by Colin Forbes
'Yes, please. For Paula too, I imagine.' `I'll bring a pot,' a voice said from the door. Tweed swung round and a serious-faced Lavinia was standing by the open door, which she closed. `Black as sin, if I remember rightly last time you were here. Well, the ultimate sin has been committed now,' he remarked cheerfully, raising his glass to Paula. `Who discovered the body?' Tweed repeated in a grimmer tone. `Well, as a matter of fact I did. About eight o'clock in the evening Bella used her desk box to ask me to bring up some accounts at ten o'clock.' `How did you carry up the accounts?'Tweed enquired. `How? In that blue folder on that desk over there.
The accounts are still inside it.' `What did you see when you entered her study?' `Gave me a bit of a turn, I don't mind admitting it. She had her desk lamp on so it shone on her. I knew quickly something awful had happened. I saw that beastly thing round her neck and it was dripping blood…' `You're sure the blood was dripping?' Tweed had leaned forward across the table. 'It's important because it helps to establish the time of the murder. Couldn't have been too long before you arrived when the murder was committed. What time did you arrive in her study?' `I told you. Ten o'clock. She liked people to be punctual. I actually checked my watch before I knocked on the study door. Ten o'clock. On the dot.'
At that moment Lavinia appeared with a silver tray and the coffee pot with all the accoutrements neatly arranged. Tweed looked straight at her. `Who discovered the body?' `Marshal, my father.'
She glanced at him as though surprised he hadn't already told them. Tweed thought the way she referred to her father, using his Christian name, was very odd. He smiled, thanked her for the coffee. She left the room, closing the door behind her. `Checking up on me, eh?' Marshal said savagely. `Part of my job. I'll be talking gradually to the rest of the family and I need to know if they're telling me the truth.' He changed the subject suddenly and Paula smiled to herself, knowing it was a technique he used to throw suspects off balance. `Bella was, I gathered, Chairman of the Main Chance Bank, so who controls it now?'
Marshal straightened up. 'Well, I am managing director.' `Co-managing director,' Tweed corrected him. `There is also Warner Chance. I need to know,' he said emphatically, 'who legally will take over.'
Well…' Marshal stroked his thick hair. 'After I had phoned the Yard and, eventually, been put through to a Commander Buchanan to report what had happened I then at once phoned Bella's solicitors, Hamble, Goodworthy and Richter in Threadneedle Street, to ask them to send her will here. It is being rushed to me by courier tomorrow morning. Then we shall know what arrangements she made in the case of her demise Good enough for you?' `I shall need to see that will before anyone else.' `I say!' Marshal's face had turned red. 'It will have my name on it.' `And probably Warner Chance's. Perhaps I'd better remind you I am in charge of this murder investigation.' `So?' Marshal snapped indignantly. `The will may well have a bearing on leading me to who was the killer of Bella Main.' `It's not good enough!' shouted Marshal. 'I am entitled to read what is addressed to me. Something I had the wit to ask for.' `Didn't waste any time, did you?'Tweed said quietly. `What does that mean, damn it!' `It means that within a very short period of time after you knew your mother had been foully murdered you were most anxious to see who inherited. That worries me,' he ended grimly. `You haven't the authority,' Marshal raved.
Tweed produced the document Buchanan had given him. He handed it to Marshal. Paula, watching him read it, saw his hands tremble. Eventually he gave it back to Tweed. `You are a big bug. Signed by the Assistant Commissioner.' `So, when the courier arrives you will hand the envelope to me unopened.' `I'm tired.' Marshal stood up. 'I think I will have my meal in my apartment.' `Are you married?' Tweed said suddenly.
Paula again suppressed a smile. Tweed had again thrown him off balance. Marshal paused in midstride, turned, returned to his chair. `Of course I was. You know Lavinia is my daughter.' `Past tense,' Tweed continued mercilessly. `So what did happen to her? I need to know everything about you.' `Don't see that it matters twopence. But as you insist. My wife was killed in a road accident when Lavinia was eighteen. That was sixteen years ago. Lavinia was very upset.' `As I suppose you were' `Oh, these things happen,' Marshal said airily. 'One copes.'
The door opened and Lavinia stood with an apron wrapped round her black dress. She waited to make sure no one was speaking. `Lunch will be served in the dining room in ten minutes. I am sorry we didn't consult you. I suppose it's because of what has happened. I've told Mr Newman.'
Marshal jumped to his feet, obviously glad of an opportunity to get away from Tweed. He hurried towards Lavinia. `I'll have mine in my apartment.' `Mr Main,' Tweed called after him. 'Have you ever heard of Mr Calouste Doubenkian?' `Sounds like one of those foreigners we keep letting in at Dover. Never heard of anyone with a name like that.' `What do you think?' Paula asked, keeping her voice down even though the door was now closed and they were alone. 'It's so often the person who discovers the body who turns out to be the murderer.' `That's a myth. When I was at the Yard I got someone to compute the statistics of murderers who had not found the body. They far outnumbered the type you mentioned. Was it my imagination or did Marshal look startled when I asked him about Doubenkian?'
11
Doubenkian's mobile buzzed. He looked at Max, answered it cautiously. `Dunfield, sales director, speaking.
The voice which spoke to him was again horribly distorted. They were using some kind of instrument: it wag impoggible to tell whether it was a man or a woman, which irked him. `Bella Main has died suddenly.' `Good. How did that happen?' `Also Tweed has arrived at Hengistbury with Paula Grey. He brought with him Robert Newman, Harry Butler and a man called Marler.' `You did my Newman?' Doubenkian enquired.
He swore. His informant had gone off the line. He was disturbed, looked round the interior of the cottage for a hammer. Knowing what he wanted, Max handed him the hammer he always kept for these occasions.
They had driven with Max behind the wheel from the second base in Norfolk that day. They were now ensconced in an isolated cottage, owned by Doubenkian, situated well outside Leaminster, also located within fifteen miles of Hengistbury Manor, just outside the edge of The Forest. Max expected they would soon be moving on.
He watched as Doubenkian, his back to him, removed his dark glasses and replaced them with a protective pair. On a large wooden table he then proceeded to smash the mobile phone to pieces.
Substituting his dark glasses for the protective version, he turned round to Max. `Isn't that going a bit far?' Max suggested. 'Once you have used a mobile you destroy the SIM card, then select from your collection a fresh one.' `The report regarding Hengistbury is good – and bad. You know that Bella Main controlled the Main Chance Bank. She mistakenly refused to sell it to me. She is dead.' `Murdered?' Max asked. `My anonymous informant didn't say. Now we have to wait and see who inherits.' `Who might that be?' `Either Marshal Main or Warner Chance.' `And supposing, whichever one it is, also refuses to sell?'
Doubenkian smiled, a horribly sadistic smile. 'Then we use the Vienna method. You remember the bank the owner first refused to sell? Then I had his offspring kidnapped and he agreed to sell immediately – without any reference to the police.' `I still don't see how you would handle the situation.' `Simple, my dear Max. If it's Marshal we kidnap his daughter, Lavinia. If it's Warner Chance we kidnap either his son, Leo, or his daughter, Crystal. Whichever it is, we tell the father his child's right hand, cut off at the wrist, will be delivered by courier. Carefully wrapped, of course. We must do the civilized thing' He grinned. `I can't do that sort of thing,' Max said firmly. `You really are soft-hearted. That worries me sometimes. So I'll call in Jacques, the French butcher in Paris. It makes no difference to him whether the meat he is slicing up is dead or alive.'
Max, revolted, changed the subject. 'I still don't know why, once used, you destroy a mobile and use a fresh one.' `Because of the terrorist threat, the British GCHQ is now monitoring calls at random. One call, recorded, does not arouse their susp
icions. More than one might wake them up. So I use a different number each time. My informant has a list of the numbers in sequence. Which is why you need never fear a tough grilling at Scotland Yard:
Max fetched a dustpan and brush, began scooping up the pieces of the smashed mobile phone. He was stopped in his tracks by Doubenkian's next order. `Your next job is to kill Robert Newman, who is staying at Hengistbury.' `Why Newman? He's an international news reporter. Don't see the point,' Max protested.
Which is why I'm where I am and you are where you are,' Calouste sneered. 'He is now one of Tweed's key team members, but every now and again he writes a big article. It is syndicated all over the world. The moment he finds out I am involved he'll write another sensational article – so then all my plans to control Britain through capturing the main financial centres will be ruined. I want him dead. Preferably due to an apparent accident. But dead however you manage it. He's staying at Hengistbury.' `I'll get down there in the morning.'
12
`Not thinking of mountaineering, Bob?' Paula teased.
It was the following morning after breakfast. Newman was standing at the end of the corridor beyond the second-floor apartment he had been given. By his side stood Paula while Lavinia, her arms crossed, stood on his other side. `Bob climbed the Eiger in Switzerland to strengthen his muscles,' Paula explained. 'Can you believe it?' `Pike's Peak may not be the Eiger,' Lavinia commented, 'but it has already killed three people who attempted to reach the summit. I gather there's only one so-called safe side for an ascent. You can see from here it is like an enormous smooth cone. Nothing grows on it. The rock is brittle so you can't hammer in pitons to hook a safety rope through. It's not so bad, apparently, for the first one hundred feet. Above there it's a death-trap.' `Sounds like a challenge,' Newman replied with a grin. `That's the attitude which kills men,' Lavinia warned. `With a good pair of binoculars,' Newman persisted, `the summit would be a perfect look-out point to scan The Forest, to see if anything funny is going on.' `What can you do with men like this?' Lavinia remarked with a sigh.
She turned to study Newman. Early forties, she guessed. She liked his fair hair, his strong head with handsome features, his grey eyes which often had a quizzical expression. His shoulders were broad, his body well built. Everything about him suggested strength and determination. She rather liked him. `Can you see it from Gladworth?' Paula enquired, hoping the answer would be a negative. 'Bob and I are going in to town on a mission for Tweed.' `That's where you get the best view,' Lavinia explained. 'You walk down Pegworth Lane, opposite the Pike's Peak Hotel, where you can get the best lunch. The cone rises sheer above you. I've done a bit of climbing in the Italian Alps but you won't get me attempting Pike's Peak.' `Excuse me a minute,' said Paula. 'I want to go and check something with Tweed…'
Left alone with Lavinia, Newman seized the opportunity to chat her up. He found her hypnotically attractive. Her mysterious large blue eyes seemed to swallow him up when he gazed into them. `Don't you get bored sometimes, locked up in this great mansion?' he suggested with a smile. `Sometimes,' her appealing voice replied. `Then why not come up to my place in South Ken? We could paint the town red. Or at least go out to dinner, say at the Savoy?' `I've been there,' she said, still staring at him. `Well, what about the Ivy?' he suggested with a wide smile. `I'd prefer the Savoy,' she countered. `Anywhere in London that catches your fancy. Here's my card. If I'm out it won't be for long. I have an answer-phone,' he pressed. `So I leave a message. "It's me. At the Savoy,"' she teased him. `Well, here's my card…' `My hands are sticky from cleaning up the kitchen.' Her smile was wicked. 'Slip it inside the top pocket of my blouse.'
Without hesitation he tucked it inside the pocket. Lavinia's flirtatious personality underwent the swiftest change as she heard the clack-clack of Paula's ankle boots re-entering the room. `I had got it right,' she told Newman. 'Thought it best to check. Lavinia looks dressed for more housework. We had better get moving, Bob.' She smiled briefly at Lavinia, whose face was now expressionless.
***
`We'll go in my Merc,' Newman said firmly as they walked down the steps from the terrace. 'Better than flying madly along in that macho-style Porsche.' `I do happen to be a member of the Advanced School of Motoring,' she snapped back. sensed you were taking more than a brotherly interest in the glamorous Lavinia. I thought back in town your girlfriend was Roma.' `She's getting serious, so I'm beating a hasty retreat. I never saw the ambulance last night taking away poor Bella.' `Practical Lavinia had told them to park at the back of the manor. Same thing with the police cars bringing that technical team from London. She said it was amazing how the locals heard bad news and gathered like ghouls outside the gates.'
Newman had started the engine when the rear door was opened. Someone jumped into the back, slammed the door shut. It was Crystal. Too late to consider throwing her out: the gates, presumably operated by Snape, were already opening. `This is great!' Crystal called out as she leaned close to both of them. 'Escape from Belmarsh!' her voice was normal: buoyant and bubbling.
Paula twisted round. Crystal's flaming thick red hair was neatly brushed. She was clad in a riding jacket zipped up to her long neck, jodhpurs tucked into riding boots. Her wide mouth with full scarlet lips was open, exposing her sharp little teeth. She pulled a face at Paula before asking her question. `Looks like we're headed for Gladworth. We are? Goody. I have loads of shopping to do. Why are you going there?' she demanded, sagging back in her seat.
Girl can't keep still a minute, Paula thought. `We are also going in to Gladworth to do some shopping,' Paula replied. `I'm going to sleep till we get there,' Crystal said. Newman closed the window separating the two compartments. The glass was soundproof.
A moment later a courier on a motorcycle appeared from behind them. He slowed alongside Newman's window and Newman halted the Merc. `Sorry to bother you,' the courier began. `I'm looking for a Hengistbury Manor. Can you help?' `You came past it,' Newman told him. 'Turn round, go back about three miles. Keep an eye open for tall wrought-iron gates on your right. You may have to use the speaker-phone.' `Thanks a lot, guy.' `He'll have the will,' Paula whispered as they drove on.
'We'll miss the fireworks. Any idea who inherits?' `Not a clue. Bella was a wily lady.' `Expect there'll be a queue on the terrace when he arrives,' Newman mused. `Lavinia will take charge. See it reaches Tweed first. He has already spoken to her.' `All that money. All that greed,' Newman mused again.
Way of the world.' `And they're all being paid huge salaries, I'm sure,' Newman remarked. `People always want more, more, more.' `I don't,' he protested. 'That book gave me all I need.' `They should put you in a museum. The Man Who Doesn't Want More. It's why you're so contented. I've noticed.' `Did you notice we had hardly any talk from Warner Chance?' `Another contented man. Just a minute. I could be so wrong.'
Why?' Newman asked.
He never got a reply. They suddenly emerged from the dark tunnel hemmed in by massive firs on both sides and their dense branches overhead into the village of Gladworth. The sun was blazing and a few shoppers strolled the pavements.
Driving slowly towards them was a brown Ford. The driver had a deerstalker hat pulled down over his face, and was clad in country clothes which helped him to merge into the atmosphere of a country town. Max pulled into the kerb and watched the Merc, waiting.
***
Patiently, he observed. Newman had parked in front of a hardware shop. Attached to its window was a notice. Climbing Equipment For Your Swiss Holiday. He saw Newman going into the shop, a man easily recognized from pictures he'd seen in the papers when an article of his in Le Monde had been published while he was in Paris. A few days ago, he'd taken his picture secretly when he'd left the Park Crescent building.
He was startled to see Paula Grey by Newman's side. He recalled his encounter with her in the upmarket Mayfair pub. Who the third passenger was he had no idea. She was a ravishingly attractive girl with long red hair, but it was Newman who excited Max. His victim
had come to him.
Inside the shop Newman had bought a canvas bag with a strap he could sling over his shoulder. He began to collect pitons, two small strong hammers, a pair of climbing shoes. `What do you want all that clobber for?' Paula demanded. 'You're not really going to climb Pike's Peak, are you?' `I caught a glimpse of it as we passed Pegworth Lane. I feel like having a go.' `Don't be so stupid,' she snapped.
Annoyed, she crossed to the pharmacy section, bought a bottle of toilet water. Crystal peered over her shoulder to see what she was purchasing. A faint whiff of Chanel drifted into Paula's nostrils. As she reached inside her windcheater for her purse, Crystal drifted away and she was joined by Newman. Instead of her purse she brought out a folded sheet of cartridge paper, her original sketch of the man who had lured her to the pub in Mayfair. She showed it to Newman. `We'll know him if we ever see him again.' `I will. I studied the photocopy you gave me…'
Reluctantly she followed Newman as he crossed the High Street. Behind them was a clatter of running feet. Crystal was coming with them. No pedestrians anywhere in Gladworth now. They walked down Pegworth Lane, a narrow cobbled street lined on both sides with old stone terraced houses. No one about. Paula found the heavy silence was getting on her nerves.
Beyond Pegworth Lane was a track, even narrower, hemmed in by trees and undergrowth. Ahead loomed the sheer side of Pike's Peak. Paula moved ahead, then called back. `This looks like the tricky side you don't attempt.'