Inside Tweed found a small bare room, walls lined with steel filing cabinets, a table, two chairs. A white telephone sat on the table. He pulled out one of the chairs, made himself comfortable and dialled a Frankfurt number from memory. A girl answered immediately, repeating the number he had dialled and adding the digit nine.
`Hadrian calling,' Tweed said. 'The Hadrian Corporation. I'd like to speak with Mr Hugh Grey.'
They were using Roman emperors this month for the call-sign — Howard's idea, of course.
`I'm afraid he's away negotiating a deal for a few days,' the girl responded.
`When might I get him?'
`He didn't say. I don't think he knew himself.'
`Thank you...'
Tweed broke the connection. Grey could have called him from anywhere in West Germany— Münich, Stuttgart, Cologne. Anywhere. And it was strictly against the rules to ask for a contact number. A rule Tweed himself had laid down when he had tightened security six months earlier.
He next dialled Harry Masterson in Vienna. The same reaction. Masterson was out of town. No, they had no idea when he'd be back. Patiently, Tweed went on. He dialled Bern, to speak to Guy Dalby. A third negative. He sighed. The last one now — Copenhagen.
The girl answered in perfect English, which was just as well. Tweed spoke no Danish.
`He is not here at present. If you would care to leave a message?'
`No message...'
Tweed stared at the phone. Zero out of four. There was nothing strange about it. He had personally trained all four to get out of their offices, into the field, to keep close personal contact with their agents. In a way it was a good sign. So why was he so disturbed?
He found Kuhlmann and Newman sitting at a table in an empty canteen. The German said would he like some coffee? Tweed shook his head and sat down as Kuhlmann continued what he had been saying to Newman.
`... So a team of psychiatrists is on the way from Wiesbaden. I could do without those gentlemen. Most of them are nut cases.'
Their reports — the bits you can understand — read like the ravings of madmen. Which doesn't help — considering we're all hunting someone who has to be stark raving mad...'
`Or a sadist,' said Tweed.
`Which comes to the same thing. They draw up a profile — a portrait of the personality of the killer...'
`I'm beginning to build up my own profile of him,' Tweed remarked. 'How can we most easily get to Travemünde from here?'
`By using me as a chauffeur. I'm on my way there myself.'
`Oh, thank God you've come, Tweedy. I rang the Jensen but they said you'd gone out. Isn't it too horrible... another girl... and a blonde again... I'm blonde...'
Diana Chadwick was shaking as Tweed arrived on board the Südwind. She ran forward as he stepped off the gangplank, threw her arms round him and sank her golden head into his chest. He patted her back, squeezed her, realized for the first time how slim she was. She cried a little. Tears of relief. Then she released him, dabbed at her eyes with an absurdly small lace handkerchief, and drew herself erect.
`I'm making a perfect fool of myself. Do forgive me. Let's have something to drink. Coffee? Something stronger?'
`Why not coffee. Under the circumstances?'
`You're so right. Alcohol will make me go to pieces again. Come down into the galley with me while I make the coffee. I don't like being alone for a second at the moment...'
He followed her down the companionway into the galley, perched on a narrow leather couch and looked around while she busied herself with the percolator.
'I was actually on deck here when that girl was killed,' she said.
`How do you know that? You heard something?'
`Oh, nothing horrible — like screams. But it's all over the town. The fact that she was killed about midnight. I was sitting watching the lights, waiting to feel sleepy.' She turned to face him, leaning against the counter while she waited for the coffee to be ready. Her face looked whiter than ever.
`Actually, Tweedy, I did hear something about a quarter past midnight. I didn't think much of it at the time …'
`And what was that?'
`The sound of a dinghy crossing the channel from the beach on this side to Priwall Island..
`Diana...' Tweed was leaning forward, watching her intently, his eyes alert with interest behind his glasses. `... exactly what do you mean? A dinghy doesn't make any noise.'
`I'm not explaining this very well.' She brushed a lock of hair back over her finely-shaped forehead. `I mean a dinghy equipped with an outboard motor. I even saw its wake — quite a distance beyond the marina. It disappeared behind a headland on Priwall Island. I thought it was a bit late for someone to be going home and then it went out of my mind — until I heard the news this morning.'
`Have you told the police?'
`God, no! They never stop questioning you.' She was leaning back so the curve of her hips showed clearly against the close- fitting white dress she wore. 'Coffee's ready,' she said and poured two cups. They went back up on deck.
`It's so claustrophobic down in that galley,' she said.
Tweed recognized the symptoms. She couldn't stay in one place for long. The symptoms of shock. They sat in the chairs on deck, the sun shone down, and she had no protection to shade her face. Badly shaken, Tweed said to himself. Understandable. But why this intense degree of shock?
`Will Dr Berlin be cancelling his party this afternoon?' Tweed wondered aloud. 'In view of what has happened?'
`Oh, no, I'm sure he won't. He's a wonderful man, but he is hardly aware of what is going on outside his own private orbit. I noticed that when I first met him in Kenya.'
`How did you first come to know him?'
`I must have been no more than eighteen. Everyone worshipped him — the work he was doing to help the natives. He had a hospital in the bush. Today everyone thinks of him as a second Dr Albert Schweitzer. He was a bit out of touch with the real world from what I've read. I drove a truck with medical supplies into the hospital in the bush. I was very idealistic in those days.'
`And now?'
`I suppose I've seen too much of men to be idealistic any more. It can be a curse being a blonde. They all think... well, you know. Dr Berlin isn't like that though. He's only interested in his work, his work for the refugees now..
`But surely the refugees who fled from East Prussia and the other territories after the war are settled, have made a life for themselves?'
'On the surface, yes. Underneath, it can be very difficult. Divided families on both sides of the border. He negotiates with the East Germans at times. They accept him as a neutral, probably because his parents were born in Leipzig.' She gave Tweed a fresh cup of coffee.
`That's enough about me — and Dr Berlin. Why is Bob Newman hobnobbing with Ann Grayle? I saw him over there walking on to her landing stage...'
`You know these reporters. Always love talking to people, hoping for something they can turn into a story …'
`I spent the morning, Mr Newman, going through my bags looking for my gun,' Ann Grayle said as they sat on the deck of the sloop, drinking gin and tonic.
`And did you find it?'
`Look.' She reached down for her handbag, opened it and handed something to Newman, leaning forward so he caught the faintest whiff of perfume. She really was a very attractive woman he thought to himself.
Resting on the open palm of his hand was a Browning automatic.32 calibre. He recognized the weapon. Manufactured at Herstal, Belgium.
`Careful, it's loaded,' she warned.
`You have the experience to use it?'
`I was a crack shot back in the old Nairobi days. A woman left alone while her husband was working needed some protection. The natives could turn on you without warning.'
`And if someone crept aboard this sloop after dark?'
`I'd shoot him point-blank.'
There was a crisp, whiplash in her tone. As he handed back the gun Newman had no doubt she'd do just what s
he said. She slipped the Browning back inside her handbag and crossed her shapely legs, watching him as she spoke.
`I see your friend, Tweed, is being entertained by Goldenlegs. Is he a widower? He'd better watch it.'
`Goldenlegs?'
`A bit crude perhaps, but it sums up her best assets — and how she uses them...'
`I don't imagine Dr Berlin has much interest in women,' Newman said, changing the subject.
`Your imagination would be wildly wrong. I know he poses as the great Father Figure, the second Albert Schweitzer. But take my word for it, he likes attractive girls. You'll see some of them at his party. He has them carefully vetted before they're admitted into the august presence.'
`Vetted? You're joking...'
`I'm not used to being contradicted. Vetted is what I said. His chief assistant, Danny Warning, checks their backgrounds before any girl is allowed near Dr Berlin. They're on the lookout for reporters slipping through the security. I can't imagine why you've been invited...'
`Maybe because I did once interview him. You've kept your friendship with Dr Berlin since those long ago days in Kenya?'
`Since Nairobi I haven't exchanged a word with him — nor have the rest of the old crowd. He keeps us very much out of his new life.'
`Why?'
`I've no idea. He wasn't sociable back in Kenya. But then the bush hospital took up most of his time in those days.'
`You said none of the old crowd knows him any more. What about Diana Chadwick?'
`Goldenlegs is the one exception. She helped him with the hospital years ago. I suppose they struck up some kind of relationship that has lasted. Mind you, in case you think I'm the perfect bitch, I'm sure her friendship with Dr Berlin is purely platonic, as they used to say.' She stood up. 'And now I'm going to throw you off the sloop. I have my hair to wash — that beastly atrocity last night has upset me. And I see Tweed has torn himself away from Diana and is coming over to see you. Have a good time at the party. It will be an eye- opener …'
Fourteen
The ferry to Priwall Island was like a barge with steel walls and a raised ramp fore and aft. It was crammed with passengers and carried about half-a-dozen cars. One of the crew was chatting to Tweed while Newman and Diana stood near the prow.
`That tall building over there is the Maritim Hotel,' the crewman told Tweed. 'There's a flashing light at the top after dark to mark the entrance to the channel. You can see the old lighthouse — that red structure this side..
Tweed estimated the hotel was well over twenty storeys — far and away the tallest building in Travemünde or Lübeck. The Baltic was choppy with wavelets under the burning sun, but the crossing took less than five minutes.
`Looks like we have a maniac on the loose,' the crewman continued. 'Two girls raped and slashed up in less than twenty-four hours. It's going to affect the season if we're not careful.
I heard a number of holidaymakers have paid their bills and left.'
`How do you know they were raped?' Tweed enquired.
`It's all round the town. People talk of nothing else. I'll have to go now...'
The ferry slowed, bumped against the shore, the forward ramp was lowered and cars and passengers on foot began disembarking. Tweed was about to follow when the voice spoke in his ear.
`Interesting that Dr Berlin doesn't allow anything to disturb his arrangements. A couple of girls carved up,' Kuhlmann went on, 'a trivial incident.'
`You are coming to the party?' Tweed asked as they walked off and started down the Mecklenburger-strasse. He was again struck by the peace of the island, the abundance of trees.
`I may put in an appearance later. Take a good look at the security. God takes good care of himself. Have fun...'
It started immediately at the entrance to the mansion. Tweed was startled to see Newman holding up his arms while two guards patted his body, checking for weapons presumably. Another guard was checking Diana's handbag. Tweed joined the queue and heard Newman's comment loud and clear.
`Hell's bells. You think we're boarding an aircraft? Where are the metal detectors? And if you've got the American President here your security is lousy. Where are the dogs?'
There was confusion. The queue froze. A short, heavily-built man with a bald head which gleamed in the sun hurried up to the guards. He addressed Newman.
`I am Danny Warning, chief of security. Who are you?' `Newman. Robert Newman. And I was invited to this San Quentin circus you're running..
`You said something about dogs,' Warning said nastily.
`To sniff us for explosives. Do the job properly or not at all,' Newman went on sarcastically.
Warning turned to another guard who held a clipboard and a pen. 'Robert Newman,' he snapped.
`Yes, sir. He's on the list...'
`You have some form of identification?' Warning demanded as he turned to face Newman again. 'Driving licence? Passport?' `In a pig's eye...'
A tall thin man came running across the vast expanse of lawn. Tweed realized Newman's voice must have carried clear to the distant mansion looming in front of more trees. The thin man grasped Warning's arm.
`It's all right. I recognize him. No fuss...'
`I have my job to do,' Warning snapped again.
`Dr Berlin sent me to tell you. No fuss,' he repeated. `You may proceed,' Warning said.
Newman looked over his shoulder to where Diana stood watching him with a quirky smile. He beckoned her forward and shouted at the top of his voice.
`Come on! Don't worry. If Danny Warning tries to search you I'll kick his teeth in...'
What the hell do you think you're doing, Tweed wondered at the back of the crowd of waiting people. He watched Diana stroll forward, Newman take her arm and lead her across the lawn. When Tweed reached the open gateway he stopped and waited for the guards to check him. For the first time he noticed the thin man had a walkie-talkie. As Warning stepped forward the thin man again laid a hand on his arm.
`Let Mr Tweed through. He is an honoured guest.' `Thank you,' said Tweed.
Warning's dark eyes, blank of all expression, scanned Tweed, then he snapped his fingers. One of a dozen waiters touring the lawn with trays of glasses came forward.
`Champagne here, sir.' He indicated a line of glasses. 'Or Chablis or Beaujolais...'
`Champagne, I think. Thank you,' Tweed said again and wandered towards the large mansion perched on a slight eminence. It was probably built before the First World War, he guessed. The trim lawn was crowded with groups of chattering guests. Newman and Diana came up to him.
'And what was all that about, Bob?' Tweed asked coldly. 'We didn't come here to be conspicuous.'
'A test. First, I don't like being pawed by Dr Berlin's goons. But mainly to see how much he would take. How badly he wanted us to attend his shindig...'
`You're brighter than I'd thought,' Tweed admitted. 'And His Highness is up there, I think...'
They had their first view of Dr Berlin.
In front of the three-storey mansion — running along its full width — was a raised terrace. A broad flight of stone steps led up to it from the lawn. At the foot of the steps stood a group of men in civilian clothes who were obviously guards, barring the way.
A large oblong table covered with a white cloth stood in the very centre of the terrace. A dozen people sat at the table, nine men and three attractive girls, two brunettes and a redhead. At the far side of the table in a central position sat a bulky figure with a black beard.
He sat very still, a grey beret pulled down over his head. A cloak of the same colour was thrown over his shoulders and draped over his body despite the torrid heat. But the looming hulk of the mansion behind threw a shadow over the terrace.
Dr Berlin wore large tinted glasses and he was holding up a pair of binoculars aimed at the entrance gateway. Tweed sipped at his champagne as he studied his host from a distance of about fifty metres. Newman smiled cynically before he spoke.
`One thing I'll give him — he's well-org
anized.'
`What makes you say that?' asked Diana.
`That sudden switch of attitude on the part of bully-boy Danny Warning puzzled me. I see what happened now. From his elevated position Berlin can see through those field-glasses clear to the gate. He recognized me. And by his left hand on the table is a walkie-talkie. He can issue instructions to every guard on the premises through that. How did you manage, Tweed?'
`Received as an honoured guest...'
`You can see why now. He saw you through the binoculars — and for my money this is a damned weird set-up.'
`I can see the "how",' Tweed said slowly. 'What I don't see is the "why" — why he should be so interested in inviting me here so he can see me...'
`Or so you can see him,' Diana interjected flippantly.
`And this is as close as we get,' Newman remarked.
Across the lawn was strung a thick rope slung from poles rammed into the grass. The area beyond was empty of guests and more guards in civilian clothes patrolled up and down behind the rope.
`You know what I think they were checking me for?' Newman remarked to Diana as they strolled back into the crowd. 'A camera. You said he didn't like his picture being taken. Now I wonder why?'
`He's just naturally shy. Hates publicity. There are very few photographs of him in existence. He wouldn't even let me snap him. We've lost Tweed,' she said suddenly.
Tweed was still standing where they had left him, taking polite sips at his glass while he apparently admired the mansion. But all the time he was studying Dr Berlin. His host swivelled the field-glasses and the twin lenses focused directly on Tweed. Aware of the scrutiny, Tweed held his ground, staring back.
Apart from manipulating the binoculars the man rarely moved. Others at his table chatted away to each other, drank and refilled their glasses, ate from plates piled with some kind of edibles and seemed to be enjoying themselves. Dr Berlin put the binoculars down on the table, still staring at Tweed through the tinted glasses, his hands hidden behind two large coffee pots.
The Janus Man Page 11
