Precipice tac-14

by Colin Forbes

  'It's very dark and quiet,' she commented.

  'It will get darker and quieter. Here we are…'

  Newman had been striding it out, occasionally switching on his torch, which he did now. Across a street Paula saw a steep muddy path mounting a high grassy hump.

  'I don't see any walls.' she said as they began a slippery ascent.

  'They're supposed to be underneath us.' Tweed told her. 'Actually the so-called walls are more like a huge embankment circling three-quarters of the town.'

  Below them on their left was a deserted road. To their right were some miserable allotments beyond a few houses. Paula pointed down to the road.

  'Wouldn't it be easier walking along the road? It seems to run parallel to this slimy track.'

  'More dangerous.' Marler called over his shoulder, walking just behind Newman. 'Easier for someone to lie in wait for us. Always take the high ground.'

  She noticed Marler had slipped the Walther out of his holster and was holding it by his side. As she took out her Browning Tweed called out quietly.

  'Our interview with Ben will probably be uneventful.'

  'Famous last words…'

  They continued along the narrow path, descending every now and again from one hump to a track or road, then climbing again up another treacherous path. By the light of the moon Paula saw that beyond the outskirts of Wareham the fields everywhere were inundated under water. They trudged along further under a star-studded sky and Paula clasped her windcheater round her neck. It was bitterly cold even without a wind. Suddenly Newman raised a hand for them to pause.

  'We're there. The path swings to the left and has now become North Walls. There is Bowling Green.'

  He flashed his torch down into a grass bowl to their left. It was deserted as Marler took the lead, turning a right angle. Newman swivelled his torch over the whole bowl.

  'No sign of Ben and his dog. He's probably on the footpath further along.'

  'Look at all that water,' Paula remarked. 'There's a river and it looks as though it's overflowed.'

  'It has,' said Tweed. 'There are two rivers hemming in Wareham. The one we came over when we crossed the bridge entering Wareham is the Piddle or – if you wish to be politer – the Trent.'

  'Stay exactly where you are!' ordered Marler. Paula's heart began to thud at his tone of voice.

  Marler was perched on a section of the path above Bowling Green where it turned to the west. He was aiming the powerful beam of his torch down into a swamp beyond the path where the Trent had flooded a huge area.

  'Oh, Lord,' said Philip, who had walked behind Paula and Tweed, guarding their rear. 'It's Ben. He must have slipped.'

  'Slipped, my foot,' said Newman grimly, 'and that's not meant as a joke.'

  'No one else around, is there?' asked Tweed quietly, recognizing the most important factor.

  'Not at this hour.' said Newman.

  He held his torch steady and in the beam Paula saw part of the figure of a man protruding above the watery ooze. He was submerged to his waist and one arm was held still and upright, as though calling for help. The head was bent back at a grotesque angle.

  Using his own torch and Newman's beam to light his way, Marler slithered down a steep bank, reached the edge of the flooded area, carefully trod one leg into the mud, found it sank halfway up his gumboot and then settled on something firm below.

  Paula sucked in her breath as Marler reached out with one hand after taking off his glove, gently pressed a finger against the carotid artery. Hauling out his leg on to dry land to join the other, he made his way back up the slope.

  'Well?' said Tweed.

  'It's Ben. His neck is broken.'

  'What about the dog?' Paula asked.

  'Oh, he'd throw it into the quagmire as soon as he'd killed Ben. He wouldn't want it running round drawing attention to this place too quickly. So, everyone, there we are.'

  'Where are we?' Paula asked in a dazed tone.

  'The Motorman. Again.' said Marler.

  14

  Everyone – except one man – had returned to London from the Priory Hotel early the next morning. Tweed had been electrified by the discovery of the corpse at Bowling Green.

  'We're getting out of Dorset fast.' he had informed his team, at a brief conference held in his room.

  'Why the haste?' Paula had asked.

  'Because that's the fourth murder, and one way or another several of us have witnessed the killings. We can't risk staying here until Buchanan asks some very leading questions. Also, I'm going to speed up the tempo from Park Crescent

  Only Pete Nield had been left behind, with orders to keep his eyes open and report any developments. By ten in the morning Tweed was in his office with Paula, Newman, and Marler. Newman was telling Tweed how he had handled Franklin and Eve.

  'I saw them separately. I explained to Franklin you had received an urgent message recalling you to London and left it at that.'

  'How did he react?'

  'That it suited him to get back to London to check the progress of several investigations…'

  'And Eve?'

  'She also said she would be glad to leave. Apparently she had a nasty stomach upset soon after we left to meet Ben. She retired immediately to her suite, she thought it was something she ate which disagreed with her.'

  'Too many vodkas and cognacs, more like,' Paula said caustically.

  The phone rang. Monica answered it, then motioned to Tweed.

  'Arthur Beck is on the line from Switzerland. Says he'd like to speak to you urgently…'

  'Trouble, Arthur?' Tweed enquired.

  'I tried to get you last night. About eleven, your time, Monica had just gone home someone told me. Brazil landed at Cointrin Airport, Geneva, last night. Had a limo waiting for him. One of my men watching the airport saw him leave with that aggressive bastard, Carson Craig. The car was followed by two unmarked cars and a motorcyclist. It headed east for Ouchy and Montreux."'

  'Curious. I've heard he has offices in Paris and Zurich ."'

  'Let me finish. In Ouchy both unmarked cars lost him. I've had an unkind word with the drivers. But the chap on the motorcycle was brighter. He saw Brazil and Craig switch to another identical limousine in Ouchy – with the same number plates as the one which left Geneva. He followed it to Berne, to here. Brazil has a secret HQ not a hundred yards from where I'm sitting – in my own HQ.'

  Tricky chap.' Tweed commented.

  'I think he'll be on the move again soon. You know we have a small airport at Belp, outside the city. Well, the executive jet which flew him to Geneva has landed here. And the pilot has filed a flight plan for guess where?'

  'I never guess.'

  'You do it all the time. The flight plan is for the jet to fly to Geneva this evening. I have watchers at Belp Airport.'

  'Like a perishing grasshopper, our Mr Brazil.'

  'Must go now. Will keep you in touch – even if it does cost me my job…'

  Tweed sighed, put down the phone, told the others the gist of Beck's call.

  'What do you think?' he asked.

  'That Geneva keeps cropping up.' Newman said.

  'I'm suspicious after what you've told us.' Paula said slowly while she drew faces on her notepad. 'If I were Beck I'd have someone waiting at this Belp Airport who can definitely recognize at least Brazil – and Craig if possible. To make sure that if two men board that jet they really are who they're supposed to be.'

  'I think you've just had a flash of inspiration.' Tweed thought for a moment, then looked at Monica. 'Would you call back to Beck and give him Paula's idea? Tell him it came from Paula – he respects her – and that I'm in full agreement with the suggestion.'

  He had just finished speaking when the phone rang yet again. Monica answered, frowned, looked at Tweed.

  'Bill Franklin is waiting downstairs. Says he'd like to see you briefly if you have the time.'

  'Then we'll make the time for Bill. Call Beck after he's gone.. .'

 
In a small stone villa on Kochergasse in Berne, not far distant from Federal Police Headquarters, Brazil sat behind a huge Louis Quinze desk. The only other occupant of the room, its walls covered in ancient tapestries, was Jose, a tall lean man wearing a grey business suit. He sat in a corner behind his own much smaller desk.

  'Well, Jose,' Brazil boomed cheerfully, 'would you say I fooled them all last night? Your idea of changing limousines was brilliant.'

  'From what I've heard of Tweed I would assume it was dangerous to feel too confident.'

  'I was talking about Beck, not Tweed,' Brazil said sharply.

  'My comment stands.'

  Brazil stared at his most trusted confidant. In his late thirties, Jose came from French Guiana, the one-time French colony in South America, now a departement of France. Jose had a poverty-stricken childhood but, working hard, he had saved enough money for a one-way ticket to the States.

  There he had sold newspapers on the streets, washed up in restaurants, living in one slum of a room while he studied in the early hours to be an accountant. Achieving top marks in his exams, he had applied to a conglomerate run by Brazil in America for the job of junior accountant.

  Brazil had wandered into the office where Jose was being interviewed, had taken over the interview himself. He was so impressed by Jose's intelligence, by his ethics, he had appointed him as his deputy, a post Jose had held ever since Brazil had moved to Europe.

  His skin was coffee-coloured. Clean-shaven, he always dressed impeccably and was the only man who didn't hesitate to disagree with his chief. It was a quality which Brazil admired.

  'Now you have a moment free,' Jose began, 'I can tell you of a phone call from England which came in early this morning, our time. It was from the informant you nicknamed the Recorder.'

  'Interesting information?'

  'The Recorder told me a few names of key personnel on Tweed's team. Robert Newman, Paula Grey, and -subject to confirmation – William Franklin.'

  'Is that all?' There was an edge to Brazil's voice. 'I must have at the earliest possible moment the names of all the key members of Tweed's team. That reminds me, I must put in a phone call to England.'

  Paula thought how smart Franklin looked as he came into the office. He wore a thigh-length navy-blue coat and a matching pair of well-tailored slacks. Taking off the coat, he revealed a navy-blue blazer with gold buttons, a blue-striped shirt, and a pale grey tie.

  'Morning all,' he greeted the occupants. 'It's cold enough outside to freeze an Eskimo. Thank you,' he said as Tweed invited him to sit down.

  'A cup of coffee?' Monica suggested. 'No sugar and with a dash of milk.'

  'You have angels on your staff,' he said with another smile, looking at Paula. 'Yes, please, Monica.'

  'Where is Eve now?' asked Tweed.

  'I think Philip dropped her off at her flat in South Ken. Not far from your pad.' he told Newman.

  'I gather she was unwell soon after we left.' Tweed continued quickly.

  'She was. She'd had a big meal and no sooner had you gone than she said she felt ill. She had some stuff in her suite which she said settled stomachs, so off she went. So I was left on my ownsome. I lit a cigar and a few minutes later went outside for a drop of fresh air in the square. Felt like a bit of silence and what did I get? A motorcyclist roaring at top speed up South Street towards North Street. He must have been doing sixty.'

  'How long was that after we had left?' pressed Tweed.

  'Ten minutes at the outside.'

  'And how long.' Tweed asked, looking at Newman, 'do you reckon it took us to reach Bowling Green?'

  Twenty-five minutes at the outside. I checked the time we left and looked at my watch again after we found what we did.'

  'And what did you find?' Franklin asked after thanking Monica for the cup of coffee she handed him. 'Or is it a state secret?' Tweed shook his head.

  'Sorry!' Franklin raised an apologetic hand. 'Guess I shouldn't have asked. Also, I shouldn't waste your time so I'll get straight to why I'm here. You said down in Dorset you might want to use me. A big job has just landed on my desk. It's boring and I'd just as soon give it to one of my staff – that is, if you want me to carry out an investigation.'

  'I do. Just a small one.' Tweed smiled grimly. 'A man called Leopold Brazil.'

  'I see.' Franklin smiled back drily. 'A mere nothing. What do you want to know about that gentleman, where do you suggest I start?'

  'I want to know everything you can dig up. Especially all the places he operates from. Geneva is the place to start. You said you had an agency there.'

  'Geneva, here I come.' Franklin swallowed the rest of his coffee, stood up, slipped on his coat, looking across at Paula. 'Tweed, if you have to send someone out there to meet me I'd be quite happy if it was Paula.'

  'And Paula would be quite happy to come.' said Paula.

  Franklin gave everyone a little salute. He looked now at Marler, who was leaning against a wall, smoking a king-size, and had said nothing.

  'I don't think I know your name.'

  'No, you don't,' Marler replied.

  'Another state secret,' Franklin said to Tweed, grinned, and left the room.

  'He doesn't waste much time,' Paula remarked.

  'And you find him interesting, don't you?' Tweed teased her.

  'Yes. He's courteous, intelligent, and good fun. And he likes women.'

  'What more could you ask for?'

  'Why were you so interested in the timing of that motorcyclist Bill heard just after we'd left the Priory to go and meet poor Ben?' she asked, changing the subject.

  'Because I think that could have been The Motorman, getting to Bowling Green to kill Ben before we arrived.'

  'But how on earth could anyone have known the timing and place for our meeting him?'

  'You've forgotten,' Tweed told her. 'When we did make the arrangement Ben lifted his voice several times -and there were two strange men waiting at the bar, the ones who tapped on the counter with a coin. They could have told someone else who instructed The Motorman. I feel I should have spotted the danger.'

  'You can't think of absolutely everything. And I wonder how Philip is getting on with Eve?'

  ***

  Philip had driven back from Wareham in his Land Rover with Eve behind him in her Porsche. Whenever she could she overtook him to be in the lead. Philip then waited until the road ahead was clear and would overtake her, waving a hand at her as she had waved to him. They continued this leap-frogging until they ran into London's traffic.

  Philip was surprised at how close her flat was to Bob Newman's. Eve lived in a large red-brick house which had been converted into flats and looked expensive. Inside her first-floor flat she threw her coat carelessly on to the end of a long couch.

  'The drinks cabinet is that thing over there.' she informed him. 'Make me a large vodka while I go to the loo.'

  He opened the cabinet, took a glass, and put a modest amount of vodka in the glass – modest for Eve. Then he went over to the bay window and looked down into the South Ken road. In mid morning it was quiet.

  At the Priory Eve had arrived very late for breakfast, had then eaten two fried eggs with bacon and tomatoes. She had explained her lateness between mouthfuls.

  'I hardly slept all night. Just sat up in bed and read a paperback …'

  Which, at the time, had seemed odd to Philip. Before going to bed he had wandered round the outside of her suite and there had not been a light on in any room.

  He was thinking of this as he stared down and she came back into the room. He handed her the glass.

  'Call that a large vodka? For God's sake.'

  'Isn't it a bit early…'

  'No, it isn't.' she snapped as she filled up the glass. 'Aren't you drinking? You could always pour yourself an extra strong orange juice.'

  She flopped down on a long couch, stretched out her legs. He sat down at the far end, watched her while she drank her vodka in two separate gulps. She had calmed down. He reache
d out and clasped her hand.

  'Not yet. We hardly know each other, darling.'

  Jumping up, she sat in a nearby armchair, flashed him her warm smile. She leaned forward.

  'I don't even know anything about your job.'

  'I'm in insurance.' replied Philip, suddenly guarded.

  'What kind of insurance? Who are the key people? Is Tweed the top man in your outfit? He's nice. Who does he work with besides yourself? I'm interested.'

  'You don't tell me anything about your job,' he reminded her. 'Except to say it's hush-hush…'

  'Is yours hush-hush?' she asked quickly.

  'No, it's boring to talk about. And I told you before I was in insurance.' He looked at his watch. 'I have to get to the office now I've seen you safely home.'

  Annoyed with her swift changes of mood, he just wanted to get out of the place. She leapt up from her chair, threw her arms round him, kissed him full on the mouth, and then broke away.

  'Call me tonight, Philip. Before six. I may have to go abroad on a job.'

  'Where to?'

  'God knows, but my boss does. I'll know when he tells me.'

  I'll give you a buzz…'

  Tweed was pacing round his office, his mind racing as he played with the pieces of the jigsaw he was trying to assemble.

  'You're putting an iron curtain round Leopold Brazil,' Paula commented. 'First Keith Kent going off to Geneva. Now Bill Franklin heading for the same Swiss city to activate his detectives.'

  'It will need an iron curtain to pin down what Brazil is up to.'

  'You're sure he is up to something?'

  'I am after what Beck told me. Otherwise why go to all that trouble to elude anyone following him – switching cars at Ouchy, arriving in Berne, summoning his jet to Belp Airport? He's putting up smokescreens to hide something. The question is what? By the way, Bob, you came here early after delivering Archie to Heathrow. How was he?'

  'I collected him from the Black Bear.' Newman pulled a face of resignation. 'It seemed like the dead of night – it was early morning. And Archie was freshly shaved and perky as a squirrel. We arrived at Heathrow in good time for him to catch his flight.'

  'Did you check quietly where he was going?'