The Savage Gorge tac-24

by Colin Forbes

  'I do understand.'

  'One more question, if I may. Could you, with your extraordinary skill, produce a complete set of chess pieces?'

  'Yes…' Cocker paused. 'It would take time.'

  'It really has been a unique pleasure knowing you.' Tweed held out his hand and Cocker grasped it. Tweed lowered his voice. 'There will be no order for you to appear before any judge.'

  'I was shocked by your threatening him with a court order,' Paula commented.

  'On a murder investigation I use any method to get information.'

  Marler met them outside. He seemed in an excep tionally good mood.

  'Better get back to the hotel. Everyone, including Harry, has to be in the dining room for breakfast by 3.30 a.m. The landlord was very cooperative.'

  '3.30 a. m!' echoed Paula. 'What on earth for?'

  'I told you, breakfast. Then we drive along the High Street so you can see the battlefield. Harry has kindly let me drive his inconspicuous grey Fiat…'

  Entering the deserted lobby, the buoyant Marler slapped Paula very gently on her rump.

  'Sleep well,' he said. 'It will be a quiet day.' 'When someone predicts that,' she snapped back, 'the day turns out to be anything but quiet.'

  TWENTY SIX

  The pallid grey dawn transformed Gunners Gorge as they drove slowly out of the garage. Marler was behind the wheel with Tweed alongside him. Paula shared the back with Harry.

  'I don't know how you managed it,' Paula said.

  'Managed what?' Harry growled.

  'Breakfast. You had a three-egg omelette, crispy bacon and fried potatoes.' She chuckled. 'You'll put on weight.'

  'No, he won't,' Tweed called back. 'Had his annual check at the beginning of the year. The doctor said he'd never seen a fitter man.'

  Paula was peering out. The town looked weird as the dawn light spread over it: more like a frightening ghost town. The streets had recently been hosed down by night workers. Not a soul to be seen.

  Halfway along the High Street, Marler dipped his head to gaze up through the windscreen. When they reached a layby he swung into it, stopped, turned off the engine.

  'Someone is watching from the top of the ridge. Be back in a minute. Everyone stay in the car…'

  Diving out, he began climbing rapidly up a steep gulley. He paused frequently to listen. Nothing. He continued climbing, avoiding beds of pebbles, which would make a noise, and made his way up to the summit over a grassy area. At the top he peered over. A short distance to his left stood a heavily built man peering through a large telescope mounted on a tripod. The telescope was aimed at the caves on the far side of the Falls.

  Marler remained quite still as the man turned his head, then went back to staring through the telescope. Marler knew now who and what he was. Dangerous. Very slowly he eased his way across the grass on the summit. Then he hauled the Smith amp; Wesson revolver he had borrowed from Bob Newman out of his shoulder holster, tucked it down inside his belt.

  He suddenly leapt up, ran, his long legs covering the ground swiftly. His target heard him coming, bent down to an open satchel on the ground, came up holding a stiletto-like knife. He swung round. By then Marler was behind him. The heavy barrel of the revolver crashed down on his head. As the target sagged, the barrel descended again with all Marler's force.

  Checking the man as he lay crumpled on the ground, Marler found no sign of a pulse. A few yards beyond the telescope on its tripod was a steep, narrow gulch. Pebbles covered its entrance, then came smooth rock, ending abruptly where more rocks had blocked any exit.

  Marler lifted the body, hands under its armpits, dragged it to the top of the gulch, shoved it down. The corpse slid rapidly down over the pebbles like a toboggan. It continued its journey until it hit the blocked exit and lay still.

  Marler threw the dropped knife into the gulch and, after a quick look, the satchel with neatly arranged pockets for different knives.

  Next he gazed through the telescope, which had a nightsight. He found he was staring into the shallow cave at level one on the other side of the Falls.

  'Thought so,' he said to himself.

  Heaving up the whole apparatus, he flung it into the gulch. In doing so, one of the tripod legs caught briefly in a drystone wall perched on the opposite edge. Several large stones broke loose and fell into the gulch. Which gave him another idea.

  He walked round the top of the gulch, sat down on the far side, placed his boots against the wall. He took a deep breath, heaved against it with all his strength.

  The whole wall collapsed into the gulch. It nearly took him with it. Marler grabbed a gorse bush, which saved him. Easing himself back from the drop, he stood up, walked back round the end, peered down. The dawn light was stronger.

  All he could see was a jumbled pile of rocks. No sign of the body, no sign of the telescope, no sign of anything. He clapped both hands lightly, then scampered back down the route he had ascended, slipped behind the wheel.

  'What happened?' Tweed asked.

  'I ’ d underestimated Lepard's caution. He placed a chap with a large telescope up there, aimed at the caves. Purpose – to make sure we hadn't discovered them and had people checking them out. A nasty piece of work monitoring the telescope. Chap called Pearl Kerwald.'

  'Pearl is a girl's name,' Paula said.

  'A nickname. His technique was to patrol Bond Street, Mayfair, areas like that. He'd see a well- dressed woman with a string of pearls round her neck, grab her from behind, use a sharp knife to cut the rope near the clasp. There were cases when his knife slipped and he'd cut her throat. He'd throw her over the bonnet of a parked car, yell, "Heart attack!" and disappear.'

  'Where is he now?' Paula pressed.

  'Somewhere inside that small mountain. They said twelve thugs coming up. One down, eleven to go…'

  'You've tactfully left out the one I had to strangle,' she told him, squeezing his shoulder.

  'OK,' he agreed as he pulled out into the street and headed north. 'If you insist, two down and ten to go…'

  Paula could now hear the muted rumble and roar as thousands of gallons of water poured down over the Falls. A good mile further north they passed the old iron road bridge linking Ascot Row with the High Street.

  Paula was staring to her right at the scenic beauty. Vast fields of grass spread out as far as the eye could see. The endless green she found soothing with the silence of the open country. Ahead was a huge six-exit roundabout.

  Signposts indicated routes to towns Tweed knew were a long way north. The fifth exit, as Marler circled the roundabout, pointed to London.

  'That's their escape route,' he remarked. 'Ours too if it all goes wrong.'

  'Be confident,' Paula said sharply.

  'A good planner,' Tweed explained to her, 'always has his escape route worked out.'

  They drove slowly back towards the hotel through still deserted streets. The air remained very crisp. As they approached a sign with the word Marcantonio's, Archie MacBlade ran down the steps, waved for them to stop.

  'I've booked a table upstairs at the Gold Bowl for all of you. Breakfast awaits…'

  'We had it earlier,' Paula protested.

  'Sure you're not hungry again?' Archie said with a warm smile.

  Paula suddenly realized she was ravenous. It must be the air, which had a nip of cold in it. Archie guided Marler up a narrow street to a car park at the back. They returned to the front. He led them up a flight of steps and inside.

  'I could eat a horse,' said Harry.

  'Not on the menu,' Archie chaffed him. 'You'll wish there was somewhere like this in London. Locals come, eat breakfast and then go back home and sleep ready for the day's riding. They were here finishing breakfast when you drove past earlier. Come on…'

  They entered a tastefully furnished hall and, led by Archie, stepped inside a spacious elevator. The panel had three buttons. Archie produced a black card, inserted it into a slot, then pressed the top button.

  'Can't get to the
Golden Bowl without inserting the card,' he explained.

  A small man in evening clothes with a long thin moustache was waiting for them. He bowed.

  'Welcome, Mr MacBlade – and your friends.'

  He showed them into a large circular restaurant. Paula looked up. The ceiling was a golden bowl. Archie spoke as they sat at a large circular table.

  'This is Marco, the owner. The beautiful woman with him is his sister, Benita.'

  'I supervise the kitchen,' she said, looking with a warm smile at Paula. 'Your orders, please. Anything.'

  'Could I have two fried eggs, crispy bacon and fried potatoes?'

  'Of course, ma'mselle.'

  Harry ordered three fried eggs with all the trim mings, and so it went on. Marco returned with a silver bucket, tripod and a bottle of expensive champagne. Paula stared.

  'It is a champagne breakfast,' Archie said. 'The feast is on me.'

  Marco used a towel to wipe the bottle dry, removed the metal covering then the cork, sniffed it. Tweed was leaning forward, gazing.

  'What's fascinating you?' Paula asked.

  'His skill.'

  Service of the first-class food was swift. Paula plunged her knife and fork into a fried egg, cleaned her plate at the same moment as the others. She had sipped her champagne and then drunk the whole glass.

  Greetings were exchanged with Marco and his sister. Paula was leaving when Benita gently tucked a black card inside the top pocket of her leather jacket.

  'Welcome at any time,' she whispered in her soft voice.

  Archie remained and they returned to the car. As they were leaving, Paula and Tweed were now in the back, and she nudged him.

  Tm going back to sleep.'

  'So am I,' he said. He paused. 'That is the most important breakfast I've ever had,' he stated.

  'Important?'

  'Important.'

  TWENTY SEVEN

  Paula couldn't get to sleep. She changed position, tossed and turned. No good. She shouldn't have drunk that whole glass of champagne. She gave up trying to sleep.

  Jumping out of bed, she dressed again. Checking the time, she went quietly into the garage. 9.45 a.m. Marler waved to her. She joined him.

  Tweed was behind the wheel of the Audi, about to depart. He lowered the window, called out to her.

  'Couldn't sleep? Go back, have another shower.'

  The Audi crawled out of the garage, proceeded slowly up the High Street. Paula clenched her fists inside the pockets of her tunic. Marler, sensing her tension, put an arm round her waist.

  In the far distance, way north of the bridge, she saw a brief brilliant lightning flash. Everywhere the sky was a molten menacing grey.

  'I do wish I was with him,' she said. 'Could it be today?'

  'Definitely not. The thugs have not taken up position in those caves. I'm just hoping that triple storm holds off until we've done the job. Forecast says it will arrive in the late morning. As to Tweed, he has to keep up what they think is his daily routine.'

  From the Audi, Tweed was observing housekeepers entering the general store and other shops. The air had turned heavy, sultry. A prelude to the expected rage of the gathering storm.

  Behind his net curtain, Lepard watched as Tweed passed his window at twenty-five miles an hour. He squeezed his clawlike hands together, his face twisted in a sadistic smile.

  'Enjoy your last day on earth, Mr Tweed,' he said aloud.

  When Tweed returned to the garage he found Paula still standing by Marler's side. He frowned as he alighted.

  'Paula, I told you to get back to bed.'

  'I'm going now. Wanted to see you safely back.'

  'Well, now you've seen me, kindly shove off.'

  'You look heavy-eyed,' she told him. 'Plenty of sleep for you too. You have that dinner here with Mrs Shipton this evening. She's sharp.'

  'Sharp as a knife. And she's rapidly moving up my shortlist of suspects…'

  In his suite, Tweed forced himself to take a quick shower. He phoned Dowling, asked for a wake-up call at 6 p.m. Putting on his pyjamas he got into bed. The moment his head rested on the pillow he fell into a deep sleep.

  He swore to himself in the evening when the phone rang, picked it up, thanked Dowling. His wristwatch showed precisely 6 p.m. He felt amazingly fresh.

  Putting on his best suit, he went downstairs into the dining room, booked a table in a secluded alcove with its back to the wall. Returning to his room he found a note inside an envelope pushed under his door.

  To give you the privacy you need I'm dining elsewhere with Newman and Archie. Love, Paula.

  She thinks of everything, he said to himself. Taking some care, he brushed his hair, put on his jacket again. Always in earlier interviews he had worn his working suit. He knew a smart appearance impressed women.

  He was in the hall when Mrs Shipton drove up in her Renault. A servant rushed forward to park it.

  'Now, you listen to me,' she began in her imperious manner. 'There are several other cars in the garage. Therefore you will be most careful not to scratch the body of my car. I shall examine it scrupulously when I have had dinner!'

  She remained a distance from him, extending her hand, compelling him to walk to her. In her most queenly mood, Tweed was thinking.

  He showed her to the table. She looked archly at him as she slid along the banquette into the corner.

  'Now you've got me penned in if you say something I don't like.'

  'It's easier for me to order dinner from this seat,' he replied casually.

  They had placed their orders when they both stared. A new diner had walked in by himself. Falkirk. He chose a table just far away to be unable to hear what they said, then summoned a waiter. Between them they shifted the angle of the table, and Falkirk sat down.

  'You see what the swine has done?' Mrs Shipton said viciously.

  'He's angled the table so he's not observing us directly. But he only has to switch his gaze a fraction to check on us. I notice you don't like him much.'

  'He's a private detective…'

  'I know.' Tweed sipped the Chablis he'd ordered, nodded.

  'He's also a blackmailer. I should know. He blackmailed me.'

  Tweed was taken aback. Nothing showed in his expres sion as he forked his souffle into his mouth. He was also watching the man who was standing well back in the entrance to the dining room, surveying every diner. In his hand he was holding a mobile phone. It was Lance. Very smartly dressed, as always, he wore an electric-blue two-piece suit and a pink shirt. One moment he was there. The next moment he van ished.

  'That was Lance,' Mrs Shipton said. 'Looking for a female victim for the evening.'

  'Possibly,' said Tweed.

  'Nothing here to suit his exotic taste.'

  'How did Falkirk try to blackmail you?' Tweed asked suddenly.

  'I let that slip.'

  'And now,' Tweed said firmly, 'you have to tell me the whole story. I don't have to remind you -'

  'That you are investigating a triple murder,' she said, mimicking him.

  'Stop pussyfooting. I need to know.'

  'I hired Falkirk when he came to Hobart House looking for business

  …'

  'Hired him to do what?' demanded Tweed.

  'To check out whether Myra had been murdered, all those years ago.'

  ' Why?' Tweed pressed harder, his voice tougher.

  'Well, if it had been Lord Bullerton maybe I was in a dangerous position. I'm often alone with him in the house.'

  'You mentioned blackmail by Falkirk. Tell me.'

  'I hired him…' She hesitated. 'To look for evidence that Myra had been murdered. Pushed over the Falls.'

  'You've started. Might as well tell me the lot.'

  'He said his fee would be roughly five hundred pounds. Then he came back and said he couldn't find any evidence. He said his fee would be five thousand pounds. Then he whispered he didn't think Lord Bullerton would like what I had done at all.' Her voice trembled with fury. 'I pai
d. Lord Bullerton and I were getting on rather well,' she added coyly.

  'If this factor has a vital bearing on the case -'

  He stopped speaking as something extraordinary happened. Sable, clad in riding kit, had stormed into the dining room, was heading for their table fast. She stood before them, hands on hips, shouting at the top of her voice.

  'So she's got you, the master detective, hooked too! Did you know she's got every man hooked between her legs? She is nothing but an evil tart…' A string of obscenities was shrieked, her face distorted in a mali cious sneer. 'Been to bed with her yet? Or is this dinner the flaming prelude?'

  The whole restaurant was staring. Tweed was reluctant to get up, fearing a physical tussle with her. Two men came in, Harry and Marler. Harry was carrying a towel soaked in water.

  They came swiftly up behind her. Marler grabbed her arms, Harry used his wet towel to wrap round her mouth, making sure she could breathe. They frog marched her to the exit. Marler smiled at his audience as he drawled quickly at them, 'She gets like this every six months. She's seeing a doctor…' Then the three disappeared through the exit. Diners started eating again. Some had their heads together speculating on the dramatic scene they had witnessed.

  'I think we'd better leave,' whispered Mrs Shipton.

  'The last move to make. And I'm enjoying this super souffle. Don't you like the look of yours?'

  'I suppose you're right.'

  'I often am, Ms Montgomery Fisher-Mayne. Do you ever miss the atmosphere of Barham-Downstream?'

  'What!' she screeched quietly. 'What the hell did you say?'

  Tweed had chosen the right psychological moment. 'Mrs Shipton' was off balance, still reeling from Sable's embarrassing attack.

  'I was being polite, addressing you by your real name. I also mentioned where you had come from. Why, after such a long time, did you come here – such a long time after Myra's murder?'

  'What! She was murdered, then?'

  'I doubt I'll ever prove it. Too long ago.'

  'You're confusing me…'

  'That was one of the best souffles I've ever tasted. Ms Fisher-Mayne, did you kill her? For leaving you to struggle with the general store alone? Hatred sometimes takes years to build up.'