Vorpal Blade

by Colin Forbes

  'Isn't it a pity, Mr Tweed, that we never get time to have a chat. About the world situation or something a little less ponderous. Now I'm rushing off to my work.'

  'Yes, it is a pity. Perhaps one evening . . .'

  He stopped speaking as a free taxi came along and he hailed it for her. She thanked him with another warm smile, got inside, closed the door. He stood, watching the cab retreating swiftly. He'd been on the verge of inviting her out to dinner, then he saw another taxi coming, hailed it, jumped inside, asked the driver to take him to Park Crescent. He'd suddenly remembered he had two unknown people coming to visit him, the thoughts he'd had in bed before falling asleep. Mrs Champion became only a forgotten encounter.

  'More trouble,' Newman announced as he walked into his office.

  'Thanks a lot,' said Tweed, as Monica helped him off with his coat. He sat at his desk, glanced at Paula seated behind her desk. 'What is it, then?' he asked.

  'We've had Professor Saafeld on the line. I took the call. He's fuming. A car was parked just beyond his house all night. One man behind the wheel. He stormed out in the morning to ask the driver what the hell he was up to. When he threatened to call the police the driver reluctantly produced a folder identifying himself as an officer of Special Branch. Then he drove off.'

  'They really are closing a net round all of us,' Tweed replied with an expression of satisfaction. 'They keep giving themselves away. Something very big is worrying the government. Sleep well, Paula?'

  She hesitated, then gave a brief version of the nightmare which had woken her up. She said the trouble was that her mind was too active at the moment.

  'It was that ghastly painting in Marienetta's studio which triggered that off. It really was quite horrible. Something else I thought off while I was taking my second shower. That episode when Sophie made her speech—'

  'Half-seas over,' Newman interjected.

  'No,' said Paula. 'That's the point. I had a good view of her and she drank almost nothing. Except water.'

  'Come off it,' Newman protested. 'She was drinking glass after glass.'

  'She appeared to be,' Paula insisted. 'But when no one at her table was looking she emptied nearly all the wine into that huge tub beside her - the one with the tree creeper in it. She's clever. Then she pretends to be tiddly when she makes her speech. Why?'

  'You tell me.'

  'All through the dinner she chatted but her cold grey eyes were sweeping the room methodically, checking up on who was there.'

  'Gives us rather a different view of Sophie,' Tweed said thoughtfully. 'I was near her and didn't spot her trickery.'

  The phone rang. Monica listened, called out to Tweed. 'A Mrs Brucan is waiting downstairs to see you.'

  'She was coming at eleven o'clock.'

  'It is eleven o'clock,' Paula told him. 'You arrived late.'

  'I should have realized. Mrs Champion, my new neighbour, was leaving at the same time. She goes off at ten thirty to her fashion design business.'

  'Tweed,' Paula said, studying a pen she was twirling between her fingers, 'she's that rather beautiful widow who waved at us when we were getting a meal one evening. I thought so. You really should ask her out.'

  'Mrs Bruchan is the first on the agenda today.'

  'The lady downstairs who can see into the future,' Newman mocked.

  Marler walked in as he spoke, wearing a new grey suit with a tiny check pattern, crisp white shirt, Chanel tie. He made his remark to Newman as he walked across to lean against the wall close to Paula, taking out a cigarette.

  'If she can see into the future maybe she can tell me next week's lottery numbers.'

  'She'll be a waste of time,' Newman replied, disgusted.

  'Suspend judgement until we've seen her,' Tweed advised. 'Wheel her up, Monica.' All eyes turned to the door when Monica had left, wondering what apparition would arrive.

  Paula suppressed a gasp as Elena Brucan walked in. She was the lady she had seen across the road, watching the ACTIL building. Their visitor was small, probably no more than five feet tall, in her late fifties or early sixties. She was still clad in her pale green overcoat, her green fur hat. But it was her face which intrigued Tweed. A hint of the Slav in her well-moulded cheekbones despite a full face. Under thick dark eyebrows she had large observant almost black eyes above a strong nose, a wide mouth and a chin expressing character. Her smile was glowing and warm and she moved nimbly. There was something about her presence which created a hush in the room.

  Tweed, standing up with Newman, introduced her to Paula who was again surprised, this time by the firmness of her grip.

  'And this is Marler.'

  She walked closer to him, felt his suit. 'This is the first time it's ever been worn.'

  'True enough.'

  'You're a man of great kindness.'

  Behind their backs Newman stared at the ceiling in sheer disbelief. Paula on the other hand agreed with Elena. Marler, she knew, had helped many people in trouble, but by stealth. He never wanted anyone else to know.

  'Over there,' Marler said, indicating Newman, 'is a gangster.'

  Newman was clad in blue jeans, an open-necked shirt and a jacket he'd hastily put on before their visitor appeared. Elena went over to shake his hand, still smiling. She shook her head over her shoulder at Marler.

  'He could cope with gangsters. He's a formidable character. But he's very human, a man of great honesty. I would trust him with my life.'

  'Do sit down,' Tweed urged her when she had shaken hands with Monica. He was anxious to hear if she had anything important to say. 'And please don't attempt to analyse my personality. I'd find it embarrassing in front of my staff. Now, Chief Superintendent Buchanan said you might have something to tell us.'

  'Many won't believe this but I was born with a gift for assessing people. Thank you, my dear,' she said to Monica who had handed her a cup of coffee. 'Early yesterday morning, probably before anyone arrived at the ACTIL building -I saw one individual arrive and unlock the doors - I felt I should wait there.'

  'Why?'

  'I don't know. I was just out for an early morning walk. I suppose I was caught by its strange shape, like an enormous drum with a cone perched on the top.'

  Tweed was undergoing a strange experience. Elena sat facing him, her glowing eyes never leaving his. He felt she was able to see right inside him. He held her gaze as he continued his gentle interrogation of this nice woman.

  'You saw the staff arrive?'

  'Yes. Sometimes in a group, sometimes individually. I do recall a very tall lady, very smartly dressed and beautiful, who moved quickly, very upright.'

  Marienetta, Tweed thought.

  'But there were so many people going in there.'

  'Excuse me,' Paula called out, 'you were taking pictures of some of them with your camera.'

  'Quite right. Miss Grey,' Elena agreed, turning round. 'But I took pictures of all of them.'

  'Including the Vice-President of America?' Tweed suggested.

  'Oh, yes. I took several of him, both coming and going. I have all the developed prints in my handbag. I'll give them to you before I leave. It was while you were there that an unpleasant guard came over and told me to leave. He didn't know about my small camera hidden between my fur gloves.'

  'How did you react?' Tweed asked with a smile.

  'I told him this was Great Britain, that visitors were permitted to stand in the street providing they were not committing a crime. So what crime was he going to charge me with?'

  She's gutsy, Paula said to herself.

  'That confused him,' Elena continued, 'so he went back to the building and I stayed where I was.'

  'You come from Romania, I understand,' Tweed mentioned.

  'Yes. I was there for a short time under Ceausescu's evil dictatorship. I had met him just before he seized power. He took an instant dislike to me. And he worried me. As soon as he became dictator he sent secret police to where I was living. I saw them coming, slipped out down a back stairc
ase into a maze of alleys. I hid with friends and then escaped from Bucharest to Paris and on to here.'

  'This is what Buchanan wanted you to tell me?'

  'No. Watching all those people go inside the ACTIL building I sensed great evil very strongly.'

  'One particular individual?' Tweed asked casually.

  'I don't know. I have copies of the photos I'm giving you. I want to study them. Then maybe, sooner or later, I'll know.' She leaned forward, spoke intensely. 'The sensation of terrible evil was so strong my hands shook.' She turned to Paula and the smile returned. 'Luckily I was not using my camera when this happened.'

  'You sound so sure,' Paula told her.

  'I was absolutely certain,' she said vehemently. 'Now I have wasted enough of your time.' She took a large envelope out of her embroidered handbag, placed it on the desk. 'There are the photos.'

  'I don't think you have wasted my time at all,' Tweed assured her as Elena stood up to leave. 'We shall carefully study the photos you so kindly have given us. And maybe sometime you would join me for tea at Brown's.'

  'Oh, yes please, and thank you. I love their tea - the best in the world.'

  'I'll escort you to the front door.'

  'Again, thank you. Oh, inside the envelope is a card with my address and phone number. I live not far from Roy Buchanan . . .'

  6

  'Paula, Bob, tomorrow you're flying with me to Maine,' Tweed announced, returning from seeing off Mrs Brucan.

  'Maine?'

  Paula could hardly believe she'd heard correctly what he had said. Out of the blue they were on the move. Tweed had done this before - suddenly taken off - but never so dramatically.

  'This is terrific,' she said almost wildly. 'Why?'

  'I thought a lot last night before I eventually fell asleep. Woke up this morning, took the decision. Why? Because I want to see where that caretaker, Hank Foley, was murdered. I want to see the area, to ask questions about that asylum, nursing home - whatever. When I was at the Yard I was notorious for wanting to see everything in a case for myself. But I should warn you both it will be tricky, dangerous even.'

  'Why?' Newman asked this time.

  'Because we're flying into the unknown. From my flat I did call my old friend Cord Dillon of the CIA . . .'

  'He's still Deputy Director?' Paula wanted to know.

  'He is. He's taking a chance too. We're flying into no-man's land with no authority. Cord gave me a contact in Portland. The Chief of Police. But I'm sure there are people over there who won't want me poking my nose in. I'll just have to bluff my way through.'

  'We fly to Portland?' Newman asked.

  'No. Can't do that. I called Monica, who as usual was here before either of you. She's planned the only possible route, called me back. We fly United to Boston, arrive after dark. About a six- or six-and-a-half-hour flight. At Boston we can link up with a commuter flight from Boston to Portland. We'll hire a car there, drive down to Pinedale, then back to Portland, catch another commuter flight to Boston, linking up with the flight home. Doubt if we'll be there twenty-four hours.'

  'I've got to pack,' Paula decided.

  'It will be cold,' Tweed warned. 'Cord said freezing.'

  'I expected that. Damn! I've got that drinks session with Black Jack Diamond this evening. I'll fit it all in. Tweed, it's time you sat down,' Paula suggested. 'You've been pacing ever since you saw off Mrs Brucan.'

  'And the tickets for your trip are on the way,' Monica informed him.

  'And don't forget you've got this meeting with Dr Abraham Scale this afternoon at three,' Paula reminded him as he settled behind his desk.

  'I know. Now, what did you think of Elena, Bob?'

  Tweed looked at Marler, still leaning against the wall, and prepared himself for Newman's outburst. Marler winked.

  'I thought she was a very nice lady,' Newman began, 'but she shook me with what she said. She left behind her a strange atmosphere in here.'

  'She sure did,' Marler agreed. 'Can still sense her presence, as though she's still here.'

  'I feel the same as Bob and Marler,' Paula said. 'Exactly the same.'

  'Then let's look at the photos she left us,' Tweed decided.

  Tweed opened the envelope, spread across his desk so many photos it was covered. Armed like Tweed with magnifying glasses, Paula and Newman hauled their chairs over. Marler stood behind them.

  'Lord knows how many films she used up,' Tweed commented.

  'These look interesting,' Paula said, selecting a batch of prints while Tweed shuffled others around. She swept her magnifying glass over a crowd of people entering the Cone. Stopping suddenly, she leaned further forward, nudged Tweed.

  'Here she is. Marienetta. Running up the steps. Ready to sort out anyone who isn't doing what she considers a perfect job. Broden is waiting for her in front of that beastly revolving door. They've fixed the door, I suspect, so at that moment it revolves all the time.'

  'They'd never get everyone in until lunchtime otherwise,' Tweed said leaning over. 'Even from the back she really is a beautiful woman.'

  'Lots more to check out,' she said selecting another print. 'Oh, here is the Saviour of the World. The very honourable Russell Straub. Even arriving he has to perform his act.'

  'What's that?' Tweed asked looking again.

  Straub had been caught standing at the top of the steps, facing the street. Both arms were raised high to acknowledge a crowd which had gathered below. Beside him stood a man, presumably a bodyguard, lean, energetic looking and grinning from ear to ear. Paula pointed at him.

  'Rather like the look of him. Wonder who he is? A lot of character.'

  'I wouldn't trust Straub as far as I could throw the Cone,' commented Marler.

  'Join the club,' agreed Newman, peering through the glass as Paula shifted it so each man could see clearly.

  'Here's Sophie, looking sullen and grim,' Paula reported, checking another print. 'I'm having tea with Marienetta today at six this evening, or just before when it's quiet.'

  'How did that come about?' Tweed asked. 'You're due to have drinks with Black Jack at seven.'

  'It's only a short walk from Brown's to Marino's. I'll fit them both in. Marienetta suggested we get together during the dinner.'

  'You two seem to get on well,' Tweed remarked.

  'I think she feels comfortable with me. Because Roman thought Security was the key department at ACTIL, Marienetta worked as a detective for Medford's before being taken on the staff.'

  'Medford's?' Tweed was impressed. 'They're the top private investigation agency in London. And they're very choosy who they take on.'

  'Marienetta could talk and smooch her way into almost any job in this fair city . . .'

  The checking of Elena's photos went on. Marler had found a magnifying glass and was himself checking. There was silence for a while until Tweed suddenly spoke.

  'What is this? What was he doing there? Sam Snyder going into the building.'

  'Let me see.' Newman checked the print. 'Yes, it's him. I wonder who he was going to see? Doubt if it would be Roman Arbogast. He never gives interviews.'

  'Something even stranger,' Tweed said, spreading out five prints. 'He's the only person she photographed five times. On arrival in the street, going up the steps, turning round halfway up, pausing before the door, going in. Snyder. Five times. Why?'

  7

  Dr Abraham Scale was late for his appointment and made no apology when Monica ushered him into the office. Paula took an instant dislike to him and he hardly seemed the same man whose lecture she had once attended.

  Very tall and slim, he wore a frock coat, dark black. At his neck, below a prominent Adam's apple, protruded the ends of a stiff white Victorian collar. His long face was craggy, his eyes cold, his hair dark and thick like his eyebrows. He carried in his right hand a thick black cane with a silver head shaped like a serpent.

  He sat in an armchair, facing Tweed, sat erect as a flagpole. It was impossible to guess his age and his
voice was high-pitched, his manner condescending. Grasping the head of his cane in both large strong hands, he swept his gaze round the room swiftly, turned back to Tweed.

  'I haven't much spare time. I'm a busy man but Buchanan insisted I came to see you. I presume you are Tweed.'

  'I am.'

  'That's a splendid cane you have,' Newman remarked, and held out his hand.

  Reluctantly Dr Scale extended the ea-me, keeping a firm grip on it. Newman reached out to examine the strange head. The cane was jerked away.

  'The head is pure silver. I wouldn't like it smeared.'

  'What can you do for us - or what can we do for you?' Tweed enquired.

  'Listen with both your ears. I understand you are involved in the murder of the caretaker Hank Foley, in Pinedale. Also in the similar murder of Adam Holgate at Bray. The most significant factor in both cases is that the heads are missing.'

  'Foley's could have been thrown into the sea, Holgate's into the River Thames,' interjected Paula.

  'Nonsense,' snapped Scale. 'If that had been the case the corpses would have been disposed of in the same way. They were not. Another significant factor. We are dealing with a murderer who is abnormal. Then there is the question of gender. Quite abnormal,' he repeated in his emphatic way.