Blood Storm tac-22

by Colin Forbes

  'Tricky. That schmuck Harry lives somewhere down there. He might catch on. So how are you going to start a fire?'

  'Take in concealed beer bottles filled with petrol. Order drinks, sit in a dark corner. Spread the petrol on the floor.

  Use a cigarette lighter and clear out in the panic. The Pig's Nest would be a good place.'

  'It might just work.' Fitch said. 'Needs thinking about.'

  Harry had disappeared from Park Crescent without saying a word to anybody. No one worried. Harry was independent at times in the decisions he took. He returned in the early afternoon, carrying his 'tool-kit' bag.

  'May we ask where you have been?' Tweed enquired gently.

  'You may. While you lot have been sitting on your backsides, chewing the fat, I've dealt with something you asked me to do when I could. I've just driven to Peckham Mallet. Found the place on the map. Paula told me earlier how to find it.'

  'And?' Tweed persisted as Harry drank from a bottle of water Paula gave him.

  'That truck you saw parked in a field,' he said to Tweed. 'It's still there. No one about. Not even the guard. I checked in the quarry where you'd hidden him after Paula hit him on the nose.'

  'He's not still there?' she said anxiously, wondering if she'd hit him too hard, maybe killed him.

  'No, he wasn't. And I could see his footsteps in the chalk where he'd hauled himself out of it. Now, that truck.'

  'What was inside it?' she asked, so relieved at hearing the guard had to be alive and well.

  'A small load of Semtex, attached to wires leading to the detonator box. So I fiddled with the wiring. When it was attached to the detonator the clock was at zero. Now it's at sixty seconds. I also found a map showing the way to Richmond Park.'

  'Oh, my God!' exclaimed Newman. 'Exploded there it would cause a mass slaughter.'

  'No, it wouldn't,' Harry contradicted him. 'The route marked led to a side entrance a long way from the river.

  Hardly anybody uses that entrance. I checked on my way back. Not a soul about.'

  'Well, what will happen when the driver arrives to position it?'

  'He'll get in, start the engine. The vibrations will set off the clock, then the detonator. I doubt if he'll have even moved forward before the whole caboose explodes harmlessly in the field. End of truck, end of driver.'

  'Well, that's one worry off our minds,' Tweed commented. 'So many thanks to you, Harry.'

  'All part of the job.'

  A moment later George appeared. He was holding an envelope sent by registered post. He took it over to Paula. 'For you,' he said and left the office quickly to return to his post.

  'I recognize the handwriting,' Paula said. 'It's from Coral

  'Stop!' Tweed had jumped to his feet. 'Don't open that. Take it downstairs and have it X-rayed.'

  'I think that's carrying security a bit far,' she grumbled, but she left them with the package to consult a boffin. She was back quickly. 'It's OK. The X-ray showed a key and a folded sheet of paper. If you don't mind, I would like to open it.'

  Dear Paula – Got something to tell you. I'm so excited! Can you pop over one evening? Soon! Love, Coral.

  She was taking it over to show Tweed when Newman snatched it off her to her intense annoyance. He read it, gave it back to her.

  'Do you make a habit of reading people's personal correspondence?' she snapped.

  'I do in the present dangerous situation.'

  She glared at him, then gave Tweed the letter as Newman completed his comment.

  'Sounds as though she'd just got a new boyfriend.'

  'I agree,' said Tweed, returning the letter to Paula. 'Might be nice to call on her when you can.'

  'When I can,' she said, returning to her desk. 'Nice to know she trusts me.' She held up the front-door key. 'But it will have to wait a few days. I've got my own report you asked me to type for Howard and a dozen other things in my lap.'

  The door opened and Howard himself walked in. Normally amiable, his expression was grim. He chose his favourite chair, assumed his usual seated stance, sprawling one leg over an arm of the chair. Tweed waited for him to say something.

  'I've read your proposed report on present happenings for the PM, Tweed. The situation is even worse than I had realized. I hope you don't mind, but I have strengthened certain passages.'

  'I thought you'd tone them down.'

  'We've got to shock him into action with the Cabinet -with the truth. I would like to wait a few days before I submit it, subject to your approval. It will give me time to talk to certain important MPs and key civil servants. Then we drop this bomb in the PM's lap – after the ground has been prepared.'

  'I leave the timing to you.'

  Howard, who would have been useless handling Tweed's work, was a clever diplomat when it came to dealing with the Whitehall jungle. He dealt with people Tweed had no desire to meet. Howard was pompous, but he dealt with pompous people. He studied Tweed.

  'You've got so much on your plate yet you look so fresh. This crazy idea of merging all security services. Then you are investigating a particularly brutal murder. It's a lot.'

  'I'm coping,' Tweed said.

  'I wish to thank all of you,' Howard said, standing up. 'I do know you employ your many skills to support Mr Tweed. And a key element in any problem is always you, Paula. My thanks.'

  On which note he left. Paula was taken aback. Never before had Howard been so nice to the staff. It was a sign that he appreciated the tension they were all working under.

  'I'm going down to Whitehall,' Marler announced. 'To keep an eye on that Cabal. See you…'

  'And I'm off to my patch,' Harry said, jumping up. 'Something's happening in the East End. Back sometime.'

  'Paula,' said Nield, 'would you mind if I go and see Coral? Can I tell her your package has arrived safely? That you'll be coming to see her but you're overwhelmed just now?'

  'Wish you would. Saves me a phone call, maybe several before I get her when she comes back from work.'

  'On my way.'

  The phone rang shortly after Nield had left. Monica answered, pulled a face as she looked at Tweed.

  'We've got Commander Buchanan downstairs. Wants to see you yesterday.'

  'I suppose I'd better see him.'

  Tweed had stood up behind his desk to greet his old friend. Buchanan, wearing uniform, shoved open the door roughly, came in with an expression like thunder.

  'Welcome, Roy,' Tweed said with a smile. 'Do sit down. Now, what is the problem?'

  'You are.'

  'Tell me about it, Roy,' Tweed replied calmly, sitting down.

  'Chief Inspector Hammer wants a statement from you. Including your movements on the night of the murder of Viola Vander-Browne. He knows you dined with her at Mungano's that night. Then she drove home alone. No trace of you afterwards. So no alibi.'

  'Because I have no alibi,' Tweed informed him quietly.

  'Well, you're Hammer's chief suspect,' barked Buchanan.

  'Commander,' Paula called out, 'do you mind keeping your voice down.'

  'Interrupting your concentration, am I?' Buchanan shot back as he turned to look at her.

  'Yes, you are,' she replied.

  'Sorry, I didn't intend to do that.'

  Buchanan had calmed down a bit due to Paula's intervention. Tweed waited, hands clasped on his desk.

  'I visited you on the day after that horrible murder, said I'd come back the next day. You weren't here. No one would say where you'd gone. Now, what about that statement?' Buchanan asked more quietly.

  'I'm the chief investigator. There will be no statement.'

  'Oh, dear.' The Commander took off his peaked cap, mopped his damp forehead. 'Maybe I overshot the mark a bit. There has been a new terrorist alert and we're working without any hope of sleep.'

  'We have known each other many years, Roy,' Tweed reminded him.

  'I know, but Chief Inspector Hammer-'

  'Bloody Hammerhead,' Paula said to herself.

 
'What was that?' Buchanan demanded, turning again to her.

  'Nothing.'

  He was giving her a hard look. She stared straight back, a certain look in her eyes. He dropped his gaze first, then stood up, the cap in his hand.

  'Well, I've done all I can,' he snapped.

  'Many years,' Tweed repeated.

  Buchanan opened his mouth as though to apologize but nothing came out. He disappeared.

  'What do you think of that?' Monica asked indignantly.

  'He's exhausted,' Paula said. 'He had a gaunt look. I doubt he's had sleep for several days.'

  'Nor has Tweed on many occasions,' Monica persisted, 'but he's never lost his self-control. Maybe we can get a bit of peace and quiet now for the rest of the day and evening.'

  She turned out to be quite wrong.

  It was much later when the phone rang. Monica answered, called out to Tweed.

  'Professor Saafeld on the line.'

  'Yes,' said Tweed after picking up his extension.

  'There's been another one.'

  'I see.' Tweed paused. 'Who? Where?'

  'A Marina Vander-Browne. I can give you the address.'

  'I know it. Not the same modus operandi?'

  'Exactly the same. Suggest you don't bring Paula. It seems even more hideous somehow.'

  'I'll come now.'

  29

  They were driving in the dark again, through the same deserted streets. Paula had expected more traffic and she found it puzzling. She looked at Tweed.

  'What time is it?'

  'About 2 a.m.'

  'It can't be that late.'

  'It is. You've been working nonstop. So have I. Time has passed without our noticing it. I'm glad I persuaded Monica to leave early just for once.'

  'Maybe that old lady, the bin scrounger Annie Higgins, will be about. She could have seen something.'

  'No sign of her,' Tweed replied as he parked in the main street. He thought it unwise to drive down the side street where Marina had lived.

  'Why are we getting out here?' Paula asked.

  'Because we were here last night.'

  They walked rapidly down the murky street, tall terraced buildings on both sides, a single street lamp outside the block where Marina lived. Had lived.

  'Was it like the Viola killing?' Paula asked.

  'According to Saafeld. We'll know when we get inside.'

  A police tape was strung across the entrance, each end tied to a railing. Outside it stood a uniformed policeman, watching them coming. He held up a hand. Tweed and Paula held up their identity folders, the policeman lifted the tape.

  'Third floor,' he said.

  'Thank you.' Tweed just stopped himself saying, 'We know.'

  He went inside, started climbing the first flight very slowly. His head was looking down. Paula became irked. At this pace they would never get there.

  'Why are we crawling?' she wanted to know.

  'It was raining last night. Tonight too. So an intruder would have left footprints on these treads. You look, too.'

  'I should have thought of that myself.'

  'Did you notice,' he asked as he continued his slow climb, 'that on the ground floor in the entrance hall there was an alcove without a window?'

  'Yes, I did notice that.'

  'It could have been vital to the killer. Wait until we've asked Saafeld a few questions.'

  They continued their snail-like climb until they were close to the third floor. Tweed had found no trace of footprints and he remarked on this fact to Paula.

  'It could be significant. Very.'

  'In what way?'

  'Wait until we've seen Saafeld. I've devoted a lot of thought to the first crime. Imagining myself as the killer, how I'd go about it. Quiet now…'

  Another police tape across the entrance to Marina's flat, with a uniformed policeman guarding it. They both showed their folders. The policeman did not lift the tape so Tweed lifted it himself. He came face to face with Saafeld, who frowned when he saw Paula. She spoke up firmly.

  'I saw the other one. I've been inside your place. I'm getting used to it.'

  'I thought I was.' Saafeld smiled. 'All right. Follow me. Bedroom down the corridor.' He tapped a closed door. Tn there the living room. Now. Here we are.'

  He led the way through an open door. The bedroom was large. Paula didn't like the furniture. Too suggestive of what it was often used for. A very large bed had curtains hanging from brass rails. A canopy covered it just below the ceiling. There was a huge long, wide sofa piled up with cushions, and a large dressing table with three tall mirrors swivelled at a peculiar angle so they could be seen from the bed. The ceiling above the sofa was covered with a large mirror.

  It was what lay on the bed which made her compress her lips. As with Viola, Marina's severed head was placed a few inches above her butchered neck. Again, the arms had been severed just below the elbows, the legs detached below the knees. Everything was placed to make Marina look like a huge doll torn to pieces.

  Tweed turned to Chief Inspector Hammer who had joined the group – himself, Paula and Saafeld. Hammer seemed not in the least disturbed by the macabre arrangement.

  'Chief Inspector,' Tweed said quietly, 'would you mind leaving us alone.'

  'What for?' Hammer demanded belligerently.

  'Because I have asked you to.'

  'I'll go and check the living room.'

  'I suggest, Chief Inspector, that you go downstairs and check the street carefully. The murderer might have dropped something.'

  'If you insist.'

  With a furious expression, Hammer left. They heard him clumping quickly down the stairs. Tweed closed the door, turned to Saafeld.

  'From the chalk lines I see on the other side of the bed I assume the murderer used the same technique as with Viola.'

  'I think so. He threw her naked body on the floor, gave the back of her head a hard bang to disable her. Then he raped her – or she did,' he added glancing at Paula. 'No semen we could ever use for DNA, and she was interfered with using a device sometimes employed by women.'

  'You think she was alive when he raped her?' Paula asked.

  'I think it's likely she was.' He produced a transparent evidence envelope from his bag, held it up. 'This is the gag that was across her mouth when I arrived. But in that case what could be the motive?'

  'Jealousy,' Paula replied.

  'You could be right.' He put the evidence envelope back in his bag. 'Again he severed the arteries but this time the jet of blood released hit the mirrors, not the window.'

  Paula looked again at what she'd noticed earlier. Each of the mirrors was drenched in blood. Saafeld saw where she was looking.

  'Samples of the blood have already been taken. I doubt they will help. It will all be Marina's, so no DNA of the murderer.'

  'What puzzles me,' said Tweed, although he thought he knew the answer, 'is that the murderer's clothes must have been soaked in blood. He couldn't just walk out in that state.'

  'I suspect,' Saafeld said quietly, 'that as before he wore a surgeon's outfit. White coat, cap, gloves, and a face mask, with large glasses to protect his eyes. He later took them all off, stuffed them into a bag, maybe a large briefcase, and walked out wearing a business suit. As soon as he could he'd burn the lot. What he did with the meat cleaver – that was the murder weapon, I believe, in both cases – I don't know.'

  'Suggests someone involved with the medical profession?' Tweed enquired.

  'Not necessarily. That's the sort of equipment you can buy at any hospital-supply outlet. He probably visited several buying one thing here, another thing somewhere else.'

  'But he couldn't walk in on his victim dressed like that,' Paula objected.

  'He probably arrived downstairs,' Tweed suggested, 'then called up to each victim, "Be up to see you in a minute." Then he'd change into his killing gear downstairs before he came up.'

  'That's how I see it,' Saafeld agreed.

  'And again no sign of forced e
ntry?' Tweed enquired.

  'None at all. Which means the victim knew her murderer

  – was expecting him,' Saafeld emphasized.

  'So he'd used the speakphone to gain entry,' Paula remarked. 'Then he probably changed into his killing gear

  – to borrow your phrase, Professor – in the alcove just inside the front door. We ought to search that thoroughly.'

  'It's been done,' Saafeld told her. 'I sent Hammer down with a policeman he called an expert searcher. Firkins, I think was his name. They found nothing.'

  'Hammer might miss something,' Tweed observed. 'Firkins wouldn't. I know him and he's very good.'

  'They must have been related,' Saafeld speculated. 'The same name, and oddly enough very similar in appearance.'

  'They were twin sisters,' Paula informed him. 'We only learned that recently.' She made herself stare at the head again. Almost a replica of Viola but even in death the face was harder.

  'Roughly what time did this happen?' Tweed asked.

  'Rigor mortis hasn't set in yet. Just an educated guess but somewhere between midnight and 2 a.m. Subject to more accuracy after my post-mortem. This really worries me,' Saafeld said, turning to Tweed, who had never heard him say anything like this before.

  'Why?'

  'I told you about blood storm. The creature committing these crimes is likely to get the urge to strike again soon now. You see, Viola was murdered about ten days ago. The intervals between his overwhelming desire to kill again will lessen considerably. His next urge to kill and mutilate could be as little as three or four days from now. It's an accelerating process.'

  'Who found her?' Tweed wondered.

  'A Mrs Gaskin, a real nosey-parker who came in late, lives on the fourth floor. The TV was on full blast.'

  'Which would drown Marina's screams as he applied the gag. He probably turned the volume up.'

  'Exactly.' Saafeld turned to Tweed. 'Paula catches on very quickly. Well, this woman heard the TV going full blast when she reached the third floor. The door to Marina's flat was open, so she came in to protest that she couldn't sleep. Walked straight in here. She gabbles. Her son is a clerk at Scotland Yard, so she called in, spoke by chance to Chief Inspector Hammer. He had the sense to call me before he rushed over.'