Cross of Fire

by Colin Forbes

  'Stay exactly where you are,' commanded a familiar voice. 'There is nowhere to run. I repeat, stay on the dyke

  Newman threw up a hand to shield his eyes against the fierce glare. He shone his torch down on to the track below the dyke bordering the marshes. The vehicle was a buggy with enormous tyres - the only type of vehicle which could have crossed the treacherous ground.

  'Turn off that damned light, Buchanan.' Newman shouted back. 'We've as much right out here as you have. You hear, Buchanan?'

  'Chief Inspector Buchanan, if you please,' Warden shouted back from behind the vehicle's wheel.

  'Don't be ridiculous, Warden,' Buchanan whispered.

  It was the first time Newman had heard the stolid Warden give voice to speech. He turned to Paula and Rosewater, commenting at the top of his voice.

  'Miracles happen. It can actually speak!'

  'All right, that's enough, Newman,' Buchanan called out. 'I'm coming up there.'

  'Then tell that driver to douse his bloody light.'

  The searchlight, mounted on top of the buggy, went out. Buchanan climbed agilely up the bank, produced his own torch, shone it on the upturned craft.

  'That could come under the offence of tampering with evidence,' he said mildly.

  'Come off it,' Newman snapped. 'You've had the markers and tapes which undoubtedly cordoned it off removed. So anyone could have played about with that boat.'

  'I still need to talk to all of you. Would you prefer the police station or the Brudenell where I'm staying?'

  'You can't take us to the police station,' Newman continued, keeping up his aggressive attitude. 'And you know it. But yes to the Brudenell. Provided you give us a lift back in that buggy...'

  Chapter Fourteen

  'So,' Buchanan continued, addressing Rosewater, 'you came here to see where your wife was strangled?'

  They were assembled in Buchanan's bedroom which over-looked the street, on the opposite side to Tweed's much more spacious room on the floor below. It was cramped with so many people - Newman, Paula, and Warden - in addition to the Chief Inspector and Rosewater. Newman had a grim look, disliking Buchanan's brutal approach.

  'That's right,' Rosewater replied. 'A rather natural reaction, wouldn't you say?'

  'And you're a captain in Military Intelligence?'

  'With the BAOR - British Army of the Rhine.'

  'You're on leave then? Compassionate?'

  'No.' As tall as Buchanan, Rosewater stared straight back at his interrogator. 'I can go where I like, when I like.'

  'Unusual for a British officer. What permits you such freedom of movement?'

  'My job. I told you. Military Intelligence.'

  'Care to enlighten me a little further?' Buchanan suggested.

  'No. Security. You have no authority to ask such a question.'

  Buchanan sighed. 'May I remind you, Captain Rosewater, this is a murder investigation I'm engaged on?'

  'No reminder necessary,' Rosewater told him tersely. 'May I remind you it my wife who was murdered?'

  'Did you find anything interesting when you were messing around with that boat?' Buchanan persisted.

  'Not a thing.' Rosewater lied promptly.

  'Haven't you pushed this interrogation far enough?' Newman interjected.

  He was seated on the bed alongside Paula. Rosewater and Warden occupied the only chairs. Buchanan kept strolling round the room, jingling change in his pocket. He stopped in front of Paula, looked down at her.

  'And why were you out on the marshes, Miss Grey?'

  'To guide Captain Rosewater to where it happened.'

  'Really?' In one word Buchanan expressed his scepticism. 'How did you happen to meet this officer stationed in Germany?'

  'Purely by chance. I knew Karin. So once I met her husband while I was on holiday over there. In Germany, to be precise.' she added acidly.

  'And Newman, you're here by chance?'

  'No. On purpose. Occasionally I still interview prominent people. Just to keep my hand in.'

  'Even though that book you wrote, Kruger: The Computer That Failed, became an international bestseller, made you financially independent for life?'

  'Your memory is slipping. I just told you - to keep my hand in. I don't enjoy hanging about doing nothing all the time.'

  'From my previous experience of you that's something you rarely do.'

  'If you say so.'

  Buchanan glanced at Rosewater, at Paula, at Newman, his expression cynical. He looked at his watch, put both hands back in his trouser pockets.

  'You can all go now. And while I remember, thank you for your close cooperation...'

  'Sarcastic bastard, that Buchanan!' Paula burst out to Newman as they walked along the corridor and down the staircase to the next floor.

  'Oh, he's just doing his job.' Newman glanced back at the man behind them. 'And he's good at it. I must say you handled him well. Just answered his questions, adding nothing.'

  Rosewater, following them down, smiled. 'It wasn't too difficult. I've been on the other end often enough - interrogating suspects. Care to join me in the bar. I think maybe I could do with that Scotch now. Freezing out on the marshes. I hope you didn't catch a chill, Paula.'

  'No, I was well wrapped up.'

  Paula paused as they reached the lower floor: 'Bob, I want to go and see someone. Why don't you and Victor have a chat on your own?'

  'We'll do that. See you for dinner.'

  'But we will miss your company,' Rosewater assured her.

  Paula waited, fiddling with the folded coat she'd worn for the trek to the dyke. As Rosewater passed her he handed her something. When they were gone she opened her hand.

  It was holding the ring Rosewater had dug out of the mud. She hurried to report to Tweed in his room.

  Earlier, lieutenant Andre Berthier of Third Corps had waited patiently while Jean Burgoyne sat chatting with the attractive raven-haired girl. Two beauties - one brunette, one blonde. He wouldn't mind a more intimate acquaintance with either. Both would be even better. He dreamed a little to pass the time but never for a moment did his alertness desert him. Reminding himself of the role he was playing as an Englishman, he ordered another gin and tonic because it was such a British drink. Sipping it, his mind went back to the orders he'd been given in France ...

  Outside the car which de Forge had been travelling in -leaving the Villa Forban - the instructions had been explicit. Major Lamy was not noted for wasting words.

  'You follow the Burgoyne woman wherever she goes. I want a detailed report on where she does go. Above all, who she meets. Names, addresses. Here is some money to finance the trip. She's flying back home to Britain. Take that motorcycle, drive like hell to GHQ, change into civilian clothes - your English ones. Be back at the Villa Forban in half an hour ...'

  Berthier had used the same forged passport and driving licence he'd used on previous trips to Britain. Following Burgoyne aboard her flight to Paris, then her flight to London Airport, he'd collected the Ford Sierra ordered by phone during his wait at Charles de Gaulle Airport for the London flight.

  For some reason he couldn't fathom Burgoyne had driven in a car waiting for her straight to the Brudenell Hotel in Aldeburgh. He had registered in the name of James Sanders, wearing his tinted glasses and a trilby hat to conceal his fair hair. If anyone joshed him about wearing dark glasses in November he had his explanation ready.

  'I've weak eyes. Strong light hurts them ...'

  Lamy had trained his protege well. Immediately he'd arrived in his room Berthier had locked the door. Moving as swiftly as he could, he'd taken the bottle of hair colourant from his case, had gone into the bathroom and applied the liquid carefully. He used a drier attached to the wall, checked his appearance in the mirror, hurried downstairs.

  His fear that Burgoyne would have gone mounted when he couldn't see her in the lounge. He strolled into the bar and she was standing at the counter, collecting glasses of champagne, taking them to the table where the attr
active raven-haired girl sat. Berthier had ordered his first gin and tonic, sat at a corner table. The two women chatted a while like old friends.

  Berthier was confident Burgoyne wouldn't recognize him. Despite the fact he had stood in her room at the Villa while he'd waited to escort de Forge to his car.

  The colourant transformed his appearance. The tinted glasses completed the masquerade. Besides, Burgoyne had seen him in uniform before. Wearing civilian gear could make the same man unrecognizable. He had just finished his gin and tonic when Burgoyne put on her coat and walked out of the bar.

  Berthier followed her as she left by the steps leading to the back entrance on to the street behind the hotel. Her car, a Jaguar, was parked further up the street. He ran to the Ford Sierra, slotted in next to the entrance. As she drove off Berthier was a discreet distance behind her.

  No other traffic was about as she turned left in the cold night down a narrow side street, then right into the equally deserted High Street for a very short distance before turning left again and climbing a curving hill. Here it was all gloom and high walls and the odd glimpse of lights in a large house down a drive. The part of Aldeburgh where the well-off lived.

  Berthier slowed, driving only with his sidelights on. The Jaguar abruptly swung left off the road, vanished. On this side of the road Berthier saw there was a wide grass verge with here and there occasional trees. He swung his Ford on to the verge, switched off his sidelights, the engine, got out of the car.

  The bitter cold of the November night hit him. As he walked slowly to where the Jaguar had disappeared he turned up the collar of his English jacket, shoved his hands inside his pockets. On either side of the gap she had driven through stood stone pillars, topped with lead decorations of old sailing ships. The imposing residence was called Admiralty House.

  Berthier peered round a pillar up the gravel drive and saw a small Georgian mansion. The lights were on behind the uncurtained windows of a room to the right of the front door. Berthier saw an elderly man with wisps of white hair pouring something from a bottle, standing very erect. The Burgoyne woman appeared, closed the curtains. Just before she shut out the view Berthier saw the lights from a chandelier gleaming on her mane of blonde hair.

  He went back to his car, treading on damp turf. Seated behind the wheel, he tried to puzzle it out. Lamy had obviously expected she would go to meet a lover. Berthier doubted whether the old boy fitted that category.

  He sat clasping his strong hands, began squeezing the middle finger of his left hand, massaging the knuckle absent-mindedly. When, after half an hour, it seemed obvious she wasn't going anywhere else that night, he drove back to the Brudenell, descending from the highest point in Aldeburgh.

  Paula described tersely the visit to the scene of the crime before producing the ring. Taking out a handkerchief, she unwrapped it carefully and presented the ring to Tweed.

  They were alone in his bedroom. He had had coffee and sandwiches sent up and sipped from his cup as he held the ring in the palm of his hand. Putting the cup down, he slipped the signet ring on his middle finger. It slithered off.

  'You see,' Paula repeated, 'it links up with what the pathologist said. The strangler has large hands. That ring can only fit a man with large hands.'

  'The Cross of Lorraine. Interesting.' Tweed commented, using a paper napkin to clean off more mud. 'It could be significant. On the other hand ...'

  'A link with France.' Paula insisted. 'So why do you sound sceptical? I've told you where it was found and how.'

  'At this stage I'm keeping an open mind. We have a lot of data, quite a few pieces of the jigsaw, but some are still missing.'

  'Well, what have we got so far?' Paula demanded.

  'Briefly, Lasalle's belief that an insurrection is imminent in France. Organized by the infamous Cercle Noir, with the driving force possibly General de Forge. That theory may be backed up by Newman's riot experience in Bordeaux.'

  'You sound very sceptical.' she repeated.

  'Too early to interpret the data positively. I could be wrong. Then we have Kuhlrnann warning us about the Siegfried underground movement in Germany. That could be linked with events in France. And don't forget the mysterious Kalmar, possibly the strangler of Karin and Francis Carey. I have the strongest feeling he is the key. Locate, identify Kalmar, and we'd know what was really going on.' He switched topics, his mind moving swiftly. 'I'll take this signet ring. You realize it must be handed over to Buchanan soon? We can't hide evidence in a murder case.'

  'I could give it to Buchanan now...'

  'No. I want the Engine Room at Park Crescent to make a perfect copy. Then it must be given to Buchanan. Does he know I'm here?'

  'I'm sure he doesn't.'

  'We'll keep it that way. I'll stay in my room tonight. Then leave early in the morning. I'll drive back to London in my own car. I must get back to Park Crescent. But first I'd better talk to Victor Rosewater, warn him that I'll be giving this ring to the CID. He'll have time to prepare his story.'

  'I'd better go and fetch him now. Before he goes in to dinner with Bob.'

  'I agree. In a minute.' Tweed studied the signet ring again. 'I have the oddest feeling I've seen this somewhere recently. No idea where. It may come back to me. And, Paula, exercise the greatest care when you interview Lord Dane Dawlish tomorrow.'

  'Newman and Marler will be there, too - at the shoot.'

  'You must still take great care,' he repeated. 'Monica has now completed her dossier on Dawlish.'

  'Why?'

  'Because he's armaments. Because he lives in the area where Karin was murdered. Probably he's nothing to do with what we're after. Just checking. One more thing I'd like you to do.' He gazed at the wall. 'And again proceed with caution.'

  'Understood. What is it?'

  'There's that Frenchman here - if Newman heard what he muttered under his breath when he stubbed his toe. So don't forget to meet him if you can. Find out what he is doing here. Now, wheel up Captain Victor Rosewater. Tell him I'm security chief with an insurance outfit.'

  'So the best thing, I'm sure, is for me to tell Chief Inspector Buchanan I discovered the signet ring,' Rosewater said firmly.

  He had just listened to Tweed's suggestion and reacted positively. Tweed studied Rosewater, remembering Paula had remarked he'd make excellent material as a new member of the SIS. Certainly he was very quick in grasping a situation, Tweed thought, as Rosewater continued.

  'I'll tell him neither Paula nor Newman knew I'd found it. I shoved it straight into my pocket so I could study it later. After all, it was my wife who was murdered. I have an obvious interest in identifying the man who killed poor Karin.'

  'Buchanan will give you hell.' Tweed warned. 'Suppressing evidence and all that.'

  'I can handle him. Remember, I've had some experience at interrogation. You're giving me the ring now?'

  'It's locked away in a safe place. And I think it would be better if we let a few days elapse before Buchanan confronts you. I may decide to be present myself.'

  Rosewater settled himself more comfortably in his chair. He watched Tweed for a whole minute before he put the question.

  'Paula said you were with an insurance outfit. Security doesn't seem to go with that, if you don't mind my saying so.'

  'Not at all.' Tweed smiled cryptically. 'We specialize in insuring wealthy targets against kidnapping.' he lied easily. 'That's confidential. On occasions we have to negotiate with kidnappers who have snatched a client - a tricky operation.'

  'So I can imagine.'

  'Our territory is the whole of Western Europe. The active areas are France and Germany. So I travel a lot. Certain German industrialists are especially nervous about this mysterious Siegfried organization which has sprung up.'

  'You mean they might try to get funds that way?'

  'Exactly. Again, very confidential. Even more so as you travel a lot.'

  'My job teaches me to keep my mouth shut. Going back to that signet ring, will I get warning
when the police are going to be informed?'

  Tweed produced his calling card showing him as Chief Claims Investigator, General & Cumbria Assurance, with only the telephone number. Tweed watched him as he slid the card into a wallet.

  'You'll be staying here for the next few days I assume?' Tweed enquired. 'So I know I can reach you?'

  Rosewater grinned for the first time. 'I'll be available. I plan to mosey round this strange old town a bit. Now I'd better get downstairs for dinner with Bob Newman.'

  When Paula left Tweed she paid a brief visit to her room to check on her appearance. Downstairs she found the youngish man with tinted glasses Newman had described in the bar. He occupied a corner table by himself, a glass in front of him. It was then Paula remembered he'd been sitting at the same table when she'd been talking to Jean Burgoyne.

  She wandered in, looked round as though unsure where to perch, then chose an empty table near Tinted Glasses. Sitting down facing him, she crossed her shapely legs. Tinted Glasses noticed her immediately. He hardly hesitated. Getting up, he walked slowly across to her, the glass in his hand.

  'Excuse me. If I'm intruding I'll go away at once. I am on my own and I wondered if we could chat. That is, unless you're expecting someone.'