Cross of Fire

by Colin Forbes

  'You have a problem?' Carey enquired.

  'No. You are the problem.'

  Carey put on the jacket his boss had thrown on the bar counter, walked to the flap exit, lifted it and walked out with an escort on either side. He was careful not to look for Isabelle. As they came close to the door he rammed his elbow into the stomach of the man on his left, shoved his way through the crowd and out into the bitter air. A foot reached out, tripped him up. The foot was planted on his back as he lay on the flagstones, trying to get his breath back.

  'Stupid, that.' the tall man remarked as he came out.

  Carey looked up and saw two more men similarly dressed. They had been waiting for him outside. Hauled to his feet, he was thrown into the rear of a parked Citroen. As the car moved off one man sat on either side of him. Their two companions occupied the front seats. They arrived at the Gare St Jean and the Citroen turned down the deserted ramp leading to the quiet station entrance below street level.

  Behind them as they drove away from the bar Isabelle followed on her moped, easily keeping the Citroen in view along the dark empty streets. She was puzzled when the Citroen disappeared down the ramp. Where were they taking Henri? Could they be moving him somewhere by train? If so, why? She parked her moped by the station wall, attached the safety chain, clasped her windcheater close to her neck against the bitter wind off the Atlantic.

  As the Citroen descended down the ramp Henri gritted his teeth to conceal his fear. It was like entering a dimly lit cavern. No passengers were about at that hour. The tall man repeated for the third time the question he had asked as they drove to the Gare.

  'Who were you communicating with when you used that transmitter we found in your apartment?'

  'I'm a radio ham. I talk to other hams all over the world.'

  'You're lying. That's the last time I'm going to ask.'

  'How did you get into my apartment?' Henri demanded.

  'Haven't you heard of skeleton keys? I'm sure you have. This is the end of the line. Get out.'

  The Citroen had parked near the entrance to the ticket hall. Behind, the cavern was disturbing darkness. Carey followed the shorter man out on to the sidewalk. His arm was gripped in a vice. The tall man stayed inside the car, pointed an automatic at him.

  'Get rid of him, Louis. He isn't going to talk.'

  'You can go now.' Louis told Carey. 'You get out to the street that way. Shove off before we change our minds.'

  Carey walked into the deep shadow and stopped as something moved, a shadow among the shadows. Hands grasped him round the neck. Carey tried to kick his attacker in the groin, slipped and fell. The shadowy figure knelt on top of him, hands still grasping his neck, thumbs pressed expertly on his windpipe. Carey tried to scream. Only a gurgle emerged as the remorseless pressure increased. Carey began to lose consciousness. He choked for dear life, his clenched fists hammering futilely against his assailant. Even when Carey had gone limp the strangler continued exerting pressure. When another minute had passed he rose to his feet, vanished into the darkness.

  Louis pressed the button on his flashlight, walked forward, bent down over the prone form, checked its neck pulse. He strolled back to the car, climbed back into the rear.

  'No neck pulse,' he reported to the tall man.

  'Kalmar - whoever he may be - did another good job. For a big fat fee, I'm sure. What will we get? A pat on the back.' He addressed the driver. 'Back to the barracks.'

  Isabelle pressed herself against the wall at the top of the ramp as the Citroen drove off. She had caught a glimpse of Henri getting out of the car by the glow of the courtesy light inside the car when the rear door was opened.

  She crept slowly down the ramp, stopped to listen. The silence frightened her. She pulled out the flashlight her mother insisted she carried, switched it on, walked on to the bottom of the ramp. Swivelling the beam, she ventured into the shadows.

  She almost tripped over the body, gave a little cry as she aimed the beam downwards. Henri was on his back, his tongue protruding obscenely from his slack open mouth. His throat was badly bruised.

  She forced herself to kneel beside him, felt his wrist pulse. But she knew he was dead. Numb with terror and grief, she felt inside the breast pocket where he kept his papers, his wallet. Both had gone. She had no way of knowing that within minutes Kalmar would be throwing them from the bridge into the Garonne.

  She kissed the cold head, her eyes closed to avoid seeing the distorted face. Standing up, she stumbled back up the ramp to where she had left her moped. She was unlocking her moped chain when a drunk holding a bottle staggered across the wide place from the Bar Nicole. Tears were streaming down Isabelle's face as she began to wheel her machine to the street. The drunk leered at her.

  'Lost your boy friend, girlie? Maybe we could have fun together...'

  'Drop dead.'

  She started up her moped and rode off towards her home. The wind raked her damp face as tears continued to pour down her cheeks. She remembered what she had just said to the drunk. It was poor Henri who was dead and she had been in love with him.

  At least she could do one last thing for him. Carry out his request if anything happened to him. On her way to work the following morning she would phone the London number he had given her in secrecy, would tell whoever answered what had happened to him.

  Chapter Three

  'Kuhlmann has changed the rendezvous at the last moment.' Tweed announced to Monica and Paula. 'That is quite out of character. He must be a very worried man. Geneva - not Luxembourg City - is the meeting place. Tomorrow morning at the Hotel des Bergues.'

  'What time would you like to leave?' Monica asked, her hand poised over the phone.

  'I'd like to leave this evening.' Tweed turned to Paula. 'Yesterday was a bit gruelling for you -I spent most of the day drilling you in what to say to Chief Inspector Buchanan.'

  'And I'm grateful. I'm sure I'm word perfect. It was clever of you to tell Buchanan when he phoned I was out of town and you didn't know where ...'

  She broke off as the door opened, Newman and Marler came in, sat down and looked at Tweed. As Monica lowered her voice on the phone Tweed warned Newman quickly.

  'Bob, I've got a bit of a shock for you. The man who is investigating Karin Rosewater's murder is our old friend, Chief Inspector Roy Buchanan.'

  'He's no friend of mine. The last time we met he had me marked as number one suspect in a murder case. May I look forward to a repeat performance?' He frowned. 'Just a minute. Buchanan is Homicide, New Scotland Yard. There hasn't been time for the locals to request the Yard's aid. It was only the day before yesterday we found Karin's body.'

  'I asked Buchanan that very question when he phoned to come and interview Paula yesterday. Apparently he'd just solved another murder case in Suffolk and was still there. Most of the senior officers at Ipswich HQ are down with flu. Hence the Chief Constable asked Buchanan if he'd stand in temporarily.'

  'What lousy luck...'

  'And he's on his way here now. Which is why I left a message on your answerphone to get here as early as you could this morning. Both you and Marler have a lot to grasp before Buchanan descends. Yesterday Paula and I went over how she would handle it - his questioning. Briefly, no mention of Karin being hired by some mysterious authority to check the state of France. Just a friend of Paula's who shared her interest in underwater exploration. I'm going to point Buchanan in the direction of Paula so he questions her first. You two can then follow her lead. Volunteer nothing -answer any questions he asks and shut up.'

  'I say.' Marler protested, 'we're not exactly amateurs at this game.'

  Tweed leaned forward over his desk. 'And neither is Buchanan, so don't you forget it...'

  The phone rang, Monica took the call, listened, grimaced at Tweed, who nodded and relaxed in his chair.

  'They're on the way up.' Monica said as she replaced the receiver. 'The Heavenly Twins - Chief Inspector Buchanan, with his ever-faithful sidekick, Sergeant Warden.'
/>   'We must welcome them. Make coffee, if you would.'

  Tweed rose behind his desk as Monica opened the door and two men entered. Buchanan was a tall slim man in his forties with a deceptively relaxed manner which had trapped more than a few suspects. Warden, an inch or two shorter, had a poker face and rarely showed any kind of reaction. He carried a notebook. Greeting them amiably, Tweed ushered them into two chairs he had earlier placed so they half-faced Paula and himself.

  'We are all ready for you.' Tweed began amiably, 'and Paula is ready to answer your questions.'

  'Really?' Buchanan's tone was cynical as he glanced round the room. 'You mean you're going to cooperate without waving the Official Secrets Act in my face? Something General & Cumbria Assurance have been known to resort to.'

  Tweed smiled at this reference to the cover name for the SIS, the name on the brass plate on the front door.

  'Monica will be bringing coffee.' Tweed continued his welcoming act. 'It's a raw day.'

  'It must have been a raw day, Miss Grey, when you went scuba diving at Dunwich. At least that was the story Mr Harry Butler told me at Ipswich police headquarters two days ago.'

  'Miss Grey?' She gave him her best smile. 'I recall it was Paula last time we met.'

  'This is a formal inquiry into a cold-blooded case of murder. How do you think she was killed?'

  He's going for the jugular for openers, Tweed thought. Trying to throw her off balance with a brutal approach.

  'She appeared to have been strangled.' Paula replied quietly.

  'By an expert. One might almost say a professional.'

  'What makes you say that?' Tweed interjected sharply.

  'The autopsy report. It was carried out by Dr Kersey. You may have heard of him - one of the leading pathologists.' Buchanan jingled loose change in his pocket.

  'What does he base that conclusion on?' Tweed persisted.

  Buchanan faced him and his alert grey eyes showed a trace of amusement. He was well aware Tweed had intervened to take the pressure off Paula for a moment.

  'The way the strangler had used his thumbs to press on the windpipe to bring about death as swiftly as possible. Kersey suspects some of the bruising was inflicted after death - an attempt to cover up the skill with which the strangulation was carried out. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to continue asking Miss Grey certain questions. After all, she was at the scene of the crime. You weren't.'

  'I wasn't actually at the scene of the crime as you said.' Paula contradicted him. 'I was shivering with cold and fright near the top of a fir tree.'

  'But you saw the murder take place?'

  'I did not. Would you like me to explain how Karin and I came to be there?'

  'You're willing to make a statement?'

  Buchanan glanced at Warden who sat with his notebook on his lap, then at Tweed; expecting opposition. Tweed, playing with a pen, merely nodded.

  Paula told her story tersely and without a wasted word. While she talked Buchanan never took his eyes off her but she stared back. The Chief Inspector crossed his legs, perched the cup and saucer Monica had given him on his knee, sipped the beverage as Paula concluded.

  '... I wish to God now I'd insisted Karin and I spent the day shopping in London.'

  'I hadn't heard you were interested in underwater exploration,' Buchanan remarked.

  'But you don't know all that about me. I've made my statement.'

  'And these mysterious men in disguise who hunted you with rifles ...' There was a hint of sarcasm in his tone and he paused, hoping Paula would rise to the bait. When she remained silent he pressed on. 'Who could they have been? Why would they want to kill the two of you? When you were racing back to Aldeburgh with the other outboard dinghies in pursuit why didn't you head for the shore earlier and run for it?'

  Warden smiled to himself. A typical Buchanan tactic. Without warning he was putting on the pressure to break her down with a barrage of queries. Pressure had broken many witnesses before.

  'I've made my statement.' Paula repeated. 'In that statement I answered all but one of those three questions but I'll humour you. You don't mind if I repeat myself, Chief Inspector?'

  'Not at all,' Buchanan replied agreeably.

  'I've no idea who the killers were. I've no idea why they came after us. The third question was not covered in my statement. If you knew that part of the world you'd know that south of Dunwich is one of the loneliest stretches of coast in the world. I felt we had to get to the parked car to escape.'

  'And the three dinghies these men used to pursue you at sea had appeared after you had dived below the surface?'

  'I refer you to my statement.'

  'Karin's husband, Captain Victor Rosewater, is stationed at a Nato base in southern Germany. Someone will have to tell him what's happened.'

  'I've already done that. It wasn't a pleasant duty.'

  'You left that out of your statement.' Buchanan pointed out.

  'It's been added to the statement now.'

  'How did he react?'

  This was the unexpected question she'd been dreading. Something which hadn't arisen when she'd had her long session with Tweed. She hesitated for a second, used her hand to straighten a pleat in her blue skirt.

  'He expressed complete disbelief. I don't think he'd taken it in by the time the conversation ended.'

  Buchanan smoothed his brown, neatly cut hair, stroking the back of his neck. Warden recognized the gesture: frustration. Buchanan suddenly looked over his shoulder at Newman.

  'Have you anything to add to the latter part of Miss Grey's statement? After all, you were there at the crucial time. I have a further question when you've explained your own version of events.'

  'I have nothing to add to Paula's very lucid description of what took place. And your other question?'

  'The timing seems wrong. I was at Ipswich police HQ when your call came through. I was passing the duty sergeant's desk and he'd also gone down with flu. So I took your call...'

  'Funny, I didn't recognize your voice,' Newman interjected, playing for time.

  'Probably because I used my official voice. I recognized yours. The call was timed at exactly 8.20 p.m. From Miss Grey's account you must still have been on the marshes. So how did you know the right number to phone?'

  'Driving out to find Paula we passed a call box. I stopped the car, went back, checked the number in the phone directory.'

  'Why? At that stage?'

  Buchanan's tone was whiplash. Newman smiled, lit a cigarette, blew smoke rings.

  'I refer you to Paula's statement. You're a detective. You should have worked that out for yourself. When she called for help she mentioned hearing Karin scream. I feared the worst, thought we might need the police.'

  'I see.' He turned suddenly to Paula. 'Were you carrying a weapon?'

  'No.' she lied promptly.

  'What about you, Newman - and the others?'

  Buchanan had twisted round in his chair again. His gaze swept over Marler, rested on Newman.

  'We were all armed. I don't have to explain why, do I?'

  'What weapon were you equipped with?'

  Buchanan was addressing Marler who had been sitting like a statue. He was smoking a king-size cigarette. Marler flicked ash from the cigarette into a glass bowl, looked at Buchanan with amusement.

  Tor the record.' he drawled, 'as if it mattered, I had my favourite weapon. An Armalite.'

  The cup and saucer on Buchanan's knee jiggled. Warden, intrigued, leaned forward. It was the first time he had ever seen his chief rattled. Buchanan recovered quickly, nodded in response before he replied.

  'A strange weapon to be hawking round the countryside.'

  'You think so?' Marler's tone was still bantering. 'I would have thought it logical when we'd heard the men hunting Paula were carrying rifles. I'm quite a fairish shot, you know.'

  Buchanan put down his cup and saucer on a table. Standing up, he addressed Paula, his tone neutral.

  'We'll have your st
atement typed out and then maybe you would be good enough to drop in at the Yard to sign it.'

  'Have it brought here,' Tweed said quietly. 'Something urgent cropped up yesterday. Paula will be occupied for some time to come.'

  'As you wish.' Buchanan walked to the door Warden had opened. He turned round before leaving. 'I would like to thank everyone for their cooperation. And yours especially, Tweed...'

  He said nothing more until he had climbed behind the wheel of his Volvo parked further along the Crescent. He was fixing his seat belt when Warden asked his question.

  'What do you think, Chief?'

  'Paula Grey was lying.'

  'Really, I didn't get that impression.'

  'She was lying by omission. Her statement bore all the hallmarks of having been carefully rehearsed. Probably with Tweed. There's a lot they haven't told us. You noticed Newman said very little? Just said he agreed with Paula's version. Not like him to keep so quiet.'

  'That Marler is a saucy sod.'

  'Oh, that was a clever tactic. A way of terminating the interview.'

  'And you let him get away with it? Not like you.'

  'I realized we'd get no more out of them at this stage. We'll leave them alone for a while, let them think we swallowed it, hook, line and sinker.'