'
`Either Marshal Main or Warner Chance.'
`And supposing, whichever one it is, also refuses to sell?'
Doubenkian smiled, a horribly sadistic smile. 'Then we use the Vienna method. You remember the bank the owner first refused to sell? Then I had his offspring kidnapped and he agreed to sell immediately — without any reference to the police.'
`I still don't see how you would handle the situation.'
`Simple, my dear Max. If it's Marshal we kidnap his daughter, Lavinia. If it's Warner Chance we kidnap either his son, Leo, or his daughter, Crystal. Whichever it is, we tell the father his child's right hand, cut off at the wrist, will be delivered by courier. Carefully wrapped, of course. We must do the civilized thing' He grinned.
`I can't do that sort of thing,' Max said firmly.
`You really are soft-hearted. That worries me sometimes. So I'll call in Jacques, the French butcher in Paris. It makes no difference to him whether the meat he is slicing up is dead or alive.'
Max, revolted, changed the subject. 'I still don't know why, once used, you destroy a mobile and use a
fresh one.'
`Because of the terrorist threat, the British GCHQ is now monitoring calls at random. One call, recorded, does not arouse their suspicions. More than one might wake them up. So I use a different number each time. My informant has a list of the numbers in sequence. Which is why you need never fear a tough grilling at Scotland Yard:
