Cell

by Colin Forbes

  High up, headlights on full beam, she turned off at the triangle leading to Black Wood. She began to doubt whether she had been wise when trails of mist drifted through the trees as she drove carefully down the 'rabbit warren'. Now she was hemmed in on both sides by high banks. She caught sight of movement.

  Something inside the mist close to the road. She stopped, kept the engine running, took hold of her Browning, lowered her window. Now she could hear something approaching her car. A crunching of feet on the dead bracken. God! Had she been impetuous? The stealthy approach came closer, the something disturbing the bracken. She checked - yes, she had locked all her doors before starting out.

  Her nerves were vibrating. Who on earth could be stalking through Black Wood? Her sense of menace grew stronger. Maybe she had made a fatal mistake in stopping? She thought of driving on. But a bullet fired accurately from above would finish her off. It was too late now to change her mind.

  Then the something slithered down the bank in front of her. For a moment it stood in the glare of the headlights. A large fox. With a swift reaction it climbed the opposite bank and was gone. She took off her gloves, wiped both hands clean of the sweat, put them on again, drove on down the gulch road and soon she was climbing the road up to Carpford.

  She eased her way round the sharp corner where Mrs Warner's car had been found abandoned. So many reminders of people who had vanished into thin air. Unnerving disappearances. She had little doubt Beaurain was convinced they had all been murdered. But if he was right how had they disposed of the bodies? Carp Lake had been dragged and nothing found there.

  Cresting the rise to the plateau on which Carpford was perched, she was not happy to see that the mist was thicker up here, almost a fog. Paula had decided the first place she wanted to check was Mrs Gobble's shop. Was the telescope still there? She drove slowly past Garda, Victor Warner's weird Italianate residence. Lights in all the windows. He must have come up here himself.

  Driving slowly on, she passed the futuristic blocks of concrete cubes which were Drew Franklin's hideaway. More lights in the porthole windows. Maybe she had come up on the right night.

  No lights in Mrs Gobble's shop. Their absence gave the place a funereal look. Driving a few feet beyond it, she saw a large shed half-hidden behind it. Hadn't noticed that before. She stopped, left the engine running for a quick getaway, got out.

  Like stepping into the Arctic, a mist-bound Arctic. The two doors to the shed had a padlock which was not closed. She eased the doors open, Browning in her hand. Extracting her flashlight from another pocket, she switched it on. The place was empty. No sign it had been used for a long time. Then it struck her this was the ideal place to park her car out of sight. Within minutes she was closing the doors with her car inside. Now she needn't advertise her approach.

  The door to the shop was open. She entered cautiously, her flashlight swivelling round. It had been searched, by the police she felt sure. An attempt had been made to put things back where they belonged. Male searchers. They could never put things back in the right place. She noticed the four-panelled screen was still standing. No sign of the telescope. It had gone. Taken by who?

  She decided to approach Palfry's huge tub of a home first. Following the path she had walked with Tweed, it was only when she was close to it that, because of the fog, she saw there were lights. But where was the entrance? She crept round the side and found steps leading up to an arched door. She swivelled her flashlight up its side and realized for the first time how massive the place was. Mounting the steps, she pressed the illuminated bell, heard chimes pealing inside. The door was opened after sounds of locks being released. In bright light stood Peregrine Palfry.

  'Ah, Miss Grey, what a pleasant surprise. Do come in...'

  His smooth face was smiling, as always. He had greeted her as though this was nothing unusual. Diplomatic training, she thought. He closed the door on the fog as soon as she was inside. Wearing a smart check sports jacket and beige slacks with a sharp crease, his shirt open at the collar.

  'Just got a hot pot of coffee ready,' He said. 'You won't refuse. Not after walking through that fog. Do sit down after I've taken your jacket.'

  He was the perfect host, acting as though he had expected her. The chair he led her to had an Oriental look, large and with comfortable arms. As she sat he was placing soft cushions behind her.

  'Now, I'll get the coffee . . .'

  She had kept her shoulder-bag, and while alone looked at her strange surroundings. The diameter of the room was enormous. High up the ceiling was masked by a cloth canopy with a peculiar design. The furniture had an Eastern look. Her eyes followed the endless circle of the walls. If you'd had a few drinks you'd soon feel dizzy. By the side of the wall furthest from her climbed a wide massive oak staircase with a banister, disappearing above the canopy. Palfry returned, served the coffee, sat on a throne-like chair.

  'What do you think of it?' he asked, waving his hand.

  'It's very Oriental. A unique house I'd say. Large enough to house a small army.'

  'Excuse me?' His normally gentle eyes sharpened.

  'I just said it was large enough to house a small army.'

  'Oh, sorry. I didn't quite catch what you said. I suppose it is.' He chuckled. 'Don't let the MoD know!'

  'And very tastefully Oriental.'

  'So glad you approve. My girlfriend doesn't. Came here once and said from now on she'd meet me in London.'

  'You've been to the Middle East?' she pressed on.

  'Pardon?' The eyes sharpened again.

  'I asked if you'd been to the Middle East.'

  'Oh, yes. For a short time. Posted to the Cairo Embassy. I didn't like Cairo. Got out one weekend on a huge barge going down the Nile. It was motorized but a team of Egyptians rowed us up. Strong chaps. Pulled giant oars. Chap who came back recently said they now use a steamer if you leave from Cairo. More luxurious, I gathered.'

  'Turning to another subject, Mr Palfry . . .'

  'Perry, please.'

  'Is there any news about Mrs Warner? Have you any theory as to what happened to her?'

  'No, to both questions, I fear.'

  'Someone said there was a rumour she'd run off with another man.'

  'I'm sure she hasn't. She was a real lady, the perfect consort for the Minister. The kind you don't often see any more.' His smile glowed. 'Present company excluded, of course.'

  Paula had drunk her coffee and refused a refill. 'Thank you, all the same. Before I came over here I visited Mrs Gobble's shop. The door was open. The place had been searched.'

  'By the police. I rushed over when I realized what was going on. Told them she had asked me to keep an eye on the shop if she was ever out. A fib. They don't know how to put anything back properly. I was annoyed.'

  'Did they take anything with them? A high-powered telescope, for example?'

  'No they didn't. They made a mess taking fingerprints. Left that all brown dust they use. I spent hours cleaning it up. A telescope? Didn't know she had one. Why would she?'

  'A woman on her own needs something to occupy her. She did mention to me she was fed up with motor-cyclists arriving at all hours.'

  'Can't say I've ever heard them, but this place is insulated against outside noises.'

  'Well, Perry, I really came to see if you had heard any news about Mrs Warner. I must go now. Oh yes, I have a car parked nearby. You have been most hospitable. Thank you.'

  'The pleasure has been all mine.'

  He disappeared to fetch her windcheater. She was standing up by the chair she'd occupied when she heard the sound of a motor-cycle engine clearly. It had gone when her host returned.

  'Do come again,' he urged, helping her on with the windcheater. 'You have livened up what would have been a boring evening for me . . .'

  He was smiling as he opened the door. A wave of icy fog drifted in. Palfry closed the door quickly. Frowning, Paula turned to her right, walking slowly towards the next house occupied by Margesson. She w
as recalling her conversation with Palfry. Something wasn't right.

  Her visit to Margesson's Georgian mansion, which was a blaze of lights, was very different. It was also much shorter.

  The bearded giant, who, more than ever, reminded her of an Old Testament prophet, made his point without any attempt to soften his words, to be polite. She was holding up her SIS folder, open so he could see it.

  'I'm Paula Grey, assistant to Mr Tweed, whom you've met

  'The Lord warns us against temptation,' he thundered. 'I would never have a woman in my house after dark. Take your wiles and yourself elsewhere.'

  The door slammed shut in her face with a heavy thud. Paula shrugged, put away her folder. A religious fanatic. A man it would be a waste of time to attempt to talk to. Especially after dark! She smiled to herself.

  She walked slowly along the road to Billy Hogarth's bungalow. The team which had dragged the lake had cleaned up with care. Mud still clung to the grass verge at the edge of the lake but they had done everything they could to leave Carp Lake as they had found it.

  Lights were on in the bungalow behind closed shutters. She took a deep breath, hoping Billy was sober, pressed the bell. She was taken aback when the door opened.

  Silhouetted in lights behind him stood a tall handsome man. Clean-shaven, tall, in his forties, he was smartly dressed in country garb.

  'I know it's late,' she began, 'but I was hoping to have a word with Mr Billy Hogarth.'

  'Better come in. It's beastly out there. I'm Martin, Billy's brother. He's had a few drinks. You are?'

  'Sorry. Paula Grey . . .'

  'Tweed's legendary assistant. No need to show me your ID. Care for a drink? What's your tipple?'

  She was inside a narrow hall and Martin had closed the door quickly. He gave her a charming smile, a shade too charming. She mistrusted men with that kind of smile. He took her arm, led her into a large comfortable living-room. A heavily built man with a white moustache and fringe beard stood up out of an armchair. His hair was thick and white, his movements agile as he came forward, hand extended.

  'You're an improvement on my boring brother.' The hand he extended was large, like the rest of Billy. She braced herself for a crushing grip. Instead, he pressed her hand gently as Martin called over his shoulder.

  'To drink?'

  'Just coffee, if it isn't a nuisance.'

  'It's a pleasure,' Martin assured her with a smile before disappearing into another room.'

  'I'm Paula Grey of the SIS,' she told the brother.

  Close up to him she could smell beer. Could see his face was dripping with moisture about to fall on his shirt. Taking out a handkerchief she said, 'Excuse me,' and wiped his face. Not a gesture she would normally have dreamt of performing but she had taken an instant liking to this powerfully built man. He grinned, thanked her, said something about the heating being too high, ushered her to an armchair. Behind his back as he returned to his own chair she sniffed at the handkerchief. Beer fumes. Billy had rubbed beer on his face, pretending to be drunk. Why?

  With his strong frame and his appearance she could imagine that, born in the right time, he'd have made an impressive pirate. He lifted his glass off a table, sipped a small quantity of beer, then held the glass in his hand.

  'How can I help you, Miss Grey? I'm Billy, to people I like.'

  'I was hoping you could tell me something about Mrs Warner. It's over three weeks since she disappeared. There are rumours that she's gone off with another man. I don't believe them.'

  'You never know,' interjected Martin who had returned with a Meissen cup of coffee, a jug of milk, sugar. 'Shall I pour? How do you like it?'

  'Black, please.'

  'And ignore that foul implication Martin has just made,' Billy growled. 'Linda Warner is a lady, something Martin wouldn't recognize. I helped her out with one or two problems. One evening her key wouldn't work in the front door. She came over and I went back with her. Tried kicking the brute of a door and the key worked fine.'

  'Before I came here,' Paula went on as Martin dragged a chair next to hers, 'I called on Margesson. Wouldn't let me in - raved on about not having a woman in after dark, slammed the door in my face.'

  'He's potty,' Billy said and laughed. 'You wouldn't think he was once a housemaster at Eton. Heaven help his pupils. He wasn't a religious maniac when he arrived here. All this ranting on about Allah . . .'

  'About God,' Martin corrected.

  'All right, about the Messiah. He's just repeating what someone has brainwashed him with. Thinks it makes him seem important. A real gasbag.'

  'Billy,' Martin interjected again, 'I don't think Miss Grey wants to hear about the parochial goings-on in Carpford.'

  'I noticed you used the present tense when referring to Mrs Warner. You said Linda Warner is a lady. So you feel she is still alive?'

  'Jolly well hope so. Not so many like her about these days. Incidentally, Martin, that darned motor-cyclist must still be about. Heard his machine but haven't heard it shove off.' He looked at Paula. 'They park their machines between our bungalows. Never been able to get hold of one of them to tell him to stop it.'

  'They?' Paula queried.

  'Yes. Recently instead of one of them we get two during the evening, coming up separately. Don't know where they go to.'

  'Probably just delivering pizzas,' Martin suggested.

  'What, in a large white slim envelope?' Billy protested. 'I don't think you'd get a pizza as thin as that. I know you wouldn't.'

  'Billy isn't much of a detective,' Martin sneered unpleasantly.

  'I think,' Paula said emphatically, 'he'd make rather a good one.'

  She had her left hand perched on the arm of her chair. Martin had placed his hand over hers. She slipped her hand free, careful not to look at him. He seemed to treat it as a challenge.

  'Not much fun here,' he started, smiling invitingly. 'Come and have a drink at my place. It's just next door.'

  'I wouldn't if I were you,' Billy warned.

  'I'd better go now,' Paula remarked after openly checking her watch.

  Martin was on his feet in a flash. He disappeared in the direction where he had taken her windcheater. Paula leaned forward, lowered her voice.

  'Did you know Mrs Gobble, who has also disappeared? Her telescope, a big job, has gone. I found out the police didn't take it after they'd searched her place.'

  'A nice old lady. Very independent. I worry about her.

  She was not the type to push off without saying something to me. She was lonely. The telescope was her friend . . .'

  He stopped talking as Martin appeared with the windcheater. She tried to slip it on quickly but he made a ceremony of it, his hands clutching her arms. She pulled herself away, thanked him formally, then turned to Billy who had stood up.

  'I want to thank you for a most enjoyable evening. You are the perfect host.'

  'I'm not a bad cook either. What's your favourite dish?'

  'Shepherd's pie.'

  'Next time you come up here call me first.' He handed her a card. 'Shepherd's pie is my speciality.'

  Martin accompanied her out into the long hall. They were standing by the door and he was making a performance of opening it when he spoke to her with a sneering smile.

  'My boozy brother.'

  'I heard that!' shouted Billy. Glancing over her shoulder she saw him standing in the hall outside the entrance to the living-room. 'What Martin won't tell you is that the only reason he can afford the rent for his bungalow and a load of expensive clothes is he was left a legacy by his uncle. I worked for my nest-egg. You'd better go now, Miss Grey. He has crawly hands.'

  'Goodnight to both of you.'

  Paula stepped out into the fog and the door closed behind her. Boozy brother? She'd noticed that as Martin brought in the coffee Billy took another sip of his beer and banged the glass down on the table. It was his defence mechanism against his brother. Why was it necessary?

  Several yards away from both bungalows, she
paused. The mist swirled round her. As she had passed the gap between them she had glanced up the opening. A large motor-cycle was leaning against a wall. A Harley-Davidson she thought. So the mysterious messenger was still here.

  'I learned a lot from Billy,' she said to herself. 'So what do I do now?'

  She decided to walk round the end of Carp Lake to call on Drew Franklin. Since lights were on in the house of concrete cubes it might be a unique chance to talk to him. She again had trouble finding the front door. It was set into the concrete under an overhanging cube. She pressed the square bell, heard nothing inside. She was just about to walk away when the door opened swiftly. A slim man of medium height with a good-looking but cynical face stared at her.