The Cauldron

by Colin Forbes

  Byron was on the dance floor, holding an attractive twenty-something. Fascinated, Standish watched his action, his feet moving expertly. When the music stopped briefly he switched to another girl. Standish paid the waitress for the glass of wine she had ordered. Plenty of other women were wearing sunglasses, so she didn't feel conspicuous.

  She watched Byron changing partners frequently. He could dance so well he had no trouble choosing any partner. He also had great stamina, never leaving the dance floor. Standish watched for a while longer, then left.

  Running back to her car, she moved it round the corner, parked it where she could watch the exit from the alley. She was interested in seeing what type Byron took away with him. She smoked a rare cigarette while she waited.

  Eventually a Yellow Cab pulled up. Byron emerged alone, climbed into the cab, settled himself in the rear seat and it took off. Standish drove home to her apartment on Junipero. While she made pancakes for her meal her brain was racing.

  'I thought I knew these people. Joel Brand now with his smile and friendliness. Byron Landis, the dry-as-dust accountant, so I'd thought, he goes out dancing. Really I don't know these people at all...'

  At the end of the following day it was dark and Linda Standish was working late on her tax forms for the IRS. She hated forms and she hated tax returns, but the job had to be done. When the figures began to swim before her eyes she decided she'd get a breath of the chill night air.

  She was out walking the deserted streets when a grey Audi pulled up alongside her. Vanity Richmond was behind the wheel.

  'Hi!' she called out. 'How goes the grim work?'

  'Grim work is what I call it.' She knew Vanity was referring to the hunt for her sisters' killers but didn't feel like talking about it. "The IRS,' she said as Vanity climbed out of the car to chat. Tax returns. Stuff them. Haven't seen you recently.'

  'I'm just off the flight from London. On my way to the prison and the treadmill.'

  "The prison?' Linda queried.

  "That's what I call Black Ridge. It's the atmosphere.'

  'And the treadmill?'

  'Perhaps I'm going too far.' Vanity laughed, raised a hand to push back her red mane. 'VB never stops working - like a hamster on a treadmill. Mind you, I admire his industry. I think I'd better get back. Why don't we have dinner soon? I'll give you a call...'

  She slipped back into the Audi and roared off into the night. Vanity had high colour and despite her long flight she had seemed very alert. Linda felt she had now had a break from work and returned to her apartment.

  Half an hour later, as she pored over the figures, her door from outside opened and she looked up, surprised to see who had entered.

  'Hi!' she said. "There's a pot of coffee, freshly made -pour yourself a cup and I'll be right with you.'

  The visitor moved towards the stove, then suddenly slipped behind Linda. Using a razor sharp wire with wooden handles at either end the visitor whipped it round Linda's neck. Linda had no time to call out as the wire ripped through her vocal cords. She uttered a muffled gurgle as the wire was pulled tighter. Tighter. Tighter. She slumped forward over her tax forms in a pool of blood.

  17

  When it was 10 p.m. in California it was 6 a.m. the following morning in London. Tweed had risen from the camp bed he had slept in at his office, was showered, shaved and fully dressed when Monica arrived. She looked at the camp bed Tweed had folded up and was putting away in a cupboard.

  'So it's action stations,' she observed.

  Paula arrived a moment later. She observed that Tweed was freshly shaved, looked at Monica.

  'He slept here all night?'

  'He did.'

  'May I ask why you two have arrived here so early?' asked Tweed.

  'Because of that call from Jim Corcoran at Heathrow late yesterday evening,' Paula told him.

  'I see.'

  In response to Tweed's phoning Jim Corcoran he had heard later from the security chief at Heathrow. The call had been terse.

  Tweed? As you requested I checked the flight to San Francisco. The passenger list shows a Vanity Richmond boarded BA 287, departing here 1330, arriving San Francisco at 1625, local time. Travelled First Class. OK? I must go now ...'

  Tweed had told Paula, Monica and Newman, who had called in to see if there were any fresh developments. Paula had reacted at once.

  'Is that the signal you were waiting for?'

  'I'm not sure. It does mean that all the main players in this grim game have now arrived in California -including the suspects.' He counted them off on his fingers. 'First, Vincent Bernard Moloch. I suspect Joel Brand is with him - although there's no trace of him passing through Heathrow, but he could have taken a ferry to Brussels or Paris and flown on from either city.'

  'Doesn't the Sabena flight from Brussels, bound for the States, stop over at Heathrow?' Paula had queried.

  'It does, but if Brand was already aboard it wouldn't show up on the computer. Next, Grenville and Maurice, we know, took the flight to San Francisco earlier. Also on board was Linda Standish. Now Vanity Richmond has gone the same route, yesterday afternoon. We'll wait a little longer.' he had told them...

  'Have you had any coffee?' Paula asked.

  'No. I was just about to make it.'

  'I'll attend to that,' Monica told him.

  'And I'll drive to that cafe cab drivers use,' Paula decided. 'I'll bring us breakfast.'

  'I could do with some,' said Newman who had just entered the room. 'Better get some for Marler, who is on his way.'

  'How do you know that?' Tweed wanted to know.

  'Because I phoned him before I left my flat. He was already up. That sudden departure of Vanity worried me, and I told Marler.'

  'She hasn't treated you very well, Bob.' Paula commented. 'Dashing off to California like that and not even phoning you.'

  'I agree. But she probably received an urgent message from our friend VB to return at once.'

  "That's exactly what I think happened,' Tweed interjected. 'I think he's marshalling his top people for some major move. Monica, have we provisional bookings aboard the next flight to San Francisco?'

  'I've been booking them every day, then transferring them to the following day.'

  'Go on doing that. Alert Butler and Nield. They're to be ready for instant departure...'

  There were two weirdly shaped high-rise buildings in the business district of San Francisco. One was the famous Trans-America building, shaped like a tall slim pyramid. The other was the AMBECO building, shaped like a giant cone, circular all the way round and tapering to a point at its summit. Both were among the marvels of the city, their exteriors often viewed by tourists.

  The AMBECO building had a curious 'defect' near its topmost point. Normally invisible to the outside world, a giant alcove was cut into it, masked by a huge sliding door. Inside the alcove was a helipad with a chopper always ready to take off at a moment's notice.

  Like the Trans-America pyramid, the AMBECO building was perched on massive rollers. The idea was that if an earthquake struck the city both edifices would 'roll' to counter the tremors. In his circular office near the summit - all the offices were circular - Moloch was studying the latest maps Ethan had produced for him.

  He was particularly interested in one area of northern California. The phone started ringing, a low squeak.

  'Yes.' he said.

  'More trouble with Ethan.' Joel reported from Black Ridge. 'Mrs Benyon is ill. Ethan is insisting he has to go and see her.'

  'Keep him at Black Ridge.' Moloch said instantly. 'And call my doctor. Tell him to go to Black Ridge and to wait for me. I'm on my way...'

  Moloch dealt with every problem in this way. Decisive, he could make up his mind in seconds. He called his chief assistant, gave him a string of orders. Within five minutes he was aboard the helicopter. The giant door slid upwards, the rotors of the helicopter were whirling, the machine was slowly elevated to within yards of the lofty roof, then it moved out, flew acro
ss San Francisco to the south.

  The pilot was already in touch with the control tower at the airport. Moloch had top priority for a flight.

  The machine proceeded south, passed over Monterey and Carmel, was soon landing on the helipad behind the grotesque mansion, Black Ridge. Joel was waiting as Moloch alighted.

  'I have the car waiting. The doctor is inside with Ethan. Shall I come with you?'

  'No, stay in control here. Tighten security. A major project is about to be launched.'

  The stretch Lincoln Continental with amber-tinted windows was waiting for him. He got inside next to the driver, told him to drive to Mrs Benyon's home at once. Looking round he saw in the rearmost seats the doctor sitting next to Ethan, his lean face twisted with anxiety.

  "There's nothing wrong with Mrs Benyon.' Moloch informed the doctor. 'She's just a psychopath, a mild case.'

  'She may be very sick.' Ethan protested.

  'I doubt it. The doctor will confirm...'

  Moloch was first out of the limo when it pulled up at the top of the drive. Using his key, he walked into the living room, followed by Ethan and the doctor. In her thronelike chair Mrs Benyon sat sagged back, gripping her two sticks.

  'I'm unwell,' she started in a low voice. "The guards are frightening me.'

  "The doctor is going to check you out.'

  'Don't want a doctor.' Mrs Benyon protested, her voice stronger.

  Moloch left Ethan and the doctor alone with Mrs Benyon. Standing in the hall out of sight, he could hear every word that was said. After fifteen minutes the doctor reappeared, closely followed by Ethan, who had a stubborn look.

  'Is there somewhere we can talk quietly?' the doctor suggested.

  'In here.'

  Moloch took them into a large study which had a triangular-shaped fireplace. The walls were tiled with weird coloured mosaics. He closed the door.

  'She's generally in good shape,' the doctor began. 'Her pulse rate is a little fast. I've given her pills for that.'

  'She's frightened of the guards,' Ethan burst out. 'She feels trapped, that the walls are closing in on her.'

  "That's true,' the doctor agreed. 'Psychologically, they are bad for her. They make her nervous - which probably explains the fast pulse rate. I strongly urge you to remove them.'

  'They're to protect her,' Moloch argued.

  "They're having the opposite effect.'

  "The bloody guards have to be sent away or I'm staying with her,' Ethan burst out again.

  'Then I'll remove them at once,' Moloch replied.

  It was a reluctant decision, but he couldn't have Ethan upset at this stage of the operation. He walked out of the house, ordered the guards to return immediately to Black Ridge, then was driven back to the mansion with the doctor and Ethan in the rear seat.

  At the house Mrs Benyon approached the window overlooking Highway One cautiously, without the aid of sticks. She sneered to herself as she watched the limo vanish while the guards walked away down the drive.

  'You're a stupid bastard, Vincent,' she said aloud. Tm going to ruin you.'

  She went to a drawer, took out the pills she had used to increase her pulse rate, threw them on the blazing log fire. A sea mist was floating in from the Pacific, the temperature had dropped and she felt cold.

  'I need someone I can tell things to,' she said, again aloud.

  At Park Crescent there was a tense waiting period. Such pauses always tested nerves. Marler was standing against a wall, thinking as he smoked another king-size. Newman recrossed his legs in the armchair, trying to concentrate on reading a newspaper. Tweed seemed most at ease, reading again a report Professor Weatherby had sent by special messenger on notes he had just found in an old file, notes made by Ethan.

  'I was just thinking of Cornwall,' Paula said to break the heavy silence. 'Most people who go on holiday walk along the rugged cliff-tops, which are magnificent. Or spend their time sitting in the beautiful coves. But these are the fringes of Cornwall. When you get inland it's a grim desert, a wilderness.'

  'True,' said Tweed automatically.

  'I went into Falmouth,' Paula continued. 'It's built in a kind of valley. Up the steep sides as you enter there are row upon row of terraced houses piled up at different levels. I noticed some strange types in the streets - rather primitive. More like a backward tribe.'

  "They're from the remote villages outside.' Newman said, not looking up from his paper. 'I suspect in a few of those villages families interbreed.'

  'Cornwall does go back centuries,' Paula agreed. 'But for a holiday the coast and the quaint villages by the sea are wonderful. I think...'

  It was noon when she was interrupted by the phone call from Langley. Monica immediately transferred the call to Tweed.

  'Cord here.' Dillon opened, 'we have another murder. This time in the middle of Carmel. Woman called Linda Standish. Garrotted. Head almost torn off her neck. A private dick. I'm in contact with the local police and they called me.'

  'Any idea when the murder took place?' Tweed enquired.

  'I got the Medical Examiner out of bed - pathologist to you - and he estimates between 9 p.m. and 11 p.m., California time. He said he had to wait for the autopsy, but if he had to guess, about 10 p.m. It's our serial killer, The Accountant, again.'

  'You're sure?'

  'Well, the victim had the letters AC painted on her bare back in her own blood. That's it.'

  "That's enough. Thanks, Cord.'

  Tweed told his team what had happened. No one said anything - they were waiting for Tweed to continue, which he did.

  'We just have time to board the flight for San Francisco. Monica, phone British Airways. Confirm all our seats. We're leaving now.'

  'Trouble is we arrive there unarmed.' Newman remarked.

  'I'll fix that Within a couple of hours of getting there.'

  Marler said. 'Weapons are easy to obtain in the States. Too easy. But I have a contact in San Francisco who can supply guns that the police can never trace. That will be my first port of call.'

  'Our first port of call is Heathrow.' Tweed told them as he fetched his suitcase from a cupboard. "The battle has started c'

  Luis Martinez had earlier become bored watching Park Crescent from his parked car. Now he was excited. People were arriving very early at the same building. First, a cleaning woman, well dressed. He had seen Monica.

  A dark-haired woman with glossy hair arrived next. Martinez had no idea his field glasses were focused on Paula, but he thought the human scenery was improving no end. Then he hit the jackpot - he immediately recognized Newman from the photos by his side.

  Later a slim man wearing a linen suit walked into the same building. Martinez had no idea he was looking at Marler, but the number of people arriving so early told him he had hit the target. Newman's arrival confirmed he was in the right place. He settled down to wait, keeping a close eye on the Merc. Newman had driven up in, now parked by the kerb.

  Butler and Nield arrived in Tweed's office soon after Marler. Tweed told them briefly that The Accountant had killed again, that this time the victim was Linda Standish.

  "The sooner we track down this serial killer the better,' he remarked. 'He is obviously a skilled operator.'

  'He?' Paula queried. 'Why does everyone assume it is a man? Why not a woman?'

  There was silence in the room. Tweed looked thoughtful as Paula went on.

  'You're all hooked on the idea that it is a man who can charm women. But a lot of women make friends with other women - or even talk to a strange one. The victims would all have been off guard with a woman.'

  'You've got a point.' Newman agreed.

  'We're leaving now,' Tweed snapped. 'Or we miss the plane. We'll take your Merc., Bob. Paula, Marler and I will go with you. Harry, you take the Ford Fiesta and bring Pete with you. Monica, warn Cord Dillon which flight we're coming on. You know the hotel in San Francisco where we're staying so...'

  'I should do. I've just reserved rooms for all of you.'r />
  'I meant to say contact me there with any development here. Tell Howard where we've gone, but don't tell Roy Buchanan - unless an emergency arises. Well, everyone, what are you waiting for?'

  Monica wished them luck. She watched them leave, full of foreboding.

  With Newman behind the wheel they made good time to the airport. Tweed sat beside him while Paula travelled with Marler in the back, and behind them Butler followed, driving with equal skill. They were close to Heathrow when Newman spoke.

  'We've been followed all the way from Park Crescent.'

  'I know,' said Tweed, who had glanced frequently in the wing mirror. 'He's been watching the office for days in a parked car. He changes his clothes. Today he's wearing a cap. But he always sits behind the wheel of his car in a certain way.'

  'Doesn't that mean Moloch will know we're coming?' Paula asked anxiously.

  'I hope so.' Tweed sounded cheerful. 'I want him to know I'm on my way. Rattle his cage a bit more.'

  'He could have a reception committee waiting for us when we arrive at San Francisco.' Newman warned.

  I've taken out insurance against that happening. Stop worrying. It's battle stations from now on.' he said with enthusiasm. 'Makes a change from being trapped behind my desk. And here is Heathrow.'

  They parked the cars in 'Long Stay' and just managed to catch the plane in time. Tweed gave Paula the window seat in First Class while the others were scattered about in Club. Paula gazed out of the window after it had taken off. She caught a glimpse of the curving Thames and then they were heading due north across the middle of England.

  'I wonder if I'll ever see this again.' she said to herself.

  18

  Martinez had watched them as they checked in their luggage. He had no idea that they were aware of his presence. The moment they disappeared through the Fast Track he called Moloch.