The Main chance tac-23

by Colin Forbes

  Tweed asked her to give him a large transparent evidence envelope. She produced one from a compartment in her briefcase. He slipped the book inside, she sealed it, tucked it into an empty compartment in her case. `Fingerprints?' she suggested. `Yes. Give it to Harry. He always carries the kit. Mind you, I don't expect to find any. This killer has already shown how thorough he is.' `What a weird book for Bella to have in her library,' Paula commented. `I expect she bought them in job lots to fill the bookcases. Part of her showmanship to impress millionaire clients. When Harry has checked it for fingerprints I want you to bring the book back up here and slip it into place. There's a gap and I found the book pushed back about an inch between the others. As you shrewdly said, it narrows the suspect to someone in the manor. I've had enough of being in here.'

  They were walking down the imposing staircase when they met Lavinia coming up. Tweed paused. `Lavinia, am I right in assuming the only entrance to the manor and its grounds is the main entrance gate?'

  Now it is.' She smiled, her arms full of files. 'But ages ago there was a small pedestrian entrance at the far end of the wall, beyond where it curves away from the road. It was bricked up Heaven knows how long ago. A small arched gateway. Was it quiet for you in the smaller library?' `Yes, we just rested and talked, which made a change.'

  At the bottom of the staircase Marler appeared from nowhere. He looked up to make sure Lavinia had gone, then told them. `Couldn't help hearing what Lavinia said. I'm sure she thinks what she said is so.' He paused. 'But it isn't.' `What do you mean?' Tweed asked sharply. `I've prowled The Forest inside the wall until I almost know every tree. Eventually this morning I found the second way in, what she called the small arched gateway. Bricked up? I think you'd better come and see for yourselves. You are in for a shock.'

  28

  Marler led Tweed and Paula through the kitchen, ignoring Mrs Grandy's protests. She showed her feelings by raising the meat cleaver she was using and thudding it down deep into an empty section of the heavy work table. `She'll have trouble hauling that out again,' Marler commented. `Wait a minute,' Tweed whispered to Marler and Paula ahead of him.

  He lingered just outside the back door. He saw the ease with which Mrs Grandy took hold of the handle and lifted out the cleaver. He had realized she was a strong woman but this display of exceptional strength made him frown. He nodded to his companions to keep walking.

  It was a long trudge through The Forest before Marler held up a hand. They paused and Marler explained, 'I left Harry to keep an eye on this second entrance. He has his Walther and some grenades. Don't want to startle him.'

  Cupping both hands round his mouth he called out: `Harry, there are three of us coming. I've bought Tweed and Paula.'

  His clear voice echoed through The Forest. They crossed a small clearing and there was the wall, curving away from the road a distance back. Tweed stared at an opening with a craftsman-like arch above it. On the manor side, neatly piled against the inner wall, were piles of old intact bricks, the material which had sealed the opening. `Well,' Paula said grimly, 'that knocks on the head my theory the murderer had to come from inside the manor.'

  She had hardly finished speaking when Harry shoved Tweed against her violently. They both managed to keep their balance but ended up clear of the arched entrance. A second or two later a bullet, aimed from outside the arch, passed where Tweed had been standing. Harry's reaction was instantaneous. He had a grenade, taken from the deep pocket of his windcheater, in his right hand, had the pin withdrawn so it was live. `All right mate,' he said quickly. 'Want to play games?'

  He lobbed the grenade into the centre of a clump of bushes on the far side of the entrance. There was a flash, a muffled thump. The next sound was the revving up of an invisible motorcycle, then of it racing full throttle across the open land beyond the deep tangle of bushes. The sound died swiftly. `Missed him,' Harry said philosophically. 'Sorry for the shove but I heard movement in the bushes over there.' `It simply means Tweed is still the main target,' Marler said. `Calouste; Tweed remarked, 'must think in some degree I'm in his way for his next move.' `Or,' Paula suggested, 'his informant inside the manor thinks you're now getting too close.' `Whatever.' Tweed shrugged. 'Harry, did you see the two so-called necklaces found inside Crystal's wardrobe?' `Yes, I'd walked in, seen them clearly. Then old Hammerhead very rudely told me to get out. I did so but my elbow accidentally jabbed him in the ribs.' `So how would you carry one of them round the manor without risk of its being seen?' `Easy. Big briefcase. Both insides lined with thin metal and sheets of leather so no noise as you cart it about.' `Thank you. Paula, let's get back to the manor. I want to subject Warner Chance to intensive interrogation…'

  ***

  Jacques took a deep breath as he descended the steps into the luxuriously furnished cellar running underneath the ground floor of Shooter's Lodge. He was trying to decide whether to tell the truth about his failure.

  Once a bricklayer, the previous night he had carefully removed the old bricks from the arched entrance in the wall. After he'd completed this arduous work he'd settled down in the undergrowth opposite the now open arched doorway.

  Laying the rifle with the scope sight where he could grab it up quickly, he'd opened his packet of food, gobbled it down, livened it up with a good swig from his flask of cognac, then fallen asleep in the dark.

  It had been bitterly cold at night but he'd come prepared for that. Under his windcheater he wore three layers of woollen underclothing. Dawn woke him. He checked his rifle, stared through the cross-hairs at the opening he'd created. Calouste's informant had told him one of Tweed's team never stopped searching The Forest. `When the open entrance is reported to Tweed,' Calouste had predicted, 'Tweed himself will come to see it. That is when you kill him.'

  Jacques waited for many hours, frequently shifting his position to fight cramp. The stocky wide-shouldered fat little man appeared first. Jacques did not like the look of him. 'A professional,' he said to himself.

  Later, he returned, and with him was a tall slim man who also worried Jacques. Then almost immediately Tweed and 'his tart' were standing there, framed by the arched doorway, a perfect target. Cramp forced Jacques to shift position as he focused the cross-hairs on Tweed's chest. He pressed the trigger, stared in disbelief. Tweed and the girl weren't there. He saw Fatty take something from a pocket, guessed it was a grenade, rolled over sideways. A fragment of the grenade sliced a piece away from his windcheater but didn't penetrate the flesh. Jacques fled.

  Arriving at Shooter's Lodge by a roundabout route he lowered his motorbike into the deep hole with walls covered with canvas, covered the opening with branches, piled pine needles on top, then let himself into the kitchen.

  Calouste was waiting for him in the underground apartment, seated in a tall chair. He wore his coal-black glasses, one claw-like hand under his spade-shaped chin, the other clutching a glass of cognac. The dark lenses Jacques found so disturbing gazed at him. `Tweed is still alive,' Calouste said. `How do you know that?' asked Jacques. `From your expression.' `I nearly put a bullet through his chest.' `Nearly,' Calouste sneered. `One of his team shoved him clear.' `Because you stupidly made a noise.' `It's possible.' Jacques was always worried by the way that Calouste could reconstruct what had happened – as though he had been there. `So I am beginning to think I must kill Tweed myself – with this.'

  Calouste was wearing his long black cloak, with its very long sleeves. His right hand slipped up inside his left sleeve, emerged gripping a long slim razor-edged stiletto. He leaned forward, a sadistic smile on his strange face. He placed the point on Jacques's hand resting on the table. Jacques was petrified. `Do not worry, my dear Jacques,' Calouste said in his soft silky voice. 'Tweed will return to check that new entrance and the trail of blood will lead him to that immense chalk pit.' `Blood?' Jacques gasped.

  Calouste was gently drawing the tip of the stiletto across the back of Jacques's large hand lying flat and tense on the table. The murderous-looking weapo
n was held so steadily that not one drop of blood surfaced. With a swift movement the stiletto vanished up Calouste's wide sleeve. `You understand?' Calouste enquired. 'Rabbits.' `Rabbits?' Jacques repeated in a hollow voice. `Yes. You go out and shoot three rabbits. Not now, you idiot,' he said gently as Jacques started to get up, thinking Calouste meant him to go out now. `Tomorrow is the earliest Tweed will reappear.' `Oh, I see.' `What does Jacques see at long last?' `That tomorrow I get up early with my rifle and shoot the three rabbits.' `But you will need more than your rifle?Yes? No?'

  Calouste produced from a pocket a large sheet of transparent material which he unfolded, showing one end was open. He looked at Jacques, who desperately tried to say the right thing. `After I have shot a rabbit I put it inside that container. Then I squeeze every drop of blood out of the animal. I get rid of the bloodless body where it will not be found.' `Excellent. Then you take the bag and at intervals along the path leading to the quarry you smear blood for Tweed to track. He will assume the grenade his associate threw did injure you. I shall be waiting for him near the quarry.' `Where is Mr Warner Chance now?' Tweed asked Snape as they entered the hall. `In his apartment, sir. He will be working and will not wish to be disturbed.' `Before I've broken this case all of you will be more than disturbed.' Tweed paused: Snape's complexion had lost colour. 'I have also been told that you are the only person here who has the daily papers.' `That is so, sir.' `And that you keep them in that cabin of yours in The Forest. Please bring all those for the past week and leave them for me in the library over there.' `I will do that as soon as I can.' `Now would be soon enough. Thank you.' `I find that peculiar,' Paula commented as they climbed the staircase. 'Shuts them off from the outside world.' `I suspect it was Bella's idea. She probably didn't believe anything in the papers. Also there are no radios or TVs in the place. I think she relied on phoning up her contacts to keep in touch. Here we are'

  Tweed tapped on Warner's apartment door. A strong voice growled from inside, 'Come in, whoever you are, then get out.'

  Warner was seated behind a large desk facing the door. It was covered with piles of accounts. The expression on his rock-like face was not welcoming. `I am very busy, both of you.' `Murder won't wait,' Tweed said harshly. 'I have questions to put to you.' `You have five minutes' Warner folded his arms.

  He was wearing a leather windcheater, unbuttoned at his strong, thick neck. He also wore corduroy trousers tucked into knee-length boots. Tweed could see this through the knee-hole in the desk. `Five minutes?' Tweed repeated. 'We have as long as it takes.' `You have already interrogated me,' Warner said aggressively. `So why are you here again?' `The first time I asked you a few questions they were preliminaries.' Tweed paused. 'More evidence has come to light. `What evidence might that be?' Warner asked sarcastically. also object to Miss Grey's presence.' `Normal procedure. You had a friend, a Mrs Mandy Carlyle.' `Never heard of a person with that name. You used the past tense.' `I did.' Warner is very quick-witted, Tweed thought. `Yes, because she has been murdered. Using the same method that killed your mother. You saw the brutal collars found inside Crystal's wardrobe. A replica of those.' `Planted on her, of course.' `Unless it was a case of double bluff,' Paula intervened. 'I did wonder if they were put there so everyone would assume that. If she were involved-'

  The communicating door with the rest of the apartment was flung wide open and Crystal stormed in. Her red hair was perfectly coiffeured and she wore a tight red jumper and a skirt of the same colour. This red was nothing compared to the blazing flush of her cheeks. Her expression was livid. `Are you accusing me of putting those ghastly things there myself?' she screeched close to Paula. `Been eavesdropping again?' Tweed enquired mildly. `Damned right I have. Who the hell does Paula think she is? She's been careful not to say that to my face.' `I can repeat it if you wish,' Paula replied calmly. 'In a murder case all possibilities have to be considered. You, along with others, remain a suspect.' `What is that room you just emerged from?' Tweed asked to take the pressure off Paula. `It's the bedroom. Warner's bedroom.' Crystal's expression was hideously suggestive.

  Paula froze inside. This conjured up an aspect of life in the manor she had never dreamt of. Tweed sensed her reaction, spoke quickly to change the subject. `Also,' he said, addressing Warner, 'I understand you drive a green Ford. A witness at Dodd's End,' he continued, making it up, 'saw such a car parked just outside the hamlet. About the time Mrs Carlyle was murdered. And for that evening you – and Crystal – have no alibi. You were supposed to be locked away in this apartment with no one to confirm that.' `I was at a small party in Gladworth,' Crystal snapped. 'I have told you that.'

  Not a strong alibi, if one at all,' Paula interjected. 'A girl friend or two would support your statement after you'd asked them to cover for you while you joined a boyfriend in his flat.'

  For the first time Crystal went silent. She stood staring at a wall. I could have hit the nail on the head, Paula said to herself.

  Warner's large hands were gripping the edge of his desk as though about to leap out of his chair. When he spoke, looking at Tweed with eyes which had no feeling in them, 'Who is this Mrs Carlyle?' he thundered. `She was a lady of flexible morals.' He paused, careful not to mention Marshal. 'There is a direct link with your mother's murder since Mrs Carlyle was murdered using exactly the same kind of weapon. Do you know anyone here who has exceptional mechanical ability when it comes to moulding metal?' `I don't quite follow you,' Warner said quietly. `Someone with the ability and nerve to handle barbed wire, to have the equipment – protective gloves, strong cutters – and able to mould it into any shape required like a sculptor.' `Snape; Warner said promptly. `What are you doing?' Paula asked as they made their way down the main staircase. `I want to accelerate the investigation. The best way to do that is to stir everyone up. Which I'll continue to do.' `You do take risks. At one moment I thought it was going to end up as a physical struggle between you and Warner, plus a cat-fight between me and Crystal' `That's what I mean by stirring things up.' `We were on the edge of violence in that apartment,' Paula persisted. `In other words, I stirred things up there. But when I felt the atmosphere was getting torrid I switched the subject.' `I did notice that. Here's Lavinia.'

  She stood at the foot of the staircase, smiling as always. She pointed to the library. `I collected the papers from Snape's cabin myself. They're on the round table.' `I'm most grateful,' Tweed responded. 'Do you read them?' `Every day. Keeps me in contact with the outside world.' She smiled again. 'It reminds me that there is an outside world. I'll leave you in peace now.' `If you can spare me a few minutes,' Tweed suggested, 'I would appreciate you and I having a quiet talk. In the library, if that would suit you.'

  Lavinia laughed. She then curtseyed gracefully. 'My turn to be grilled, my lord. Is it an honour to be left to be the last? From what I've heard everyone else has been subjected to your eagle eye'

  The three of them went into the library. As Lavinia sat at the round table Paula, tactfully, gathered up the pile of newspapers and headed towards the hall. `I'm sure Tweed would prefer to interview you alone,' she said with a wicked smile. 'I'll take these to my apartment to see what, if anything, has been happening in the world.'

  29

  Tweed sat down in a chair facing Lavinia. He had never realized how narrow the table was. As he settled himself he felt his knees touch hers. He pulled back his chair. `Excuse me.' `You have never done anything which has in the least offended me.'

  She was still wearing her white polo-necked jumper. She pulled it down tightly over her figure. Her long slim fingers were clasped lightly together, resting on the table. Her pool-like eyes gazed straight into his. Tweed forced himself to meet the hypnotic stare. `Actually…' He cleared his throat, 'you are not the last to be intensively interviewed. I still have Snape.' `Our perfect butler,' she replied ironically. `From your tone I gather you don't trust him.' `We all have our faults.' Her tone was becoming more husky. Her eyes never left his and he still couldn't read their expression
. 'I can rely on him always to be near the hall if someone arrives.' `What about his lunchtime?' `He always warns me. He cooks his own meal in his cabin and eats it there.' `He has no friends?' `None that I know of.' `What about everyone else? Surely with the two families someone has a friend?' `I don't think so.' She lifted a hand and pushed her jet-black hair away from her face. 'Strange, isn't it?' Her smile was enticing.

  Damn it! Tweed said to himself. She's playing with me. This was the kind of interview he'd never experienced before. In all other interrogations in his career he had broken through by now. He had a sudden idea that might upset her amazing self-control. She leaned closer to him as though aware he had at long last thought of something. `Did you know Warner's late wife?' `Moira was before I came here from Medfords. So I never met her.' `I have been told that she died in a car crash at Hook's Corner. I have also been told her brakes had been tampered with, which could be why she went over the edge. Warner seems to have adjusted to the tragedy quickly.'

  Now who told you that?' she asked with a smile. `I'm asking the questions.' `I have the impression we are having a pleasant conversation.'

  Tweed was almost speechless. He forced himself to continue meeting her gaze, to detect a flicker. Nothing. It was as though she was controlling the interrogation. He sat up more erect and his voice was sharper. `What about Marshal? You must know he plays around with any attractive available lady, then drops her for the next one. A kind of movable harem.' `I love that last phrase.' She laughed. 'Yes, of course I know about Marshal's roving eye. It's common knowledge. Men are like that. At least some men. By no means all men.' `Well, at least you're not cynical.' `I didn't want you to think I was being personal.' Tweed's mind whirled. She had stopped him in his tracks. He made himself say something. `There's been a second murder. A Mrs Carlyle at a cramped hamlet called Dodd's End. I'm wondering about Marshal. We have a definite connection – the same method was used that was employed on your grandmother.' `I know.'