The Janus Man

by Forbes, Colin

  He dialled the number he had memorized, which was Lübeck-Süd. Kuhlmann came straight on the line. He sounded grim and weary. Lack of sleep.

  `Tweed, the pathologist has examined what's left of Sue Templeton, that American girl. He found a lot of skin under the fingernails of her right hand. The poor girl put up a fight. Main thing is, the killer must have one hell of a scratch on his person — probably on his face. Thought you should know. Getting anywhere?'

  `Thanks. And yes. Because of that, I'm in a rush.'

  'OK.' Kuhlmann paused. 'Put a bullet through the bastard for me.'

  `You are about to look down on the Ninth Wonder of the World,' Tweed said to Newman. 'The approach to Oslo Fjord. It's quite magnificent.'

  They were flying at thirty thousand feet aboard the DC-9, Orvar Viking. At Kastrup Airport they had grabbed a late breakfast and then caught the flight by minutes. The cloud bank over Copenhagen had dissipated soon after takeoff. They flew up the west coast of Sweden.

  Tweed had pointed out to Newman — and Nield who sat behind them — the Skaw, the northernmost tip of Denmark, stretching out into the Skagerrak. A flat, claw-like peninsula, it had a barren deserted look from that height. Newman peered out of the window as the machine began its long descent.

  The pilot had made an announcement that the air was exceptionally clear, the view coming up rarely seen. Below on the azure blue sea Newman could make out tiny specks of white — the wakes of invisible vessels heading north. Was one of them the Nordsee, he wondered. Then he leaned closer to the window.

  It was his first sighting of Norway. The most southerly of the islands guarding the entrance to the huge fjord came into view. Newman stared down, fascinated. They were like ragged-edged pieces of a jigsaw thrown down at random on to a gigantic table of blue ice.

  The descent continued. The islands became larger, some covered with dense fir forest. Between them vessels plied their way northward, heading for distant Oslo. Houses began to appear on a few islands. Newman had never seen so many islands clustered together, drawn back from the main channel wending its way towards the Norwegian capital.

  The aircraft flew on, dropping all the time, following the course of the fjord. Suddenly they were lost inside a cloud like fog. They were flying very low now. Newman went on staring out of the window. He stiffened as they flew out of the fog. Just below rose a whole series of hump-backed hills, range upon range. It was quite different from what he had expected.

  The plane swung in a vast arc, diving inside the fog and emerging without warning. The hills, covered with dense forest, looked to be too close. The plane climbed abruptly. Then the machine descended, flew across a stretch of water. 'We're going to end up in the drink,' Newman was thinking. The wheels touched down. The airport was located at the very edge of the fjord. Newman let out a sigh of relief.

  'Marvellous,' crowed Tweed.

  'Bloody marvellous,' Newman agreed.

  Tweed wasted no time once they reached the exit hall. He asked for chief of security, was ushered with Newman into a small square office lined with green filing cabinets and occupied by a short well-built Norwegian in a pale blue shirt and navy blue trousers who rose from behind his desk.

  'I'm Iversen, chief of security. Who are you?'

  'Tweed. Special Branch. From London.' He slapped down a folder on Iversen's desk. 'I need to speak urgently to Captain Georg Palmer of Norwegian Intelligence. He's out at Huseby Gardekasernen — near Røa.'

  Tweed took out his notebook while Iversen checked the folder and handed it back. 'Here's the phone number,' Tweed said. 'May I?' He took a pad on the desk and wrote down the number.

  'I'll talk to him first,' Iversen said, picked up the phone, dialled the number and spoke in Norwegian, then switched to English. 'Yes, sir, your description fits him perfectly. I'll put him on the line.' He held out the phone. 'I can leave you alone..

  'Not necessary, thank you.' Tweed spoke into the phone. 'I am at Fornebu, as you'll now know. Just arrived. Need to talk to you, Georg. No, don't come to Fornebu. Can we meet at the Grand Hotel? In about a couple of hours from now? I have to check certain things first. Yes, I'm glad to be back. Look forward to seeing you again. 'Bye.'

  He thanked Iversen and outside in the entrance hall they found Nield waiting. He gestured towards the western side of the airfield.

  `I found Casey. He's where the police choppers take off from. In the private section.' He fingered his small black moustache. `I think you ought to talk with him. We can walk. The exercise will do you good.'

  Tweed blinked as they emerged into brilliant sunshine. Newman took a deep breath. The air was crisp, invigorating. As they walked he looked towards the hills rising up behind Oslo. The air had a sharp, crystalline clarity, bringing the hills covered with forest closer than they were.

  `I like this place,' he said.

  `The pace is slower here,' Tweed said as he trotted briskly towards the Sea King he could now see. 'There's no place in Europe like it. In some ways, you feel you're living in the nineteen-thirties. In the nicest possible way. Well, Casey, what's the position?'

  `The Nordsee is approaching the entrance to Oslo Fjord. About eighty nautical miles south of the first island.'

  `How long ago was that?'

  `One hour. We landed here, refuelled — so we're ready for a long flight if necessary...'

  `Which it might well be,' Tweed agreed.

  `Then we took off again, flew back down the fjord and over the Skagerrak. Just to make sure he hadn't changed course.'

  `Which he could still do,' interjected his co-pilot, Wilson. `South-west would take him out into the North Sea. And he had reduced speed a lot. For the first time since we tracked him from Lübeck.'

  That was quite a speech for Wilson. And a shrewd point he'd made, Tweed was thinking.

  `Has he spotted you, would you say?' he asked Casey.

  `Bound to have done so by now. Not during the night — but there's so much traffic off Sweden we had to move in closer. Other choppers were around, but only one Sea King. Us.'

  `Can you wait here while we drive into Oslo? Have you had a meal?'

  `Easily,' Casey replied. He looked up at the sky. 'Night will be coming within a few hours. Maybe that's what he's waiting for. And we had an excellent meal at the restaurant. Go about your business, Tweed. We can wait. You can always call the airport — they know where we are.'

  'I am in a rush...'

  They took a cab into Oslo and Newman stared out of the window, taking in the new experience. The highway followed the upper reaches of the fjord, giving views of marinas crammed with sailing craft and the intensely blue water beyond. Arriving at the Grand Hotel on the main street, Karl Johans Gate, Tweed bustled inside, carrying his case.

  Newman paid off the cab and lingered for a moment with Nield, taking in the atmosphere. Tweed had been right. The pace was slower. None of the 'must get there yesterday' frenzy of London or New York.

  Karl Johans Gate stretched due west. In the distance an elegant ochre and pale grey building stood on a small hill. The Royal Palace, Newman guessed. Across a park on another street an old cream and grey tram trundled through the city. The Norwegians strolled, made way for other people. Yes, I like this place Newman thought.

  Inside Tweed was questioning the chief receptionist.

  `We need three rooms with baths. You can manage that? Good. I'd also like the room number of my friend, Erich Lindemann.'

  `Mr Lindemann isn't staying with us. He always does when he is in Oslo...'

  `You mean he checked out today?'

  `No, sir. Mr Lindemann hasn't stayed with us for the past two months.'

  So much for Miss Browne and her knowledge of Scandinavian languages, Tweed thought. I'll bet she can't speak a word of one of them. But, of course — Lindemann is the linguist. He wouldn't want an assistant who could understand what he was saying on the phone.

  `I have another friend who is staying here. Miss Diana Chadwick.'

  `Now
she is with us.' The receptionist glanced over his shoulder. 'Room 736. But she's out. Her key is on the rack.'

  `Don't mention I enquired when she comes back. I want to surprise her.'

  Newman and Nield came inside at that moment and registered. On their way up in the elevator Tweed warned them not to unpack, to be ready for departure at a moment's notice. He had just dumped his bag in his own room when the phone rang. A Captain Palmer was waiting to see him.

  `Send him up, please. And ask room service to send up two pots of coffee.'

  Palmer was a tall, thin, wiry-looking Norwegian in his early thirties. Dressed in a plain grey business suit, he shook Tweed's hand warmly, sat down and crossed his legs. He had thick sandy hair, a long nose and dark observant eyes with a hint of humour in them.

  `Too long since we met, Tweed. I gather this is an emergency, so let us dispense with the greetings. What can I do to help?'

  `A large power cruiser is approaching the entrance to the fjord. White colour with brass trimmings. Called Nordsee. I've had it shadowed by a Sea King, now waiting at Fornebu. If I send out my chopper again it might frighten off the man aboard from heading for his ultimate destination...'

  `Which is?'

  `I've no idea yet. I wonder whether you could arrange for at least one police launch from Sandvika to keep an eye on the Nordsee's movements. It appears to be heading for Oslo, but I need to know any alteration in course. And discretion is the order of the day.'

  Palmer shook his head. 'Not a police launch. They only patrol the fjord near Oslo. What we need is the Coastguard. They operate in the outer reaches of the fjord. I can make the call now from here. We should have one vessel watching your prey within thirty minutes. A more precise description of the Nordsee would help.'

  `I'm not good on boats...'

  Tweed called Newman in his room, asked him to come, and when he arrived explained what was needed. While the two men talked he phoned down to ask if Diana had arrived back. She hadn't. Palmer then took over the phone, dialled and spoke rapidly in Norwegian. He put down the receiver.

  `A Coastguard vessel will be on station shortly. The commander will report to me personally by radio direct to my HQ. I will then call you if there are developments.'

  `I believe you're supposed to make a report of all incidents?' Tweed remarked.

  `That is so.' Palmer shook hands again and went to the door. He turned before he left. 'But then again, I often have the most extraordinary lapses of memory.'

  The next few hours — while Tweed waited for Diana to come back to the hotel — were tense. Night fell and Tweed arranged a roster for dinner. While he ate with Newman and Butler Nield stayed in the reception hall, seated in a chair. The instructions Tweed gave were precise and surprised the others.

  `She may already have her bag packed and try to leave when she knows I'm here. If necessary, you are to forcibly restrain her in her room. Then call me via reception.'

  They ate in the Grand Cafe, attached to the hotel, a large and rather old-fashioned place which overlooked the main street. Newman looked round, fascinated by the other diners. He'd noticed some of them at their tables an hour earlier. He remarked on the fact to Tweed, who sat gently drumming his fingers.

  `Yes,' Tweed agreed, 'it's like pre-war customs in England I've read about. Gone forever. People — the locals — come and sit here for ages talking. It's part of their way of life.'

  `And you're bothered about something? Diana?'

  `Diana, yes. It's getting so late. But also, no report from Palmer. Something has gone wrong. I sense it.'

  'This has happened before at this stage of the game... `True. This particular game though is the most dangerous I've ever played in the whole of my career so far.'

  They were about to leave the Grand Café when Nield appeared at the door and beckoned to Butler, who jumped up and walked over to him. They conversed briefly; Nield vanished in the direction of the entrance hall and Butler returned to their table.

  `She's just collected her key and gone up in the elevator.'

  `Then I'd better get up and see her.' Tweed's tone was so grim, there was a ruthless expression on his face Butler had rarely seen. Tweed stared at him. 'I'm going to grill the hell out of her. You and Pete had better come with me. Stay outside her door — in case she tries to make a run for it. If she does, stop her.'

  He walked straight out of the restaurant to the elevator bank, pressed the button, waited, stepped inside the elevator without a word. As it ascended Butler and Nield exchanged glances behind his back.

  Tweed walked out into the corridor, checked the room number indicator, strode off to the left, turned left again and then right. He rapped on the door of 736. Diana, clad in a white sweater and a cherry-coloured skirt opened it.

  `Tweed! How on earth did you...'

  `We have to talk.' He pushed past her into the bedroom, closing the door. 'You have to talk — tell the truth. For the first time. Sit down.'

  `When I'm asked nicely...'

  `Sit down! Question number one. How long have you known Dr Berlin?'

  She sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs as she studied him from under her eyelashes. Tweed remained standing, hands clasped behind his back.

  `Over twenty years. You know that...'

  `The real Dr Berlin I mean. Hurry up. I'm short of time.' `I don't know what you mean.'

  `Why were you so scared out of your wits when you found the locks had been changed on the Südwind?'

  `I knew it was a warning.' Her voice had changed. She had a lace-edged handkerchief she began picking at. 'I thought at first I wouldn't be able to get at any of my own things — until I saw my drawers had been left alone.'

  `Who were you scared of?'

  `Whoever had changed the locks...'

  `How have you managed for money all these years since you left Kenya?'

  `You think I've slept with men, don't you, Tweed?' `No. So who gave you money to live on?'

  `He did. He made me a regular allowance.' A vehement note came into her voice. 'I never slept with him. Not once.'

  `I can believe that. So what made you worth the allowance?' `I'm frightened. Horribly frightened.'

  `Why?' demanded Tweed in the same brusque tone, 'did you run out on me? Take the night express to Copenhagen, then fly up here?'

  `Because I was horribly afraid — after I heard that American girl had been killed on the beach. I knew it must be him. I thought I'd be next. I'm a blonde. I have a girl friend who works in Oslo. I've had dinner with her. And Oslo seemed far enough away from Lübeck. I panicked. I want to start a new life. I'm sick of being a kept woman — even though I never performed the services a kept woman normally renders.'

  `So, why did Dr Berlin keep you? As a witness? As one person who gave him credibility? One person who would say he was the same man as the Dr Berlin in Kenya? Do I have to drag it out of you, for God's sake?'

  No, not any more. You're right. I was his witness. When we first sailed from the Med to Lübeck years ago he saw me. How he knew who I was I don't know. Maybe from a photograph. Perhaps someone told him I'd known Berlin well in Kenya. I was on my beam ends for lack of money...'

  It came pouring out now Tweed had broken through the dam. He still remained standing, showing no sympathy, not daring to risk stopping her flow of words.

  `He invited me to his house on Priwall Island. I went quite happily — until I saw him in his study. I knew at once that he wasn't the man I'd known in Kenya. He admitted he wasn't. Then he put me a proposition.'

  `Go on! Don't stop now.'

  `You're being beastly to me. All right.' She- sat stiffly as she continued. 'I had very little money — Ken, my husband, left nothing when he was killed hunting in the bush. It wasn't a secret — that I'd no money. He offered me a generous monthly allowance if I'd tell people he was the Dr Berlin I'd known in the old days. As you said, he needed a witness. I accepted.'

  `What did you think this impostor was up to?'

&nbs
p; `Oh, he told me some story — that he was the original Berlin's half-brother, that he wanted to carry on his charitable work, that he could do that best if he had his brother's reputation. For raising funds for refugees, things like that.'

  `You believed him?'

  `Not for a moment.' She was shredding the lace handkerchief. `And he knew it, but he didn't care. He let drop a remark which suggested he was engaged in some kind of smuggling. I thought, what's the harm? I needed the money.'

  `Wait a minute.' Tweed produced a document from his breast pocket. 'Read that. It's the Official Secrets Act.'

  'Why?'

  `Just read it.' Tweed went to the door, asked Butler and Nield to come in for a moment. He explained they were witnessing the signing of the Official Secrets Act by Miss Diana Chadwick. When she had signed the document the two men left the room.

  `Now,' said Tweed, 'you must know that Dr Berlin is not only an impostor, he isn't even German. He's English.'

  `Yes.'

  `Tell me anything you can about his real appearance — without that beard he grows every time he returns to Lübeck when he pretends to be meditating or some other rot. His habits.'

  `He collects fine wines...'

  `What?' Tweed let out the exclamation involuntarily.

  `I said he collects fine wines. He even has a dozen bottles of Chateau d'Yquem in his-cellar at his mansion. He says it's a good investment. And once I caught a brief glimpse of him without his beard just after he'd arrived. He had a loop of hair drooped over his forehead. Rather like Hitler.'

  `A catlick?'

  `That's right.'

  `Now.' Tweed stared hard at her. 'While we were in England I took you round with me to visit four men in their homes. I watched carefully your reaction when you met them — and their reactions. I couldn't spot a reaction which gave any of them away. One of them is Dr Berlin...'

  `Really?'

  `Yes, really.' Tweed's tone was sarcastic. 'That was why I took you with me. And don't deny it. I checked how much money you had in your handbag before we visited my first suspect. Two hundred and fifty pounds...'