'Well you might,' Lucinda responded. 'I lay out all his clothes on the second bed in his room. Otherwise I'm sure he'd be totally confused.'
'Before we leave, have I missed anyone?' he enquired.
'The most glorious sight of all,' she said, dripping with sarcasm. She grabbed his arm again. 'Come inside, this you must see . . .'
Entering the spacious living room, they saw the large table laid for dinner. Four places. Bowls of white roses — which had to be silk, Paula thought. Sprawled in an armchair, a bottle of Scotch on the small table by his side, was Aubrey Greystoke.
He wore a white naval officer's uniform, complete with a white peaked cap as worn in the tropics. The cuffs of his sleeves were embroidered in gold. Paula put her hand to her mouth to avoid bursting out laughing. He looked quite ridiculous.
'You're supposed to be drinking white champagne,' Lucinda snapped. 'Larry will be furious when he sees the Scotch.'
'Just emptied . . . bottle of champagne, my dear. See, there's the dead 'un. Surely I'm entitled to a chaser? I thought this was a party.' He suddenly became aware of Tweed and Paula, jumped agilely to his feet. In doing so his elbow knocked the empty champagne glass off the table.
Before it could reach the floor his hand caught it in midair. He put it back on the table.
Nothing wrong with your reflexes, however much you've imbibed, Paula thought.
'I say!' Aubrey greeted them. 'What fun! You two joining the revelries. Great! I'll just go and warn Mrs Brogan. Two more for dinner.' He grinned. 'The old trout will love me but she is just a servant.'
He made it sound as though he were referring to a peasant. He was stopped by Tweed.
'Thank you, Greystoke, but we can't stay. Have to get on elsewhere.' .
'Bad show, but still, you do have your responsibilities. Next time, maybe.'
Lucinda hugged them both again after Tweed had assured her they had transport. They descended the steps with the distant sound of Lucinda arguing with Mrs Brogan. Paula waited until they had turned the corner and were walking up the path to the gate by the side of the mansion.
'Now, what happened? When I first saw you on the terrace your face was as white as their bloody party. Did something happen on the tor? Why all that rock dust on your sleeve? I need to know. I'm worried.'
'It was an episode of great importance. From very high up I could see a faint light in the bell tower - and another one in that row of cottages. We're going to take a look now at both places before we leave for the main event.'
'That doesn't explain your lack of colour. You're concealing something.'
'Well,' Tweed told her as they reached the gate, 'there was also an attempt to murder me. Someone came up behind me high up and shoved me in the back. It would have been rather a lethal drop.'
'Oh, my God! You should never have climbed up there.'
'Yes, I should. It gave me final confirmation where to look for the Skeleton Killer.'
'I don't get it.'
'Just before someone tried to push me down so I'd end up like spiked meat, to quote Mrs Brogan's graphic phrase, I caught a flash of white behind me. Couldn't see who it was but when I get down to the ground what do I find? Four people all dressed in white. Larry, Lucinda, Aubrey and Michael. One of them is the Skeleton Killer.'
A shadowy figure appeared close to the far side of the wall as they walked into the road. From the shape, the way it held itself, Tweed identified it at once.
'Keeping guard over us, Harry?'
'Thought I'd keep one eye open,' replied Harry as he walked up to them. 'Anything exciting happen in there?'
'Nothing I didn't expect,' Tweed said quickly before Paula was able to say anything. 'We're on our way to a row of cottages just down the road. Might need your toolkit to get inside.'
'Back in a minute . . .'
They walked past the bell tower, which had a light on inside, then past the church, which was in total darkness. Paula felt inside the shoulder bag Marler had brought all the way from the cul-de-sac where she had been kidnapped, gripped the butt of her Browning.
'Something about this area which makes me nervous,' she said.
'And so often your instincts are right,' Tweed remarked.
Arriving at the dark row of cottages - no glimmer of light from behind the closed blinds this time - Tweed cautiously led the way round the back. He listened. He shone the light beam of his torch on a heavy closed door. Two large Banham locks were fitted to it, one above the other. He tried the handle, pulled. It wouldn't move.
'Think this is my job,' said Harry's voice behind them. He was carrying a toolbox, which he placed on the ground, opened the lid, brought out a large collection of keys. 'A bit of peace and quiet, please.'
Peace and quiet? The silence of the moor was already getting on Paula's nerves. Newman appeared, squeezed Paula's arm, nearly made her jump out of her skin. Tweed put a finger to his lips.
The third key Harry tried opened both locks. He grunted with satisfaction, stood back and gestured.
'Open sesame. Might be an idea to go in armed,' he whispered.
Tweed already had his Walther in his hand as he slowly turned the handle. The door swung inward, noiselessly. Well-oiled hinges. He smelled an aroma of well-maintained machinery as he walked a few paces inside, listened, then switched on his torch full beam.
The cottages were hollow, one running into another for quite a distance. They were mostly occupied by an endless conveyor belt of complex machinery. In the middle ran a long tube of metal with runners to speed up whatever they carried. Newman had walked, using his own torch, to the end on their left, then round the beginning of the conveyor belt and continued towards the far end of the machine.
Tweed followed him with Paula and Harry behind, and stopped at the point where the conveyor belt started. His torch focused on a metal device at head height, a combination of small metal levers turned at different angles. He recalled Drago's description with hand gestures demonstrating how the armaments plant was converted from producing artillery shells to missiles.
'Come quietly along here,' Newman's distant voice suggested, 'and watch your footing.'
His voice echoed eerily inside the strange plant. Tweed looked back at the door. Either Paula or Newman, maybe Harry, had closed it. In crocodile formation behind one another, torches aimed at the floor, they walked quite a distance before they reached Newman. He held up a hand to stop them.
'No further. You're not going to like this, Tweed.'
Newman's torch swung away from the conveyor belt to a heavy cradle protected with rubber, standing about four feet high and positioned against the wall. Resting on it, glowing silver in the light from Newman's torch, was a long, slim, metallic object the shape of a very thin sausage.
'A missile?' Tweed said quietly.
'Exactly. And it's armed for instant detonation when the tip hits its target.'
'Oh, my God!' Paula said to herself, her stomach compressing.
'Why?' asked Tweed.,
'Think I know what happened. They've produced heaven knows how many missiles. And recently - hence the faint smell of shaved steel. That happens during its early passage along the belt. Did you notice an alcove leading to the belt a few yards back? You did. That's where they attach the tip of powerful explosive. They either had enough when this one arrived, or it wasn't passed as approved. So some maniac lifted it off the belt, placed it on the cradle and left it there without removing the explosive tip.'
'Maybe we'd better get out of here,' Harry suggested.
'You're all getting out, except me,' Newman told them. 'At the time of the Afghanistan war the MoD showed me a film about missiles, after I'd signed the Official Secrets Act again. Then I wrote that article for the Daily Nation, explaining why the war was necessary.'
'I remember it,' Tweed said. 'So why are you staying?'
'Have to,' Newman replied easily. 'I know how to disarm this thing. Criminally careless of them to leave it armed. If any vandals get in here and fool with th
is thing they could blow this place, and the road outside, to smithereens. Any cars passing would become scrap metal. I do know how to do it. So, all of you, push off and don't stop until you reach the church.'
'I don't like you doing this,' Paula protested.
'Shut up and shove off now,' Newman snapped, deliberately rude to get them out.
Harry led the way, followed by Paula and Tweed. Before he closed the door Tweed called out to Newman. 'Watch it. We're off. . .'
At Tweed's insistence, they walked rapidly back along the road. Arriving outside the bell tower, Tweed sent Harry back to the rest of the team with orders for them to stay where they were until he arrived. Harry asked whether he should tell them what was going on. Tweed told him to keep his mouth buttoned up.
'We'll go in here and explore,' Tweed said after Harry had gone.
He pushed open the heavy door of the bell tower, peered inside. He walked in with Paula and stared round, looking for the Reverend Stenhouse Darkfield. No sign of anyone. He frowned, checked the corners. No one.
The rope that operated the huge bell high above them was still. It hung limply, showed no evidence of recent movement. Tweed stared up at it.
As they left and returned to the road, Paula gripped his arm. From the direction of the armaments plant they heard a steady humming sound of machinery moving. It was quite loud and then it stopped.
'What was that?' Paula asked, scared.
'My guess is it was good news. Newman's disarmed the missile. Afterwards, he set the machinery moving to see what happened. I think that was a good sign. Now for the church. Maybe the vicar's inside.'
'Without a light?'
'I'll go in first,' Tweed said firmly.
He pushed open one of the double doors, paused, listened. Not a sound. His expression was grim as he felt around for the switch to turn on lights. The interior was suddenly flooded with light. He walked forward, step by step. Ignoring his order, Paula followed, then froze in mid-stride.
289On the altar, facing them, the Reverend Darkfield was staring at them. At least his severed head was. Placed where they had once found the head of a calf. Tweed went closer. Blood dripped over the edge of the altar. The eyes were open - someone had inserted matchsticks to keep them that way.
29
Paula ran out of the church. She thought she was going to throw up. Reaching inside her shoulder bag for a handkerchief, her hand touched her water bottle. She grabbed it, tore off the cap, inserted the neck in her mouth and gurgled as she was swallowing. The water quenched the queasiness in her stomach. She recapped the bottle, shoved it in her bag and began walking back and forth across the road, taking in deep breaths of cold air. Tweed's hand was gripping her arm.
'Why?' she eventually asked, standing on the far side of the road, as far away as possible from the church.
'I had wondered,' Tweed said. 'I heard the bell clanging when I phoned Lucinda. You're just heard the noise the armaments plant makes when it's operating. Someone paid the vicar to ring the bell nonstop to mask the humming sound when the plant was working.'
'But why kill him?'
'The last witness left alive who might have let slip what was happening.'
'How the hell did they get rid of the body, then?'
'Coming back up the path beside Abbey Grange, I noticed the marks of a heavy single wheel. My guess is the killer used a wheelbarrow to transport the body on to the moor, then dumped body and barrow into one of those deep slimy marshes Dartmoor is notorious for.'
'It could have been the cult,' she said, her voice trembling.
'Forget the cult. That's a story spread by the killer to mislead us.'
'What's happening?' Newman's voice called out. 'I removed the lethal tip from the missile, found a strongroom lined with steel and put it in there. Probably built for that purpose. Is something wrong?'
'Go inside the flaming church and you'll find out.' snapped Paula, still not her normal self.
Newman, clearly surprised by her attitude, glanced at her, then turned round and walked inside the church. He was inside longer than Tweed would have expected. When he came out he was holding his .38 Smith & Wesson in his hand. He walked up to Paula.
'I see now why you're upset. It's quite horrible. I've been checking every corner of the church in case the fiend who did that was still there. The place is deserted.'
'Probably has been for some time,' Tweed commented.
'Why was there a light in the bell tower,' Paula asked, 'but no light in the church?'
'The killer is cunning,' Tweed surmised. 'In case anyone did come along - as we did — they would explore the bell tower first, find the Reverend Darkfield wasn't there, and walk away. Since the church had no lights they wouldn't think of going inside it.'
'But you did,' Paula said.
'Yes, but I had certain data. Drago Volkanian told me he was in favour of conservation. This was proved by the supermarket depot on the M3. It looks more like Wisley Gardens than a plant. The linked-up cottages intrigued me. Eventually I wondered if they housed his so-secret armaments plant. He'd have had to get permission from the local council for planning. The idea of making that plant look like a typical Devonian row of thatched cottages would have appealed to them. But they wouldn't want noise, not industrial noise. So someone persuaded the Reverend Darkfield to ring the bell when it was operating. The killer simply paid him larger sums while the production line was secretly turned over to making missiles.'
'A feasible theory,' Newman agreed.
'Even more feasible when I noticed the oil tracks from large vehicles of very recent movement. And more are there now. Paula, you remember when Buchanan's assistant, Warden, drove us ostensibly to Abbey Grange, then lost his way and took us all the way across to the coast of North Devon by mistake? I let him continue when I noticed oil from large vehicles was marking the route we followed. You remember that?'
'Yes, I do.'
'And later we drove along a promenade-like road with the sea on our left? I got Warden to stop just past Harmer's Head cliffs and we explored a deep gulch in the rock wall. Inside we discovered something curious hidden away - a long railed landing stage with wheels to make it easy to move. Where else did we see something very similar?'
'My Lord! I've got it. On that island in the Med - where beyond the edge of the landing platform the Oran had used there was a very similar landing stage under the water.'
'So you know our next objective?'
'To drive the same route Warden took us by mistake. Because that could be the landing point for the Oran on its way here from Angora to collect the missiles needed for the long-range rockets obtained from that madman, Kim, of North Korea.'
'And Drago's armaments plant here has very recently produced a large number of the missiles they need.'
'To fire at which target?' Newman asked.
'I can only guess. Paris, London, Berlin?' He checked his watch. 'Now we must head fast for Harmer's Head, hoping we're in time . . .'
As they hurried back to where the Land Rovers were parked a question struck Paula. She asked it as they hustled along.
'You said "our next objective", as though there will be then a final one. What is that?'
'To return to Abbey Grange so I can attempt to identify who is what the newspapers, in their lurid way, have called the Skeleton Killer.'
30
Tweed, with Paula and Newman, ran quietly back to where the two Land Rovers were parked with the rest of the team.
'This is the plan,' he told them. 'We will now drive with me in the lead to the coast of North Devon. We drive a short distance past the row of cottages, then we turn right on to a rough wide track across the moor.'
'Who drives which vehicle?' asked Harry.
'I was coming to that. I will drive the first Land Rover with Paula by my side and Marler in the back. Harry, you drive the second one behind me. Newman and Nield will be your passengers. It will be a rocky ride over rough territory and I'll be moving as fast as I
dare. All clear?'
'There's going to be a firefight?' Harry suggested.
'Maybe. If so it will be a murderous one. Depends on the situation when we arrive at Harmer's Head.'
He jumped in behind the wheel of the Land Rover as Paula joined him, and Marler dived into the back seat. Marler was carrying his Armalite. He'd brought it with him concealed under his overcoat from Stonehenge.
Tweed crawled past Abbey Grange, the bell tower and the church with its hideous altarpiece. He pressed his foot down as soon as they were beyond the cottages. He turned his headlights on full beam. On the road ahead were clear oil marks of trucks with a wide span.
No Mercy Page 27