by Colin Forbes
Tweed, standing very still, watched the door expose more and more of the room beyond. There was something theatrical about its movement. Then he had a clear view of the interior of the room.
Without hesitation, Tweed marched straight inside. Newman, inwardly cursing what he regarded as fool-hardiness, jumped in after him, stopped. Paula, Browning aimed for instant firing, stood in the open doorway, slowly lowered the angle of her gun until the muzzle pointed at the floor.
'Dear God, no!' she exclaimed in anguish. 'Not again.'
'Yes, again,' Tweed said in a voice which held no emotion. 'Exactly what I expected. Except for the method of execution…'
Theo Strebel lay back in his chair behind the large desk. His jacket was open, revealing his white shirt front. A large red rose shape decorated the white shirt to the right. Over the heart. A red rose which blossomed and spread slowly as Paula watched, almost hypnotized.
Tweed walked swiftly round the desk. He felt the carotid artery, shook his head.
'He's dead,' he said simply. 'Shot through the heart. One bullet, I suspect. And I blame myself. I was so looking forward to having that drink with him. Some people – a rare few – make an instant impact on you – he was one of that rare breed. Such a bloody waste.'
Paula had seldom heard Tweed swear. And he had spoken with a ferocity that startled her.
'Where's the flaming phone?' Tweed demanded.
'Why, for Heaven's sake, blame yourself?' she enquired.
'Because the murderer arrived while we were talking to Theo Strebel.' He looked at Newman. 'You gave me the hint and a faint alarm bell rang. I was fool enough to ignore it.'
'What hint?' Newman, puzzled, asked.
'When we were leaving here before you said someone started to come in through the front door. You thought they'd seen you and changed their minds. That was the murderer. He'd just committed one and was on his way here to kill Strebel.'
'Committed one?' queried Paula.
'Yes. The garrotting of Klara. I only realized Strebel was probably in great danger when I said aloud that the murderer was exterminating everyone who might provide information. I shouldn't have delayed our departure by questioning that awful woman. But on the other hand she did say something very significant, and Strebel was by then probably already dead.'
'What was very significant?' Paula asked.
'So where is the phone? I must call Beck…'
It was Paula who found out where Strebel hid his phone. Wearing her surgical gloves, she began opening drawers in his desk. Hauling open a deep drawer at the bottom, she lifted out a telephone. She dialled police headquarters, then handed the instrument to Tweed who was wearing gloves. He asked for the Swiss police chief, giving his name.
'Tweed here, Arthur…'
'I have news for you,' the familiar voice broke in. 'I have at long last received the expert's report on that cigar ash specimen you gave me. Whoever smoked the cigar has expensive tastes. It is a Havana.'
'Thank you, I have another specimen for you to check – but that can wait. There have been two more murders
Two more?' Beck's tone was ironical. 'You know then about the killing of a certain Helen Frey?'
'Yes, we can talk about that when we meet. One victim is
Klara, the girl who had the apartment opposite Helen Prey's. The other is a private detective. I'm speaking from his office now. A Theo Strebel…'
'Strebel! Oh, no, not Theo. He worked in the police force just before I got the top job. I wouldn't have thought anyone could have murdered Theo. You said you were at his office?'
'Yes. The address is-'
'I know it. I'm on my way there now…'
25
Paula sat in the front passenger seat next to Butler as he drove them up the steep hill to Eve Amberg's villa. Nield was in the back. The two men had discreetly followed Tweed to the Altstadt address when he had first visited Theo Strebel.
Before Beck arrived at Strebel's office, Tweed had given Paula careful instructions as to the information he wanted her to obtain from Eve Amberg. He had warned her not to mention the murders of Klara and Strebel, had then taken her down into the street to find a taxi. Relieved to see Butler and Nield, he had left her in their safe hands while he waited with Newman for Beck.
'Shouldn't you have phoned her first to make sure she is in?' Butler suggested as he pulled up in front of the wrought-iron gates.
'I did think of that but Tweed was anxious for me to get clear before Beck arrived.'
'Makes sense – under the circumstances,' Nield remarked.
On the way Paula had told them about the two murders. They had listened in silence as she put them concisely in the picture.
'A pretty grisly experience,' Butler had commented when she had finished. 'The murder count is climbing. Tweed could be next if he's not careful.'
'Bob stayed with him. Tweed will be all right. Now, if you don't mind, I'll go in by myself. I shouldn't be long
Tweed had made that point – that she should talk to Eve on her own.
'She may tell you more on a woman-to-woman basis…'
Pushing open one gate, Paula walked past an Audi parked in the drive, bonnet pointed towards the garage, caught a whiff of petrol in the fresh clear morning air. She hauled on the ancient chain bell-pull and the door was opened almost at once by Eve Amberg.
The Englishwoman wore denims, a padded windcheater and a knitted blue woollen cap. Her titian hair cascaded down her back. She gave Paula a warm smile, invited her inside, took her into the living room.
'I was just going shopping. Hateful task but it has to be done. Just before I left a Swiss woman friend called on the phone. She's nice but once she gets talking her mouth is glued to the phone. Goes on and on. Would you like some coffee? It's bitterly cold out there.'
'No, thank you just the same. Am I throwing your whole schedule out of gear? I tried to phone but the line was engaged,' she lied to cover up what might appear to be lack of manners.
'Not at all.' Eve pulled off her woollen cap, took her guest's coat, laid it neatly over a chair and sat down facing Paula. 'It's a relief for me to talk to someone English. The shopping can damn well wait.'
Tweed is still trying to find out who committed those terrible murders – the ones at Tresillian Manor and now Helen Frey. We went to see her yesterday.'
'What happened to her was horrific. I read about it in the paper. What was she like? I am still wondering what Julius saw in her.'
'I thought she was rather ordinary,' Paula said tactfully. 'You mentioned to Tweed you knew Cornwall. He wondered what part of it you come from?'
'Launceston, just beyond where Bodmin Moor ends. That's how I know Gaunt.'
'And he came all this way to tell you about Julius? A nice gesture. Tweed is intrigued by Gaunt.'
'I don't wonder. He has such a strong personality. No, he didn't come just for that. He has business interests in Zurich. Don't ask me what they are. I'm hopeless when it comes to money. That's why the fact that Walter now controls the bank is a worry. What money I have is in that bank.'
'Walter is still in Zurich?'
Eve produced her ivory holder, inserted a cigarette, lit it. She waved the holder.
'I imagine so. Haven't heard a word from him, let alone seen him. Strange man.'
So she didn't realize Walter was now in Basle, Paula thought. He obviously doesn't let his sister-in-law know a thing.
'Lucky – from your point of view – that you didn't think of going to Cornwall with Julius,' Paula suggested.
'I can't make up my mind about that. He might still be alive if I'd gone.'
'I think that's highly unlikely – considering what took place. I was there – and only escaped with my life by pure chance.'
'Frightening,' Eve said. 'You lead a charmed life. I expect I shall go back to Launceston when this is all over.'
'They didn't try to get you back to attend to the funeral arrangements?'
Eve took a deep drag o
h her cigarette, blew out smoke. Again she brandished the holder.
'It was all settled by phone. Julius always said if anything happened to him he wanted to be buried in Cornwall. He loved the place, hoped to retire there. I suppose in a macabre way he got his wish. I didn't go – it would have been too upsetting. I'll visit his grave when I do go back.'
The phone began ringing. Eve made a moue, crossed the room with brisk steps. She picked up the phone, her back to Paula.
'Yes, who is it?'
She listened, then replied, her voice high-pitched.
'Not now. It's not convenient. I'll get back to you this afternoon. At least, as soon as I can. Goodbye.'
She waved the holder a third time as she sat down again. Paula thought she detected a trace of annoyance in Eve's manner.
'That was Gaunt,' Eve said. 'Wanted to come and see how I was getting on. Very considerate, but you can have too much of a good thing.'
'Sorry, I'm not with you.'
'Just between you and me, he's a nice man. But I find him overbearing at times. Wants to order your life for you.'
'Where did you first meet him?'
'In Padstow, where I was born. That was when I was long grown up. Quite a while after I'd left Roedean School and started to live a normal life. You won't believe this, but I was Head Girl for a short time – and hated every minute of it. Felt like a fish in an aquarium. I bought a house outside Launceston when my father died -I'd had enough of Padstow. The summer, the best time, was ruined with ghastly trippers.'
'I've taken up a lot of your time. I think I'd better go, let you get on with that lovely shopping.'
'Excuse my attire. Don't like women who frolic about in denims. You see a lot of that in Padstow these days. But they're practical for shopping.'
Paula was standing up to go when she turned round as Eve prepared to see her to the front door.
'One more thing Tweed wanted to know, if it's not too personal. He gathered Julius decided on his trip to Bodmin Moor at short notice. So he must have phoned Gaunt to see if Tresillian Manor was available for him. It really was very short notice for Gaunt to clear out to his cottage at Five Lanes. How did Gaunt react?'
'Said Julius could have the manor for as long as he liked, that he needed the money.'
She opened the front door and came out into the porch as Paula thanked her. Eve looked at the parked Audi.
'I'm glad to see that. It's just been returned from our service garage after a maintenance check. Something about the brakes. Arrived just before you did.'
'In time for your shopping. Again, many thanks…'
Butler waited until he had turned the black Mercedes in the road and was heading back for Zurich, before he asked Paula: 'Did you get what Tweed wanted?'
'No idea. I won't have until I've reported our conversation to him. You never know what he's really after.'
Tweed arrived back in the late afternoon from police headquarters with Newman. He went straight to Paula's room and Butler left them alone.
'Tell me,' Tweed requested.
Paula began to speak by rote. She spoke with her eyes closed, seeing and hearing all that had happened from the moment she had left the car and walked up the drive to Eve Amberg's villa.
Meticulously, she recalled every detail – the Audi in the drive, Eve answering the door quickly, dressed to go out shopping. Her clothes, her manner, every word she had said. Tweed sat in a chair facing her, recording every word Paula said.
'That's it,' she eventually told him.
'Word for word?'
'That's what you asked for. That's what you got.'
'What was her mood after she'd taken that phone call?' he asked.
'I told you. Annoyed. Irked. A bit put out.'
'Gaunt. Gaunt. Always Gaunt,' he repeated.
'No point in asking what you're after?' she suggested.
'A link, between Cornwall, Zurich – and Washington.'
'Norton here…'
President Bradford March lounged in his chair, his feet clad in sneakers perched on his desk. He wore jeans and an open-necked shirt exposing the hair on his broad chest. A leather belt encircled his waist in an attempt to hold in his ample belly.
'Norton here,' the abrasive voice repeated. 'I got the code-word on my answerphone to call you…'
'So squat on the butt and listen. The courier with the big bucks is on his way. He hits Zurich airport tomorrow certain. Aboard Swissair flight SR 805, ETA Zurich 4.25p.m. He takes a cab to Hotel Baur-en-Ville. That right? Where Mencken is shacked up?'
'I don't want Mencken in on this
'Shut your trap. I said listen. OK? Great. You'll make it yet. Courier's name is Louis Sheen. Got it? He'll carry a suitcase, brown in colour. When he arrives at this Baur place 5.30p.m. Zurich time, he goes to reception, tells them at the top of his voice that he's Louis Sheen, that they have a reservation, which they won't have. You contact him immediately with the code-words Lincoln Memorial. Got that? Then you take him to a safe place, wait for instructions from the creep who calls me.'
'I'm not showing my face
'Your problem. The creep demanding the dough phoned, gave three possible exchange points. Note them – I'll spell them out… OK? Something else – Sheen will be handcuffed to that suitcase. It stays that way until you meet the bastard who tries to collect. The case has combination locks. Only Sheen knows the numbers which open it. Try opening that case without operating the combination, a small thermite bomb inside explodes, burns the contents to crap.'
'I ought to know that combination,' Norton demanded.
'All those big bucks? You're a joke, Norton. One more thing – you kill the guy who comes to collect…'
In Zurich Norton was surprised when the line went dead. He'd never have thought March could have dreamed up such a diabolical trap as the thermite bomb.
At the Schweizerhof, after talking to Paula, Tweed was in a rush to keep his appointment with Jennie Blade. He asked Newman to phone the Zurcher Kredit to make sure Walter Amberg was still in Basle.
Newman recognized the voice of the girl who answered the phone. She was the attractive personal assistant who had shown them into the banker's office.
'Bob Newman here. I was with Mr Tweed when he called on your boss
…'
'I remember you well, Mr Newman. How are you? How can I help?' she enquired.
'Well, I just wanted to check that Mr Amberg is still at the Basle branch, that he will be there tomorrow.'
'Oh, he will be. He'll be in Basle for several days. You can count on it. And you are the second person within the hour who has asked that question.'
'Who else did? Or shouldn't I ask?'
'Oh, that's all right, Mr Newman. He didn't leave a name. I'm new here, don't yet know all the clients. The man who called had a husky growly voice. Not very polite.'
'A lot of people aren't. I really am very much obliged to you. Thanks a lot.'
Newman wondered who 'growly voice' could be, made a mental note to tell Tweed.
Newman sat in the dimly lit bar leading off the lobby, drinking a glass of white wine. He was recalling the tough interview with Beck after the Swiss police chief had arrived at Theo Strebel's office.
'I'm not easily shocked, as you know,' he told Tweed as he viewed Strebel's corpse. 'But before he left us to set up a private investigator business – you can make more money that way – he solved a baffling murder case I couldn't crack. He was a great detective and it's a great loss.'
Beck kept his voice down. The office was swarming with the forensic and fingerprint teams. The police doctor had just left after officially pronouncing Strebel dead.
They had then hurried over to Klara's apartment. Newman had come with them and was not disappointed when Old Nosy poked her vulture-like nose out of the door.
'Is there some trouble upstairs?' she asked.
'Stay in your apartment,' Beck ordered. 'I'll want to talk to you later.'
'And who do you think you are?
'
'Police.' Beck flashed his folder under the nose. 'I said stay until I get round to you…
'Local Eye-at-the-Keyhole,' he remarked as he strode up the stairs. 'There's one in every district…'
The doctor had visited Klara's apartment first and by the closed door to the ante-room stood a uniformed policeman. He saluted Beck, opened the door and they went inside.
Beck stared at the garrotted woman. He pursed his lips, turned to Tweed.
'I see now why the doctor said it was a bit nasty here. Never known him make a comment like that before and he's seen everything.'
Beck leaned against a wall. He folded his arms as he stared first at Tweed, then at Newman.
'Yesterday there was a small blood bath in Bahnhofstrasse. Have you seen the papers? No? Well they report a cripple in one of those battery-operated wheelchairs blew himself to pieces with a grenade. At about the same moment an American was shot dead – holding a machine-pistol. Now would you by chance know anything about these events?'
Tweed explained exactly what had happened – that he'd been up to his neck in trying to track down who was behind the murders. Beck nodded without comment as Tweed continued, then concluded: 'I'm sorry I didn't contact you earlier.'
'And I'm damned sorry too you didn't. I do like to know what is happening on my patch, as I think they say in Britain. And my patch is the whole of Switzerland – which includes Zurich.'
'I have apologized,' Tweed said quietly. 'How close are you to discovering what is happening, to solving the murders of this poor woman, Klara, and Theo Strebel?'
'I've only just arrived,' Beck pointed out. 'You mean you have some idea of who the murderer is?'
'The pieces of a huge international jigsaw – stretching all the way from Washington via Cornwall to here – are beginning to fall into place. I'm a long way from seeing the whole picture, but I'm getting there. Your further cooperation would be much appreciated.'
'Oh, you have that. Unreservedly. You're continuing your investigation in Zurich?'
