by Colin Forbes
Max had kept his engine running. He saw a man dart out, bend down to check the neck artery, then stand up, shaking his head. Max signalled, turned out, drove slowly past a shocked crowd, proceeded on to the Circus.
An hour earlier, facing Paula Grey, he had been shaking inwardly at the prospect at what he was supposed to do. Now he was ice-cold and very hungry.
`I think I'll go to the Café Royal and order a full dinner,' he said to himself. 'At least I'm dressed for a place like that.'
8
`Nice car,' Marler remarked as Paula drove him towards the shops. 'I might think of getting a Porsche myself.'
`Cost a mint, as you probably guessed,' she responded. 'I have a very generous salary, as you'll know, but I saved for months to collect the deposit.'
`If you'd told me I'd have gone halves with you,' Marler joked. 'problem would have been which of us occupied the boot if we'd had a passenger. I think you'd fit better than me.'
She laughed and felt much better. Marler, sensing the tension in her when they'd first met, was talking more than usual. He continued joking, mimicking perfectly the voices of other members of the staff at Park Crescent.
She kept laughing and eventually protested good- humouredly, 'If you don't stop I'll lose control of this beauty.'
`That's the idea. Then I'll take over the wheel.'
She pulled in a slot outside the large new food shop and Marler jumped out to feed the meter before she could reach it. Then he grabbed a trolley, waved her forward.
`In the Far East they call the servant who helps, boy.' `Well, boy, I'm a quick shopper so keep moving.' `And I'm ten years younger than you..
She hauled food off the shelves, out of the refrigerated compartments. Soon the large trolley was piled high. She went to the checkout and Marler stared. A man in a white uniform picked up the purchases as they were checked out, then packed them in a series of strong brown paper bags. He then asked which was their car and wheeled the large stock to the front of the Porsche where he placed them neatly in the luggage compartment. Marler reached in his pocket for a generous tip. The helper shook his head.
`Thank you, sir, but we're not allowed to accept tips. We get well paid if we're quick. Excuse me, I see another customer at the checkout'
`Last time I saw that was in California,' Marler commented as he settled in the passenger seat.
`It's a new American food store with American methods.'
She was already driving away from the slot, her speed just below the limit. She slid through a gap in the traffic. A driver of another car shouted at her but she ignored him.
`Going back to California?' she asked.
`I don't think so. Full of blondes with incredibly long legs and not an atom in the brain department'
Arriving back, eventually, at Park Crescent, Paula parked the Porsche in the yard at the back of the building. It was now dusk and they were followed up the stairs by Pete Nield, holding a small black velvet bag tightly in his hand.
All the staff were inside the office. Harry was seated in his usual position, cross-legged on the floor. He was dismantling a Walther, placing the elements in a plastic tray. Tweed waved a hand at his clear desk.
`Dealt with all the reports. Monica took the replies along to the Communications building further along the street. Ah, here's Mr Pete Nield. Took you a while, not that it matters if you've got the answers to my gold queries'
`You'll be fascinated. I had to wait while my contact, who was amazed, took this stuff to another analyst.'
At the reference to the word 'gold' everyone gathered in front of Tweed's desk. Harry produced a large piece of black velvet, emptied the contents of the poche. With the office lights on, the specks and the larger piece glittered.
`From the Rand in South Africa.' Harry paused. `Mined well over a hundred years ago. No doubt about it.'
`I had just wondered,' said Tweed, speaking slowly.
Before Paula prepared dinner for two at Tweed's house in Bexford Street they had carried the huge stock from the Porsche up to the first floor. Tweed was astonished.
`Why do we need all this?'
`Because both your big American fridges are almost empty. It's essential to keep up supplies.'
`We could run our own supermarket,' he chaffed her.
`I'm cooking. Fancy mushroom soup, lamb chops, potatoes, plus mixed veg, followed by a lemon tart I baked at Fulham Road?'
`My mouth's watering...'
When she was well advanced with the meal she came in to set the dining-room table, found everything laid. Two glasses of wine had been poured. She sipped one appreciatively. She peered over Tweed's shoulder at the book he was reading. The Official History of Gold Bullion.
They ate in silence, as was their custom. Only when they were perched on the comfortable sofa did Paula tersely tell Tweed about the bizarre Evelyn-Ashton encounter. He looked disturbed so she changed the subject.
`What did you think of Hengistbury Manor and its inhabitants?'
`Seemed like the most luxurious prison in the world. All those people living under one roof. I sensed hatred and maybe an atmosphere of evil. The lid held on by the remarkable Bella.'
`What about Marshal Main?'
`A charmer. Never liked them, probably because it's a quality I lack...'
`I've seen women of all ages look at you speculatively. Anything else about Marshal?'
`A ladies' man — and with no qualms when he gets fed up with one Behind the hail-fellow-well-met flamboyancy I detected a ruthlessness.'
`And Crystal?' she asked, keeping her expression blank.
`Led me into her bedroom, saying the view was best seen from there. Then she tried to seduce me. She's strong but I managed to push her off.'
`And she was furious, even ferocious?'
`Oddly enough, no. She was calm, perfectly controlled. She took me along the corridor to show me Pike's Peak. A very unusual mountain — well, a huge hill. Shaped like a cone at the summit. Sheer sides. Nothing grows on it. I most certainly wouldn't attempt to climb it, not for a thousand pounds.'
`Lavinia?'
`Well...' Tweed paused. 'Certainly with the exception of Bella, the cleverest, most controlled person there. I must admit I had trouble reading her. Staring into those enormous glowing blue eyes I couldn't see what was behind them. Strong-willed.'
`And very attractive,' Paula suggested. 'Clever? She is a forensic accountant. The tops.'
`So is Crystal, and she's younger,' he remarked.
`What about the other director, Warner Chance, the father of Leo and Crystal? He's so quiet.'
`Again, excluding Bella, possibly the strongest and the most enterprising character in the whole set-up. I do suspect that he secretly despises Marshal.'
`Two incidents keep coming back into my mind,' Paula mused. 'I was struck by Bella's last comment — "to come and protect our treasure".'
`I noticed that wording.'
`But when you quoted Bella downstairs Snape was appalled. He almost shouted hysterically, "She said that to you!" Most odd, I thought.'
`So did I.'
`What does it all mean?' Paula wondered.
`Haven't a clue. Place is like a time bomb ready to explode.'
`Well, we won't be there if it happens. What about Snape?'
`Something odd there. I phoned a friend at the MoD while you were out. He served in Bosnia, was accused of shooting two unarmed Muslims in the back. The only witness was discredited and Snape was exonerated. Soon afterwards he voluntarily transferred to the Engineers. May have felt he was under a cloud. One thing I'm sure of — he knows more about what is going on there than anybody.'
And that weird business about the gold,' she went on.
`I'll know more about that when I've consulted Bob Newman. After all, he is a reporter, or was before he joined us.'
Tweed suppressed a yawn and Paula realized she'd been asking him questions for a long time. She got up to clear the table and Tweed insisted on helping her. When they had arrived at
the house he had taken off his jacket and tie to feel more relaxed.
`Time for bed,' she told him when they had completed the clearance.
`I think so,' he agreed, suppressing another yawn. `When you can I'd like you to draw an Identikit picture of the head of Mr Evelyn-Ashton, who you met at the Duke's Head. You did spend time at art school in the evenings once.'
`I'll do it first thing tomorrow while he's fresh in my mind.'
Forcing himself to undress, Tweed flopped on the bed. The moment his head hit the pillow he was fast asleep.
Paula was restless. The nerve-racking episode with Evelyn-Ashton kept intruding. She could see his face perfectly, the weird change in his attitude before he confessed why he was really there. She crept into the drawing room. From a drawer she took out an artist's pad of cartridge paper, some sticks of charcoal. She sat down in front of a desk and began. She worked confidently and the sketch was completed in half an hour. She stood up, studied it under the shaded desk light.
`Got you, Mr Evelyn-Ashton,' she murmured to herself. 'First time.'
Which was when she heard a car crawling along the street below. She parted the closed curtains carefully. A brown Ford was stopped. She saw the driver jump out, then arch his right hand back like a cricketer about to lob a ball. Under the light of a street lamp she saw the face clearly. Mr Evelyn-Ashton. She heard the shattering of glass as the object crashed through into Tweed's bedroom.
She ran to the door. Tweed, who woke swiftly, was already out of bed. He had automatically switched on his bedside lamp. By its illumination she saw an object on the carpet shaped like a massive pine cone. A grenade.
`Get back into the bloody living room!'
She was frozen still. Frozen with terror for Tweed's life. He rushed forward, bent down, grabbed the object, hurled it out through the window. They both waited for the detonation. The silence was only broken by the sound of the brown Ford racing away up the street.
`I'm calling Harry,' Tweed said. 'He's the explosives expert.'
`What actually happened?' Paula wondered.
`Harry will tell us. After that I'm getting dressed.
Won't sleep tonight.'
`Neither will I.'
She fetched a dustpan and brush while Tweed was phoning. She swept up the broken glass, including tiny shards.
When she entered the kitchen, Tweed, fully dressed, was preparing toast, boiled eggs, orange juice and coffee for an early breakfast.
During their meal they heard Harry's square steel- plated truck arrive. Paula got up, rushed to the window. Tweed followed at a steady pace. Looking out, they saw the truck parked and Harry, carrying a metal box in one hand, a powerful torch in the other, walk towards the object lying in the road.
He picked it up after shining his torch on it, raised it to his ear, shook it, placed it inside the metal box. Paula never ceased to be amazed by Harry's insouciance in such situations. Looking up he saw them peering out, walked to the front door which Paula had darted down to open. Tweed followed at his normal deliberate pace.
`Morning folks,' Harry greeted them. 'Grenade? It was a dud. No hole to pull out the pin. A frightener. See you later...'
`They knew which window to throw it through,' Tweed commented. 'They know too much,' he concluded as they went back up to the first floor.
`I saw who threw the thing,' Paula told him, producing her charcoal sketch. 'I saw him. Evelyn-Ashton. Here he is.'
`When we get to Park Crescent have a photocopy made for all the members of the team so they'll know who they're looking for.'
The time bomb at Hengistbury predicted by Tweed had detonated within minutes of their arrival at Park Crescent.
9
Paula just had time to obtain photocopies of her sketch of Evelyn-Ashton, then distribute one to every member of the team. Tweed had explained to them tersely the significance of Evelyn-Ashton. 'Very much doubt that's his real name...'
`Commander Roy Buchanan needs to see you very urgently,' Monica broke in after answering the phone. `On the phone, you mean?'
`No, he's just arrived, waiting downstairs.'
`Ask him to come up.'
Paula stood up from her corner desk. Marler, leaning against the wall near her, was by her side when she looked out of the window. An unmarked police car was parked below. Behind it stood a gleaming Rolls-Royce.
`That Rolls belongs to Professor Saafeld, the eminent pathologist,' she whispered. 'I don't like this a bit.'
Commander Buchanan came into the office. Tall and lanky, in his late forties, he was an old friend of Tweed's. Paula had expected him to be wearing his uniform as Commander of the Anti-Terrorist Squad. Instead he wore a dark grey business suit. Normally his expression was amiable but now it had a grim set to it. He ignored an armchair, picked up a hard-backed chair, planted it in front of Tweed's desk, folded his arms.
`I am the bearer of grim tidings,' he warned as he placed his briefcase by the chair.
`Then tell me,' Tweed said calmly.
`Mrs Bella Main has been murdered in her study at Hengistbury Manor. The method used is strange and quite horrific.'
A rare and heavy silence descended on the office. They were all staring at Tweed. He had been told about a number of hideous events and his expression had always been impassive. Not this time.
He sat very still, almost like a statue. Brief flashes of different emotions crossed his face. Something akin to grief. Fury. A distant gaze as though he was recalling his interview with Bella, a woman he had admired and liked. Admired for her character, for her brainpower. Eighty-four years old. He'd thought she might live to be a hundred.
`She was so regal,' Paula said very quietly, 'so courteous:
`Regal! That's the word for her,' Tweed agreed, suddenly alert again. 'Her murderer must be tracked down however long it takes, no matter what risks it may involve.'
was just about to ask you,' Buchanan began, 'to take over as chief investigator of the case.'
`I'll do it,' Tweed said quickly.
`I have brought Professor Saafeld with me. He is waiting downstairs in the visitors' room.'
`What the hell has he been parked in that cell for?' `His idea, not mine,' Buchanan said quickly. 'He
thought I should tell you first. He knew Bella. He had a phone call from her about you after you'd left. She was very fond— I mean she had developed an admiration for you. Now,' he went on briskly, opening his briefcase, producing papers, 'in this case you have full powers, even an authorization of the fact signed by the Assistant Commissioner, together with a search warrant covering the whole of Hengistbury Manor and its three-hundred-acre estate called The Forest - or the large chunk of it belonging to the Manor.'
Tweed was examining the thick sheets of paper Buchanan had placed on his desk. The Assistant Commissioner's signature flourished at the bottom of both documents.
`Also,' added Buchanan, 'you have the full backing of the Home Secretary.'
`Who could be one of Bella's depositors,' Tweed said with a smile, his normal iron self-control now recovered.
`I wouldn't know.'
`With all this power I detect a political element.'
`Well...' Buchanan hesitated. 'Certain Ministers are concerned that the Main Chance Bank could now be bought out by an immensely rich and ruthless gentleman — who might then use his ownership of this powerful organization to go on to bid successfully for one of our Big Four banks. Which would practically give him control of the country.'
`He is British?'
`No.'
`He originates from the East?'
`He does,' said Buchanan grimly.
`And his name is?'
`I'm not allowed to disclose that.' Buchanan's mood became more light-hearted. 'As assistant you will have Chief Inspector Hammer.'
`Always save the best bit till last, don't you?'
Paula groaned, turned to Newman, who had been comforting her when the news about Bella had been first announced. 'Old Hammerhead,' she rasped
well above a whisper.
`I'm very short of senior detective officers,' Buchanan said, turning to shake a friendly finger at Paula. 'And he is very clear he is your assistant,' he went on, turning back to Tweed.
`When does he go down to Hengistbury?' Tweed enquired.
`He's gone down there ahead of you with three photographers, two fingerprint experts and the other technicians.'
`Then we'd better get down there right away. Pete, you stay behind for the moment. My director, Howard, gets back from holiday tomorrow. Explain everything to him in detail and tell him I'll call him by phone soon as I can.'
`Will do, sir,' Nield answered tersely.
`You're in charge here for the moment,' Tweed added.
He walked to where Paula stood with two suitcases, took his own off her and hurried down to the visitors' room with Roy Buchanan and the rest of his team following. Opening the door he found Professor Saafeld comfortably ensconced in a chair, his legs perched on another, reading a book.
`I really think this is dreadful,' Tweed began, 'leaving you in a place like this while Commander Buchanan filled me in on—'
`I've been enjoying Robert Newman's huge bestseller, Kruger: The Computer That Failed.' He stood up. `Isn't that Mr Newman just behind you? Well, Mr Newman, you must be at the least a millionaire from the proceeds. Deserve to be. This is my third reading of your masterpiece. A millionaire at least.'
`I have got a bit stashed away,' Newman said, smiling as they shook hands.
`You two can talk later,' Tweed said firmly. 'Don't imagine you know the complex route to Hengistbury?' he said to the Professor. 'Thought not. So I'll lead the way with Paula in her red Porsche. You follow in your Rolls. Bob, you'll keep behind the Rolls, bringing the team in your Merc. Now we move.
As they turned out of Park Crescent with the Rolls behind them Tweed issued his warning.
`Paula, Saafeld drives his Rolls at a stately speed, as he should. So time your speed to his.'
`I had already thought of that,' she chastised him. 'If you like you can take over driving this dynamo. Now I'm wondering what horror we'll see at Hengistbury.'