by Colin Forbes
The burly policeman, huddled up in an overcoat, stood hands in his pockets. Mistake, in this area, Tweed thought. If Hammer was attacked he'd never get his automatic out in time. He went up to Hammer, who was staring at the three of them without pleasure.
'Bit late on the case, aren't you? Place has been given a real search. Nothing.'
'I'm getting a sense of what the atmosphere was like when it happened. Not exactly bustling with people. And, in case it has slipped your memory, I am the chief investigator.'
'What's the girl messing about at?' Hammer asked rudely.
'The girl is a woman. She appears to be checking the street in case something was dropped by the murderer. Did you people do that?'
'Waste of time. Front door was closed when we arrived. Which suggests she knew the killer. Doesn't it?'
'Possibly. On the other hand if she was expecting him -or her – she could have come down to let him in. You hadn't thought of that – or had you?'
Hammer grunted. He was ignoring Tweed, watching Paula as she searched the cobbled street with her torch. She bent down as her beam reflected off something. A diamond ring was slotted inside a crack in the cobbles. She put on latex gloves, picked it up.
'Nothing that matters, I'm sure,' Hammer said aggressively.
Paula walked back to Tweed, showed him the ring by the light of her torch. Tweed recognized it. Viola had worn the ring on the third finger of her right hand when they'd dined together at Mungano's. During their visit to Saafeld at his mortuary he had noticed a mark on the finger where she had worn the ring. The killer must have wrenched it off the severed hand. He must have dropped it when leaving the building.
Hammer grunted again, stalked off towards his car parked in the shadows. Tweed took out a transparent evidence envelope, dropped the ring inside and placed it inside his pocket.
'Could that be important?' Paula asked. 'So much for the chief inspector's careful search. It's eerie round here,' she added. 'It rather frightens me.'
'Then I suggest we go inside this house of horror. I've got the front-door key from Hammer. A plodder, not the most distinguished chief inspector I've known…'
They entered. Paula noticed the lock was a Banham. Not easy for anyone to pick. Tweed felt around, switched on the light as Marler closed the door. They were in a long wide hall with tasteful paper on the wall. Ahead of them a staircase rose, built of mahogany with matching banisters. On the first-floor landing Tweed, latex gloves on his hands, opened a door to his right.
'The bedroom,' Marler said. 'Where it happened,' he added quietly. He found a switch and lights came on all over a spacious tastefully furnished room.
Paula's eyes instinctively went to the tall frosted-glass window overlooking the street. There were few signs of blood and she guessed one of Saafeld's technicians had scraped it for DNA samples. A waste of time. Commander Buchanan had told Saafeld the blood was all Viola's.
A double bed stood in the centre of the room. A white sheet covered the entire bed. Paula lifted a corner. Underneath was only the mattress. The sheets and blankets had been taken away for examination. No sign of blood on the mattress, but that wasn't surprising. On the floor on the far side of the bed a chalk mark outlined where Viola's body had been killed and cut up. Faint brown stains where the residue of her blood seeped into the wooden floor. Paula continued moving slowly round the room.
'This is probably useless,' Tweed remarked. 'It will have been searched by experts.'
'I never trusted experts,' Marler said, standing by the closed door.
Tweed was opening drawers, closing them. Paula stood still, clasping her own latex-gloved hands. Where would a woman hide something? She lifted up the lid of a musical box. It began to play a romantic tune, which disturbed her. How many times had Viola sat listening to its melody? She found it very sad.
Inside the box was a selection of expensive jewellery. She emptied it out into one hand, placed it on top of the dressing table where the box had rested. Tweed looked at it as she made her comment.
'Well, the motive certainly wasn't robbery. Not that we ever thought it was. This is very expensive jewellery.'
'Shouldn't have been left here,' he said, and turned away to continue his search.
The base the jewels had rested on was a thick blue cushion. Paula extracted a nail file from her shoulder bag. She pressed the tip gently down the side of the cushion, eased it up. Underneath was a folded sheet of paper. She opened it, read the wording inside.
Marina. Call her and try and make it up. There followed the address and phone numbers Coral Flenton had provided. She showed it to Tweed. He pressed his lips together as he studied it.
'We've found something the police missed,' he told Marler.
'I told you I mistrusted so-called experts.'
Tweed showed him the note in neat handwriting. Marler raised an eyebrow.
'It's a fresh lead.' said Tweed. 'I'm going over to see her when we leave here.'
'At this hour?' said Marler.
'I think, like Viola, Marina is a night bird. Surprise can throw people.'
'Then we're coming with you,' Marler told him. 'Not going to have you wandering round on your own at this hour.'
'All right. But you must both keep out of sight. She won't say a word if she's overwhelmed with three people. Let's get moving.'
26
Paula found it eerie being driven through Mayfair at this hour: not a soul about. There was an unsettling silence when Tweed turned down a cul-de-sac. He parked by the kerb and they got out together. The heavy silence seemed to press down on them.
Marina's flat was situated in one of the old terraced houses lining both sides of the street. The atmosphere reminded Paula of a stage setting for a menacing play. Tweed had gone up the steps, was about to press the button which had a card alongside inscribed Marina Vander-Browne, when Marler tugged his sleeve.
'Front door is open,' he whispered. It was the sort of street where you automatically whispered.
Beyond the heavy front door was a narrow hall, an equally narrow staircase leading upwards.
Tweed whispered: 'Follow me. According to the card she's on the third floor.'
They began to climb up three staircases covered with a red carpet. When they reached the third floor Tweed looked up. Above them was another floor. Marler gave Tweed a strange-looking whistle, inserted an earplug with a wire disappearing inside his coat.
'Paula and I will wait here, out of sight. Any trouble, you blow it. She won't hear it but I will.'
Tweed moved close to the speakphone outside a heavy door. He pressed the bell. Waited. Nothing. He pressed it again. At head height the door had a closed flap over a Judas window. It opened suddenly. A woman's face was staring at him as he held up his folder.
'Investigating the murder of Viola,' he said tersely. 'Could I come in and have a word with you?'
'At this hour?' Through the bars over the opening he could see she was fully dressed. Smoke was drifting up from a cigarette. 'Who are you, anyway?'
The voice was cut-glass. She repeated her question, this time less politely.
'It says who I am on the folder you can see. SIS. I am Tweed.'
'Oh, him. Bloody good job I stay up late. Don't get up very early in the morning. Can't burn the candle at both ends.'
As she was talking he heard keys turning in three locks, then the clanging removal of four chains. The place was a fortress. Eventually she opened the door and he slipped inside. He was relieved when she turned only one key, leaving it in the lock.
'Better come in and join me with a drink,' she suggested as she stared him up and down. 'And you may smoke.'
Tweed was intrigued to see how much like Viola Marina looked. The resemblance was striking – she too had thick blonde hair, though hers was trimmed shorter – but there was a hardness Viola had lacked.
She wore a short white dress which hugged her excellent figure. The eyes were again blue but hers were cold. Leading him into a flamboyantly furnished living
room, she sat on a very long wide sofa, patted the place where Tweed should sit close to her. He chose a chair further away from her. She crossed her legs, began swinging her right leg. On a glass-topped table before her was what Tweed would have called a complete bar, laden with bottles and glasses.
'Drink.' It was almost a command accompanied by a flashing smile. 'Scotch on the rocks, gin, brandy? Come on, I can't call out the lot.'
'I don't drink on duty.'
'On duty! You come to see me of all people at this hour on duty? Come off it.'
The leg was still slowly swinging up and down. Tweed had trouble not glancing at it. In her brazen way she was as attractive as poor Viola had been. He decided he'd preferred her twin sister.
'On official duty,' he emphasized.
'Oh, I see. You don't do it when you're official. Well at this hour you're off duty. Want to see the bedroom?'
'No thanks. It's comfortable in here.'
'Then we could use the sofa. It's wide and long enough. I should know by now.'
'Miss Vander-Browne…' His voice now had an edge to it. 'I would have thought it would have been a shock when you heard the horrific way your sister had died.'
'I'm sure she asked for it.'
Tweed drew in a breath. The sheer cold-bloodedness astonished even him with all his experience. His voice became tougher.
'After being raped. By a man – or a woman. Her legs were chopped off at the knees, her arms at the shoulder, then her head…'
'Oh, do stop it. You're spoiling what could be a pleasant night for you. Take your mind off it.' She became coy, which was even more sickening. 'I assume you have five hundred pounds on you? The fee always comes first.'
'Had you heard from your late sister recently?' he demanded.
'Why would she be in touch?'
'Because I have evidence she had been hoping to make it up with you.'
She hesitated for the first time. She poured herself a fresh drink, swallowed half of the glass's contents. Then she lit a cigarette with a steady hand. A granite heart, Tweed thought. But for the first time he saw a sign of nervousness.
'She did call you, didn't she?' he persisted abruptly.
'Yes, she did. About ten days ago. All lovey-dovey. Couldn't we meet and talk things over? I said "What for?" and slammed the phone down on her.'
'That was so very nice of you, in view of what's taken place since. Did you both have any of the same clients?'
'We might have done. I'm not sure.'
'I need some names.'
'What sort of names, for Christ's sake?'
'Mutual clients' names.'
'Tweed, I've just told you I don't know. She might have told one of them my name, hoping for a big fat commission.'
Tweed drank some of the wine she'd poured for him. He needed it to take the foul taste out of his mouth.
'You were sisters,' he continued grimly. 'What was she like?'
'The oh-so-bright one,' she said sarcastically. 'Came down from Oxford with a double first. I left Cambridge with nothing. Except useful contacts with men which have been profitable up to the present. All men are alike – which is something I did learn at Cambridge…'
'Wrong!' Tweed snapped. 'Some men are, I agree, but many are not fodder for your night activities. Why do you need the money?'
'That's a damned personal question.' She reared up, then pulled down her dress tighter over her chest, in case he hadn't noticed her assets. 'All right,' she continued viciously, 'we both had a rich uncle who left us each a legacy. Enough to live a normal life but not enough to buy things at Escada. I like to buy good clothes. They make all the difference when I entertain the occasional rich man.'
'Occasional?'
'Viola gave me the idea.'
Tweed lost his temper. 'You filthy liar. I've a good mind to take you down to the Yard for a proper interrogation.'
'I do have friends there.' She reached out a hand towards him. He evaded it. His normal controlled temper returned. He spoke softly.
'You have absolutely no regrets as to how your sister died?'
'None at all. Why should I? It eliminates some of the competition.'
Again Tweed was stunned by the cold-bloodedness of this woman. She was watching him, hoping to revel in his shock. His expression remained normal, neutral. He took out a pad and his pen. She frowned, then tucked both legs under herself, swivelled round so she was facing him with an inviting smile.
'I need your full name, telephone number, mobile number. I'm waiting.'
She frowned, probably annoyed that he had not reacted to a pose which had trapped other men. Without speaking she reached over to a small gold box, took out a printed card with a red rim round it, handed it across to him. He was careful to take hold of it by the edge. It was carrying her fingerprints. He stood up.
'I shall probably see you again.'
'Of course you will.' She gave him a lascivious smile. 'I know you will. When you think about me.' She jumped up. 'Back in a sec. Must rush to the loo.'
As soon as she was gone Tweed poured the rest of his wine into a large plant pot nearby. Taking out a handkerchief, he dipped it in her glass, slipped on a latex glove, used the handkerchief to wipe off his fingerprints. He was very quick. When she returned she'd changed her outfit. She was now clad in a transparent nightdress, belted at the waist, the hem ending above her knees.
He headed for the door, concealed the latex glove with his back to her, turned the key, slipped the glove into his pocket after pulling open the door. Marina called out something to him but he was outside on the landing, heading down the first flight of stairs. He paused, looked up.
'Be very careful who you let into your apartment. Don't forget what happened to Viola…'
In looking up as she slammed the door he saw Paula and Marler peering down from the fourth floor. They joined him as he unlocked the car, slipped behind the wheel. He looked up at the building.
'Tart can't see us,' Paula told him. 'The only window overlooking the street has frosted glass. I gather you didn't enjoy the interview.'
'Cold-blooded little snake.'
Tweed was crawling so as not to wake up sleeping people. As he turned into the main street he saw an old shabbily dressed woman lifting her head out of a large rubbish bin she had been exploring. He pulled in at the kerb, got out, his voice friendly.
'Doubt if you'll find anything worthwhile in there.'
'Never can tell, sir. Me mate once found a real pearl necklace. Took it to the police,' she went on in her heavy Cockney accent. 'I'd 'a done the same. Takin' stuff like that can get you inta the police station if you tries to 'ang on an' sell it to an 'andler. You bin up to see Lady Muck? You'se smart, takin' a woman and a man with you. For an 'our with a man what's loaded she wants a fortune. And 'er so high-and-mighty.'
'You've seen men go up to see her?' Tweed enquired.
'Loads of 'em. When it comes to those not so well off she's mean as muck. So, Lady Muck.'
'Sounds as though you've met her.'
'I 'ave. She comes out one evenin' and I'm skint. Asks her for something to buy meself a meal. Know what she says?'
'Tell me, please.'
'"You should do an honest day's work like other people." I nearly laughed in her face. Honest? When you knows 'ow she makes 'er livin'? Make you want to spit.'
'So you see who goes in there sometimes?'
'If I's workin' this big bin, I do. One man came out pulling up his trousers. Couldn't get 'em round 'is waist. I heard something plop. Called out to 'im., "Think you'se just dropped something, sir." He just rushes off to 'is car 'idden up an alley. So I walks over and you'll not believe what I found on pavement.'
'What was that?' Tweed asked with a smile.
'A wallet. Kind a man keeps in his back trouser pocket. Inside was three hundred nicker. I belt down the street, waved it at him as he drives towards me. Bastard never stops, damn near drives over me. I thought, right, mate. So I keeps the three hundred nicker. Was I wro
ng, sir?'
'I think you were very sensible. Do you often see the men who visit the lady?'
'Lady? Got that wrong, didn' you? Yes, if it's this time o' night I've seen a few. Chap who dropped his wallet was a short, fat little man.'
'I'd like to ask you a question, if I may.' Tweed took out the photos of the Cabal that Marler had taken in Whitehall. 'Recognize any of these men?'
She produced an ancient pair of spectacles. One of the arms was bent. To see the photos she had to cock her head sideways. She took her time with each photo.
'No, not 'im. Not 'im either.' She paused. 'Bingo. I know this one 'as visited 'er. Sure as I'm standing 'ere.'
She handed the photos back to Tweed. He turned round, stared down the street they had just left. Black hole of Calcutta except for the street lamp opposite Marina's entrance. He turned back to the Cockney woman who had put away her glasses.
'Are you sure you could see clearly at this distance? I do want you to be sure, please.'
'Got long sight without me specs, ain't I? Street lamp down there 'elps a lot. It was 'im.'
'I'm very much obliged for you talking to us.' Tweed took out his wallet, handed her a ten-pound note. 'Get yourself a decent meal. Not your usual places.'
'Gawd bless you, sir. I'm skint. Honest I am. Don't know what to say.'
'Don't say anything. May I ask you your name, in case I'm in the area and want to ask you something?'
'Why not? Annie 'Iggins. That's me. You take care, sir.'
Tweed was silent as he drove them back to Paula's flat. He waited while Marler, with Paula's key, checked the place out. He returned in a few minutes.
'All clear. That sofa in the living room looks inviting. So I'll park myself on it while Paula gets a good sleep.'
Paula got out of the car. She did not close the door. She leant in and stared at Tweed.
'That's right. Keep us all in suspense. Who did Annie Higgins identify as the visitor to Marina?'
'Noel Macomber.'
27
Tweed was driving back to Park Crescent when the mobile phone Paula had left on the seat beside him. started buzzing. He cursed, and pulled in. Paula must have been very tired to forget it. He answered.