by Colin Forbes
She explained how she'd noticed the front door had been tampered with. How she had searched his room while he was unconscious – and what she'd found in a drawer before handing it over to Newman. She described the arrival of two black cars and men with long black coats., how Newman had dealt with them.
'Long black coats,' Tweed responded. 'Any caps? Yes, I see. And with armlets on their sleeves. I don't like the sound of the way things are going. We'll leave for the office.'
In his first-floor office with large windows looking towards Regent's Park, Tweed was settled behind his antique desk (a present from his staff) when the visitor arrived. Paula was seated at her desk in a corner. Monica, a middle-aged woman with her hair tucked up in a bun and his faithful secretary for years, sat behind her desk by the door working at her word-processor. Two other key members of his team were also present. Harry Butler, a Cockney, wearing an old windcheater and shabby slacks, sat crosslegged on the floor. His partner, Pete Nield, sat in a chair close to Paula's desk.
Partners, but their contrast in personality and dress were striking. Nield, in his late thirties, wore a smart suit with a well-pressed shirt and a smart tie. They had listened in silence while Tweed told them of recent events.
'You was set up,' Harry growled. 'Timing was all worked out by a planner. Chose the wrong man. We'll locate 'im -and when we do if I'm there he'll end up in 'ospital…'
He stopped talking as the phone rang, Monica answered, then looked at Tweed.
'You won't believe this but Commander Roy Buchanan is downstairs, requesting to see you urgently.'
'Wheel him up, then.'
They heard feet clumping quickly up the stairs. Paula stared in disbelief as Buchanan entered the room. Instead of his usual business suit, he was clad in full-dress uniform as Commander of the Anti-Terrorist Squad, a temporary appointment since he was normally Superintendent of the CID.
'Good morning, Roy,' Tweed greeted him amiably. 'Why the fancy dress?'
'I'm here in an official capacity,' Buchanan said grimly, his expression stern as he seated himself in front of Tweed's desk.
'Hello, Roy,' Paula called out cheerfully.
'Good morning, Miss Grey,' he replied, glancing at her briefly.
'Oh, it's Miss Grey now,' she said, her tone icy. 'Sorry if I forgot to stand up and salute.'
'Roy, what is all this?' Tweed asked placidly.
'I need to know where you were between the hours of eleven last night and three this morning.'
'No, we don't play it that way. Not after we've known each other for umpteen years,' Tweed replied, still placid. 'What is all this about? Relax for Heaven's sake.'
Tweed's persuasive attitude had an effect on even the strong-minded Buchanan. He grabbed his cap out of his lap, dropped it on the floor as though he disliked the damned thing. He took a deep breath.
'All right. There's been a horrific murder. A Miss Viola Vander-Browne. Saafeld estimates the time of death as roughly between eleven p.m. and one a.m. – probably closer to eleven. The poor woman has been cut to pieces. I had an anonymous tip-off on the phone early this morning that I should check where you were last night. Chief Inspector Hammer is in charge of the case. Back at the Yard he's nicknamed the Bulldozer. He was coming over but I stopped him, came myself. Sergeant Warden, my assistant, will be coming over tomorrow to take a statement from you. You know – knew – Miss Vander-Browne?'
'I'm not making any statement at this stage,' Tweed responded. 'But I think I'll investigate the case myself.'
'I wish you would. In your position you do have the authority. Hammer won't like it, but I don't like him. I hesitated to ask you – for certain reasons.' He stood up.
'Thanks for those reports from your agents abroad. Things seem quiet at the moment. I'd better get back now.'
'You're forgetting your cap,' Paula called out as he moved to the door.
'Oh, thank you.' He came back, picked up the cap. 'Lose my head if this pressure keeps up.' He walked over to her, his hand extended. 'I'm sorry about my attitude earlier, Paula. I was on edge when I arrived.'
She shook his hand, gave him a big smile. 'Aren't we all at times.'
'Roy,' Tweed asked, 'what sort of voice was it, whoever gave you the tip-off?'
'Unrecognizable. Hoarse. Coarse. Keep in touch.'
It was Harry, still crosslegged on the floor, who exploded the moment Buchanan was gone.
'It's that bloody uniform. What does he think he is these days? Admiral of the Fleet? The fleet we haven't got!'
Fifteen minutes later Tweed was checking through reports when the phone rang again. Monica answered, then gazed at Tweed.
'You won't believe this one either. Another visitor. Nelson Macomber, one of the notorious Cabal.'
5
'I think this gentleman would prefer to talk to me on our own,' Tweed said before asking Monica to invite Macomber up. 'Harry, put the recorder on – then you can all listen afterwards. No, Paula, don't go. I want you to stay. You're very good at getting an impression on a new player in this deadly game.'
Monica left to go upstairs, followed by Nield and Butler. Only then did he lift the phone and tell George, the guard in the hall, to ask their visitor to come up.
Macomber came into the office. He wore an Armani suit, and a tie Paula felt sure was Chanel. He moved easily and was smiling. He bowed his head towards Paula, still smiling. She rather liked the look of him.
'Good morning, Mr Macomber,' Tweed greeted him quietly. 'Do please sit down.'
'My apologies,' Macomber said softly, looking at Paula, 'but I will be speaking to you, Mr Tweed, in great confidence.'
'If I was away or out of action Miss Paula Grey would take over from me,' Tweed explained.
Macomber's reaction was swift. He stood up, and smiling pleasantly he walked over to Paula, held out his large hand to her.
'Miss Grey, my profound apologies. I am not familiar with the ranking here. You are most welcome to hear all I have to say.'
She clasped his hand which squeezed hers, but did not hold on too long. He returned to his chair. His movements were agile for a man she estimated was in his forties.
'Now, Mr Tweed,' Macomber began in his soft voice, 'I have heard you are a man who does not beat about the bush. So am I. I have come to discuss with you the proposed merger of all the security forces under one command. That is the CID, MI5, the police, the coastguard, Special Branch – and the SIS, your own organization. This single organization will be known as State Security. We are thinking you would make an excellent deputy commander.'
'Under whose control?' Tweed asked off-handedly.
He had listened to this revolutionary scheme with a placid expression. Paula, who was appalled, gasped under her breath. She felt sure Tweed would never agree.
'Under the control of a Cabinet Minister heading a new post in the Cabinet, as yet to be created: the Ministry of State Security.'
'Earlier,' Tweed remarked, 'you used the word "proposed". I am interested in what that means.'
'Well…' Still smiling, Macomber paused. 'At the moment a bill to establish this organization has been drafted, but not yet presented to Parliament.'
'All the Cabinet agree?' There was a sharper edge in Tweed's voice.
'Well…' Another pause. 'At the moment almost half the Cabinet do agree. It's only a matter of time before the slowcoaches come on board.'
'Mr Macomber…' Tweed leaned forward over his desk.
'Please call me Nelson.'
'I have heard there are three junior ministers involved. You are one of them. Who are the others?'
'You may find this curious. The other two are brothers of mine. We are offspring of the famous General Lucius Macomber, known for his brilliance in the Gulf War.'
'Tell me about your brothers – and their roles.'
Tweed had folded his arms, leaning over them. His eyes had never left Nelson Macomber's, penetrating and the colour of lapis lazuli, which was rare.
'There
is Noel, the youngest. We call him the Planner. Then there is Benton, a year younger than me. He acts as arbiter in the rare cases when there is disagreement on policy.'
'The three of you,' Tweed said thoughtfully.
'We do work closely together in the same room…'
'Communications?' Tweed interjected.
'Ah!' Macomber beamed. 'We have the most advanced system in the country. State Security will need to know what is going on everywhere. Phone-tapping, a CCTV system covering the entire country…'
'Already installed?' Tweed interjected again.
'In the process of being installed,' Macomber assured him. 'Should be completed within weeks.'
'On whose authority?'
Macomber laughed, glanced over at Paula. 'This is getting to be an interrogation.'
'Which is my job,' Tweed reminded him. 'On whose authority?' he repeated. 'Since the bill you spoke of has not gone anywhere near Parliament.'
'We must be prepared.' Macomber's tone became defensive. 'So, what is your reaction? I have hidden no secrets from you.'
'I'll have to think it over, won't I? All this comes as a surprise.'
No, it doesn't, you wily thing, Paula thought. You knew all about it before Nelson Macomber ever arrived.
'Tell you what,' Tweed continued. 'In the near future I'd like to visit your HQ, meet your brothers. I'd bring Paula with me.'
'Great!' Macomber jumped up. 'I appreciate the time you've given me. Do come and see us soon. Time is breathing down our necks. Needless to say all this is highly confidential.'
'Uniforms,' Tweed said suddenly. Macomber paused on his way to say goodbye to Paula. He looked taken aback. Tweed explained.
'I just wondered whether you proposed that after the merger of all these diverse organizations everyone would wear the same uniform?'
'Well…' He was close enough to Paula for her to notice he was clenching and unclenching the fingers of his right hand. 'Bit early to think of that,' he went on cheerfully. 'We had thought of a long black coat, black cap, an armlet identifying the wearer as State Security. But a bit early to decide,' he repeated.
'I see.'
'May I call you Paula?' Macomber asked, holding out a hand. 'I am Nelson.'
'If you wish,' she said quietly, clasping his hand which, again, he withdrew quickly.
'What do you think?' Tweed asked after Macomber had left.
Paula was peering out of the window. 'He does well for himself. He turned up in a whacking great Merc with chauffeur.' She sat down again. 'I'm flabbergasted,' she began. 'I'd expected you to roar at him, tell him you thought the whole idea was wrong, mad – that you'd have nothing to do with it!'
'He's a skilled politician,' Tweed told her. 'I can handle any of them. When he reports back to his two brothers they won't be at all sure what I'm going to do.'
'So what are you going to do?'
'Everything in my power, however unscrupulous, to smash them – to destroy the whole plan.' His voice was a muted growl, his eyes were fierce. 'Strange that he came to see me a few hours after someone tried to frame me for committing a horrific murder. And they're already in uniform. So he lied.'
'So he probably lied about a lot of other things.'
'Undoubtedly. Bring down Monica, Pete and Harry. When I tell you, play back the recording of the whole conversation. I don't think it occurred to him it was all going down on tape.' He looked up at the cornice in the ceiling above Paula's desk. Harry had done a marvellous job of concealing the listening device. 'And you took photos of him?'
'Several. He didn't see me doing it.' She produced a tiny camera with a long lens which retracted out of sight when she pressed a button.
She had just finished speaking when the door opened and Monica walked in, followed by Nield and Butler. Monica spoke to Tweed quickly.
'While we were upstairs I had a call for you from Professor Saafeld. He has data he wants to show you urgently. At his place in Holland Park…'
'Call him back when I've left. Tell him I'm on my way now. While I'm away get the recorder moving.' He looked at all three of the new arrivals. 'You'll hear my conversation with Macomber – Nelson Macomber. Keep what you hear under your hats.'
'Never wear a hat,' Harry told him with a straight face.
Tweed glared, went on speaking.
'Nield, when you've heard it I want you to get moving. Check with your informants. I need to know if the other two brothers, Noel and Benton, are married. If so, who to. We know Nelson is married to Loelia, daughter of the Earl of Something. Do any of them have girlfriends? If so who are they and where do they live?'
'Is that all?' Nield asked with a grin.
'I'm off to Professor Saafeld's place. Could be there for a couple of hours. Have the info for me when I get back.'
'Should give me plenty of time.' Nield grinned again. 'Don't be surprised if I'm still out when you get back.'
Tweed, still speaking rapidly, turned to Monica. 'If a Chief Inspector Hammer arrives or phones tell him I've gone abroad. You don't know where or when I'll be back. Now I must get moving.'
'I'm coming with you,' Paula said firmly.
She had already slipped on a windcheater over her slacks and jumper. Tweed stood uncertainly.
'Thought you were in a hurry,' Paula said, grabbing his arm.
Harry followed them downstairs, talking as they hurried. 'I got here early. Spotted our friends had fixed up cameras to the lampposts on the other side of the road. The cameras are difficult to see. They were aimed to cover the entrance here.'
'Were?' queried Paula.
'I covered them with black goo – same colour as their spy cameras. They'll need new lenses.'
'Don't waste much time, do they?' commented Tweed.
'Neither does Harry,' Paula replied.
The drizzle had stopped. Above was a clear blue sky and it was bitterly cold. Tweed had slipped on his overcoat as he skipped nimbly down the stairs.
They were driving through heavy traffic, approaching Holland Park, when Paula looked back again through the rear window. She swore softly.
'We're still being followed. Big black car picked us up as we left Park Crescent. Look to be two men in the front. Black coats, I think, and black peaked caps.'
'The uniform Nelson said they hadn't got round to. I'll lose them.'
Tweed slowed down as they approached traffic lights on green. He waited for amber, pressed his foot down, passed the lights as they turned red. A police car was parked by the kerb. Tweed recognized the driver, used one hand to hold up his SIS folder. The police driver saluted him.
'That was Ned,' Tweed remarked. 'He knows me well.'
'Well, you've lost our friends,' said Paula after glancing back. 'They were caught by the lights…'
Shortly afterwards Tweed swung into the side street where Saafeld's mansion was located. He drove to the end, parked the car round a corner. They walked back quickly to where a pair of high wrought-iron gates were closed at the end of a curving drive. Tweed pressed the button on the speakphone.
'Yes. Who is it?' Saafeld's clear voice enquired.
'Me,' said Tweed. 'The "me" you're expecting.'
The electronically operated gates swung open and they walked quickly up the drive. Little time was given to allow a car to drive in, to stop the vehicle being followed. Rounding a corner of the drive bordered by evergreen shrubs the elegant mansion came into view. The massive front door was open as they mounted the steps. Saafeld, wearing a white gown closed at the neck, ushered them inside, stared at Paula as he shut and relocked the door. They were standing in a large hall with a marble floor.
'Paula,' Saafeld said gently, 'I'm not sure you want to see this.'
Knowing the drill, Tweed and Paula removed overcoat and windcheater. Saafeld slipped them over hangers, put them in one cupboard, opened another, took out white coats, white caps and two pairs of latex gloves. As they put them on quickly their host stared again dubiously at Paula. Her reaction was instant and sh
arp.
'I've been in there before. Stop treating me like a schoolgirl.'
Saafeld shrugged, walked to a heavy steel door, took out a key card, inserted it in the slot. The door slid open and Paula breathed in powerful disinfectant. They went down several steps to another heavy steel door which Saafeld opened.
Underground now, they followed him into a large room
37with tables of metal and gutters along each side to catch any blood which spread too far. The first two tables had corpses lying on them while white-coated assistants went about their grisly work. There were large cameras overhead and X-ray machines poised above each table, held by telescopic arms. Now there was another odour which Paula recognized, the odour of bodies that would never move again.
'Here she is, poor woman,' Saafeld said quietly.
It was unusual for him to express any emotion about what was brought into his mortuary. Paula stood very still, her palms clammy. The body of Viola Vander-Browne was lying on the table. The severed head, ashen, was placed an inch or so from the neck, coated with dried blood, now darkish brown in colour. Paula's teeth were clamped tightly behind her closed lips as she continued her survey. The severed left lower arm was also placed an inch or so below the elbow. The same applied to the right arm, to the lower limbs severed below the jagged ends of the knees. Paula found the strange sequence hideous. Saafeld seemed to read her mind. He began talking in his detached professional voice.
'This is exactly how I found the corpse on the bed at Fox Street. The killer had first slammed her naked body on to the wooden floor, by the side of the bed. I think he-'
'Why "he"?' Paula interrupted. 'Couldn't it have been a woman?'
'You could be right, possibly,' Saafeld agreed. 'Except that after gagging her the murderer raped her. He used a condom – no traces of semen. That doesn't rule out a woman completely, if a condom pulled over one of those sex toys was used. After the rape the murderer used a sharp-bladed instrument to cut her up – a meat cleaver, I suspect. The head was severed last – severing the carotid arteries. Hence the jet of blood which covered the window.'