by Colin Forbes
'You're planning all-out war,' Newman commented. 'Was it the killing of Mark that stimulated you to arrange all this?'
'I suppose it was a factor.' Tweed stood up, started pacing. 'It underlined how vicious Oskar Vernon is. And I think I'm beginning to sort out the good side from the evil. I'll be more certain after our meeting with Rondel and his partner tomorrow.'
Newman had opened the door to leave when he bowed, turned to Tweed, winked.
'You have a visitor. Don't stay up all night.'
Lisa walked into the suite as Newman left, closing the door carefully behind him. Tweed stared as he stood up. She was wearing a close-fitting strapless white evening dress. Round her waist was a green lizard belt with a lock ornament dangling from it. She carried a green evening bag no larger than a foolscap envelope.
'Well,' she said, with a wicked smile. 'Do I pass inspection, sir?'
He knew then that she was in a whimsical mood, which clashed with his own reaction to the recent tragedy. He managed a quirky smile.
'Not bad. Would you like a drink?'
She sat down on a couch against the wall, crossed her shapely legs and a slash in her dress exposed one leg almost to her thigh. Looking at him from under her eyelashes she spoke in a mock-indignant voice.
'Not bad? Is that all? And I would like a drink.' Glancing at the table, she saw the bottle Newman had left. 'I'd like a terrific double Scotch. Please. Sir."
He found a fresh glass on a lower shelf under the table and poured Scotch slowly.
'Say when.'
'Keep going.'
He continued pouring. He looked at her and she was watching him quizzically, one bare arm stretched along the back of the couch. He used tongs to cram the glass with ice, hoping it would dilute the Scotch, then placed it on the table close to her.
'Any more,' he remarked, 'and you might spill it down that glorious dress you're almost wearing.'
'That's better. Much better. You are drinking with me? I hate drinking alone.'
He found another fresh glass, poured himself a modest drink. She patted the space beside her, raised her eyebrows, patted the space again.
'You are going to sit with me.'
I don't think so, he thought. If I get any closer to her now, heaven knows where we'll end up. He sat in the upholstered chair, raised his glass.
'Cheers!' He took a small drink. 'Now where the devil have you been for the past few hours?'
'You missed me. I like that.'
'Where?' he growled.
'I like you when you growl.'
He began to realize she was going to be hard to handle. He decided not to mention Mark's death. He felt sure she had not heard.
'What are all those policemen doing outside the hotel?' she asked.
'Maybe there was a traffic accident. Lisa, where have you been?'
'You went off to dinner without me this evening.' She pouted, then waved aside the reaction as childish. 'That's why I got all dressed up. I was hoping.'
She'd had another mood change. Tweed, for the second time, decided she was going to be difficult to handle. He was damned if he was going to apologize. Then he went ahead and said the wrong thing.
'It was a private dinner. A business dinner . . .'
'About the coming crisis?' she said quickly. 'I had a weird idea I was involved. Or are you shutting me out now?' She was annoyed. 'Give me a cigarette.'
He took out his packet, held it out. Then he leaned forward, lit the cigarette for her. She thanked him, sitting stiffly erect, taking several deep drags, then carefully tipping the ash into a crystal glass ashtray. He kept quiet until she had stubbed out the cigarette, leant back against the couch cushion, her chest heaving. She folded her arms.
'What crisis?' he asked quietly.
'The big one . . . the one that's going to blow up in our faces out of nowhere.' She was talking rapidly. 'The one you should be making preparations for . . . although, knowing you, I expect you've already made them.'
He was having to concentrate to follow her. He wondered if she'd take off again if he, once more, asked her where she had been. He decided she would. She seemed to read his mind.
'When I realized I wasn't included in the party I hit the town. Oh, you're probably wondering how I knew you'd gone out to dinner.' Which was exactly what Tweed had been wondering. 'I saw Newman further down the corridor when I was coming out of my room. He was standing in front of a wall mirror, brand new suit, fresh shirt, new hand-made shoes, fiddling with his Chanel tie to get it just right. Going out to dinner, I thought. Why didn't Tweed warn me, I thought. Because I'm not included on the menu.'
'Well, you know why you weren't included now.' He spoke quietly. 'I agree we might be close to a major crisis, but what gave you that idea?'
'Sixth sense,' she snapped.
'You can, I suspect, do better than that.'
'Lisa,' she said, 'he says do better than that. OK, I will.' She half-smiled at him. 'I trawled the Reeperbahn - don't look like that. Wait till I'm finished. I used taxis to move from one bar to another ..."
'In that outfit?' he asked in a worried tone.
'Just watch me.'
From her small evening bag she took out several hairpins. She lifted her red mane, coiled it on top of her head and held it diere with die pins. She picked up the scarf she'd carried in, now spread over a couch arm, wrapped it round her head, tied it under her chin. The next item from the evening bag was a pair of large spectacles with thin horn-rims. She perched them on the bridge of her nose. Finally she took out a very small metal case, extracted a slim cigar, placed it in her mouth. She was unrecognizable and none too attractive.
'Well?' she said.
'I'm amazed. I suppose you learned tricks like that when working for the security agency in New York.'
'Right on the button, Mister.'
Her accent was convincingly American. Tweed waved both his hands in admiration.
'I got lucky,' she said, after removing the cigar, 'in the sixth bar. I'd left my drinks hardly touched in the other bars. In the last bar I found myself sitting next to Blue Shin, Pink Shirt, whatever
'He's been identified as Oskar Vernon, now staying at the five-star Atlantic facing the Aussenalster.*
'Now he tells me.' She smiled. 'Oskar, then, was whispering to my old friend, Barton, last seen in Bedford Square while I was with my friend, the tramp. I have very acute hearing. Oskar said, "We're going to have a bloodbath with that bastard Tweed and his whole team. Wipe them off the face of die earth. Soon now. We just have to trick them, get them well outside Hamburg. I've worked out how we do it." Having heard that, I thought I'd better make myself scarce. Oh, Oskar was wearing a violet shirt. Hideous.'
'So now we know.'
She reached for her half-empty glass of Scotch, put it down untouched. She pulled the scarf off her head, dropped it on the floor, removed the spectacles which had made her look like a schoolmistress. She looked as though she had squeezed the last drop of energy out of herself. She swayed. Tweed grabbed her by the shoulder. She closed her eyes, opened them again with an effort.
'I'm flaked out,' she said hoarsely. 'Can't move my legs. Sleep. I need sleep. For a week . . .'
She swayed again. She was half asleep already. He moved to the end of the couch. He just had time to grab a cushion, lay it on his lap, before her head fell on it. Leaning forward, he got hold of her legs under the knees, spread them along the couch. She half opened her greenish eyes, looked up at him.
'Thanks,' she mumbled. 'I know poor Mark is dead. Saw his body on the pavement when I got back . . .'
Then she fell into a deep sleep. Tweed understood now her erratic moods. The sight of Mark, half his head shot away, had shaken her up badly, accounted for her swift changes of emotion. He leaned back against the high end of the couch and fell fast asleep.
He woke in the morning to find her still fast asleep, her head in his lap. Daylight filtered through the closed curtains. His back felt stiff as a board but he had slept non-stop. He
couldn't move without disturbing her so he stayed still until, after a few minutes, she opened her eyes, stared at him, smiled. Lifting her head, she sat up, planted her legs on the floor.
'A shower,' she said, suppressing a yawn. 'My kingdom for a shower.'
Tweed pointed to the bathroom, told her to take her time, that he'd have a shower when she had gone.
I'll order breakfast for us from room service,' he called out.
'But won't they think . . .'
'Who the hell cares what they think? What do you fancy for breakfast?'
When she had gone into the bathroom, he ordered orange juice, coffee, toast, scrambled eggs and tomato, croissants, marmalade for two people. Then he tidied himself up, checked in a wall mirror, decided he wouldn't have time for a shave but he didn't look too bad.
'Bathroom's yours,' she said, emerging more quickly than he'd expected.
She was wearing a white flannel robe she'd found in the bathroom and looked herself again. She smiled at him.
'Excuse the robe. I do have the dress on underneath.'
'I'd better hurry. Breakfast will come soon . . .'
During the first part of breakfast they didn't say much to each other. Lisa had said she was ravenous. Then Tweed, keeping off serious subjects, described to her the Aussen - or Outer - Alster. How the ferries zigzagged across it, moving from one landing stage to another, picking up and dropping off passengers. How, at the extreme distant end, it narrowed into little more than a wide stream with willows drooping into the water with small parks behind them.
'Sounds heavenly,' she said, watching him.
'We ought to take a trip sometime,' he suggested.
'I'd love to. Sounds so peaceful -you described it in such a graphic way. I think I'll get back to my room now.'
She returned the robe to the bathroom, straightened her creased dress, went to the door, looked back.
'Am I still on the team?'
'You were never off it.'
CHAPTER 24
Paula tapped on Lisa's door. She heard it being unlocked and approved of the caution. Lisa opened the door, looked pleased, invited her in.
'My face is a mess,' she explained. 'Do sit down while I try to make it look half decent.'
'You look OK,' Paula replied as she sat down next to the table with the phone.
'Don't feel it.'
'You have heard,' Paula began tentatively.
'About Mark being shot last night? Horrible, isn't it? I saw him on the pavement. I must have got back just after he had been killed. I felt sick.'
The phone rang. Lisa asked Paula to see who it was so she could finish her renovation. Paula picked it up, was about to ask who it was when a creepy voice spoke.
'Oskar here. I have news ..."
Paula put down the phone as though it were red hot. She was careful not to look at Lisa, who turned round on her dressing table seat.
'Was it Tweed again?'
'Wrong number.'
'Tweed rang me a few minutes ago to tell me you and Newman were going with him to a business meeting. Said he hoped you'd be back in a couple of hours. You know I'm still feeling ill about poor Mark. You don't look too good yourself.'
'I'm all right. I'd better go soon. I just called to see if you had heard - and if so how you were.'
Paula was in a state of shock. Why had Oskar Vernon -she felt sure it had to be him - phoned Lisa of all people? She let herself out, saying nothing in case her voice might betray her.
In the corridor the same small chunky uniformed hotel cleaner was still operating his vacuum cleaner. She noticed that the trousers he was wearing flopped over his shoes. His jacket wasn't a wonderful fit. She walked towards Tweed's suite.
'Good morning,' she said as she passed the cleaner.
He grunted, didn't look up. Which was unusual. She'd found all the staff so polite. Maybe he was new. She knocked on the suite door and Tweed, wearing a new business suit, a coat over his arm, ushered her inside.
'You won't need a coat this weather,' she told him. 'It's a boiling day outside already.'
'You're right. Can't think why I took it out of the wardrobe. Had my mind on something else.'
The death of Mark, she thought. Or, more likely, working out his strategy for the meeting with Rondel and his partner. She sat down, couldn't think of anything to say. Shouldn't she tell him about the weird phone call in Lisa's room?
'Lisa,' he said, 'has had a bad time of it. She actually saw Mark's body on the pavement when she got back to here. From Bob's description, when he visited the morgue, it must have shaken Lisa up badly.'
'I can understand that.'
She was still trying to decide whether to tell Tweed when Newman arrived. He smiled at her, squeezed her shoulder.
'I can do without any more grim shocks today. What are the tactics for this morning?'
'Leave me to do the talking,' Tweed replied. 'You two keep your eyes open. You might just see something interesting.' He looked at his watch. 'Time to go. Nield has told the porter to have the Merc ready for us - the cream one, of course.'
When they entered the corridor Paula noticed the man using the vacuum cleaner had disappeared, but half the carpet still needed attention. Tweed had gone ahead, turned to call to Paula.
'I'm having a brief word with Lisa, then Keith . . .'
He tapped on Lisa's door and stood half inside when she opened it. Paula heard every word that was said.
'Lisa, I'm off to a meeting with Paula and Bob. Expect to be back in about two and a half hours. I hope you can then join us for lunch. You can? Good.'
He hurried on to Keith Kent's door, beckoned Paula and Newman to come with him. A heavy-eyed Kent let them in. Paula thought he looked as though he'd had no sleep. His desktop was scattered with Kefler's papers and he had a small ledger open. The page was a jumble of figures. He took the blue book out of a drawer and it had a marker inside it.
'Didn't know who it was,' he explained. 'So I hid the book.'
'How is it going?' Tweed asked.
'I'm breaking it, but haven't got there yet. The blue book Mark provided is invaluable.'
It occurred to Paula that Kent didn't know Mark was dead. He was in his shirt sleeves and on another table was a tray of coffee, remnants of croissants. Tweed looked at it.
'When did you last eat a proper meal?'
'Can't remember. Been at it all night. It's absorbing.'
'Go down now and get a decent meal at the Condi,' Tweed told him.
'I can't leave these papers, even locked up . . .'
'Lisa could come and keep guard while you eat,' suggested Tweed.
'Lisa,' Paula said hastily, 'is fagged out. She told me,' she lied, 'she didn't get any sleep - probably after her long day yesterday.'
Tweed glanced at her, bewildered. There was nothing that he could say, that it would be wise to say. He looked back, saw Newman standing inside the closed door, turned to Keith.
'Any hint as to what you've found so far?'
'Oh, there's a ton of money missing. But whether it's still somewhere inside the bank or has been moved elsewhere I just can't fathom yet. Nor who is responsible for the movement. I'll crack it, but it may take a few more days.'
'Promise you'll phone room service, order a proper meal as soon as we've gone.'
'I'll do that. I've just realized I'm hungry . .'.'
The cream stretch limo was waiting for them and Newman took the wheel. Paula sat beside him and Tweed rode in the back. Tweed had once visited Blankenese and navigated for them.
It didn't seem to take long for them to leave behind the massive, stately buildings which were Hamburg and then they were driving along a rustic road with trees in leaf. Paula gazed out and to each side they began to pass imposing mansions set back from the road with manicured lawns in front of them. The architecture varied enormously - there were mansions in the old style, square and solidly built, but others were more imaginative with long frontages, thatched roofs and strange turret-l
ike towers. Each property, she guessed, would cost a fortune to buy.
'Marler and Nield are not far behind us in the Opel,' Newman remarked. 'Not a bad idea, maybe. It's rather lonely out here.'
'We're approaching the house,' Tweed warned from the back. 'I can see a sign ahead pointing to a side road. Taxusweg. Rondel scribbled that as a landmark when he gave me the address.'
Newman slowed, indicated right. A warning to Marler they were close. As he had anticipated, Marler turned down Taxusweg. To park discreetly, Newman guessed.
'This big house well back,' Tweed warned. 'Turn along the drive.'
Newman swung into the wide entrance, flanked by two pillars, each surmounted with an elegant lantern. The front garden was like a small park with lawns and beautiful specimen trees. But no electronically powered gates, Paula thought — and no sign of guards. You just drove in.
There were other lanterns perched on steel posts scattered amid the trees. This place must look even more glorious after dark with the lanterns lit, she mused. A large long mansion built of white stone came into view. Newman parked close to the main entrance, a pair of heavy oaken doors.
'Well,' said Tweed, before alighting. 'Let's hope here is where we find the key to what is really going on.'