by Colin Forbes
'Now that is important,' Paula said.
'I guess it was important to the poor devil who had his head chopped off,' Newman remarked.
Paula nudged him hard in the ribs. 'Be serious. This is very serious.'
'What is?' Tweed asked.
She had turned back a page which showed the sack spread out behind the block, in front of the executioner standing waiting with his axe.
'The sacking,' Paula emphasized. 'The heads were missing from Hank Foley and Adam Holgate. I think it used sacking placed behind a makeshift execution block - then the head rolled free and fell on the sacking. That would give it something to carry away the head and put it inside some kind of container.'
'I'll have another Scotch,' Newman called out, summoning the steward.
Paula closed the book until the drink had been served and the steward had gone.
'So what kind of container would hold a human head?' asked Newman.
'I think Paula is right,' Tweed decided. 'We should have thought of that before now. I did once see a human head preserved in formalin after an autopsy. Stored in a huge laboratory glass with a glass lid on top. If I'm right what would it put a large laboratory glass in, to carry it away?'
'One of those wheeled suitcases people cart around these days when they're travelling,' she said.
'Must have been a lot of blood dripping from a head,' Newman pointed out.
'So it holds up the head by the hair until only dribbles of blood are dropping,' Paula explained.
'We really should have thought of that,' said Tweed. 'At Pinedale we should have searched further. There must have been an area where the ground had been soaked with blood. And at Bray.'
'Any more delicacies?' Newman enquired.
'There's the guillotine where you see the same system.' She turned to another marked page. 'You see, again behind the execution block there's sacking waiting to receive the head.'
'Look at the neck's stump,' Newman said. 'Now turn back to the earlier example of a portrait.'
She found the page immediately. Newman stared at the hideous drawing. He pointed.
'See? The neck stump again is ragged. Whereas Foley and Holgate had their necks severed neatly just below the chin. No raggedness.'
'It must have practised on something inert,' Tweed reflected. 'Maybe a dummy.'
'I'm not at all sure it would be a dummy,' Paula objected.
'What then?' Tweed asked.
'I don't know. I'll have to think about the problem. And we're descending.'
She wrapped up the book, placed it carefully back inside her briefcase. Then, to clear her mind of what they had been studying, she gazed out of the window.
The night was now cloud-free. As the descent continued she looked down on the Jura mountains rising up behind the vast pale blue smoothness which was Lake Geneva, or Lac Leman. There was snow on the peaks and the scene was one of great beauty as their machine swung out over the lake, like a giant flat plate, motionless in the moonlight. Then they were landing, wheels bumping gently on the tarmac.
Walking out onto the concourse at Cointrin Airport, Geneva, Tweed and Paula were surprised and pleased to see Arthur Beck, Chief of Federal Police, waiting for them. Behind him several uniformed police formed a protective circle. Beck ran forward, hugged Paula, shook hands with Tweed and Newman, led them to two waiting limos.
Beck was tall, fortyish, lean with greying hair and a trim moustache. His head was long with a well-shaped forehead, a Roman nose, a determined mouth and jaw. Tweed regarded his friend as the most efficient and energetic policeman on the Continent.
Beck was carrying Paula's suitcase although she had insisted on hanging on to her briefcase. The cold was icy but this was the sort of weather Tweed thrived on. Very quickly both Tweed and Paula were seated in luxurious seats in the middle section of the limo, behind the driver who had two policemen alongside him. Newman and Marler occupied the row behind them while Nield and Butler travelled together in a second limo. They were gliding beyond the station, heading east, when Beck, seated beside Tweed, spoke.
'I have negative news for you, I fear. After bringing you out here at such short notice.'
'You've lost the body?'
'Only temporarily, I'm sure. It was alongside the pic-bot when a storm blew in suddenly off the lake. So the body was washed further out. Not to worry - the storm is due to end tonight and then the body will be washed in again.'
'Was there time to get any idea of its appearance?'
'Only that it was headless. It was sealed inside a body bag - or body pouch, as the Americans call them. The bag was zipped up. One of the crew of two men reached down, unzipped the bag, saw what was inside, had an attack of sickness, the fool, so he let it go.'
'It wouldn't be a pleasant sight,' Paula said quietly.
'The other crew-member was made of sterner stuff. He moved fast, took one Polaroid photo, leaned over the side and zipped the bag shut just before it was swept away. I have the Polaroid.'
He glanced uncertainly at Paula. She knew exactly what his reaction was.
'Don't worry,' she assured him. 'I've seen headless bodies in Maine and out at Bray. I won't faint,' she said smiling.
'Here it is, then.'
He produced the colour print out of a transparent envelope taken from inside a leather case. He gave it to Paula while Newman leant over from behind them. Earlier, before saying a word, Beck had slid the glass partition shut so the driver and his companions could hear nothing.
'It's a good photo, even taken looking down on the stump of the neck,' Newman commented.
Paula stared at it closely by the overhead light Beck had switched on. She turned it slowly this way and that to try and see something which would identify the body. It was hopeless. Just a nerve-racking mass of dried blood.
'I can't even see whether the cut is a neat slice or ragged. That's important.'
'Why?' asked Beck.
Tweed explained to him what they had discovered in both the Foley and Holgate beheadings: the clean way the blade had cut and the position and shape of the notch in the blade.
'I'll tell Dr Zeitzler. He's the pathologist I called to Montreux from Zurich. I persuaded him to stay on until we get our hands on the corpse.'
'Why is this Dr Zeitzler from Zurich?' Paula wondered. 'I would have thought a pathologist from Berne, the capital, would be called.'
'Ah!' Beck chuckled. 'I insist on using the absolute tops in every sphere of my operations. The best pathologist by far in the whole of Switzerland is Dr Zeitzler. Very dominant but he knows what he's talking about. Like him, you will spend the night at Le Montreux Palace. You and Paula have suites.'
'That's very generous,' said Paula. 'I remember Le Montreux Palace. It's by far the best hotel in the city.'
'I've booked Newman into an attic,' Beck remarked casually.
'Thanks a lot,' Newman growled from behind them.
'Just joking,' said Beck, so fluent in English. 'You do have a very nice room waiting for you . . .'
While they were talking the limo had made good progress along the wide autoroute leading to Montreux at the far end of Switzerland's largest lake. Paula looked out of the window on her side, revelling in the undulating crests of the Jura, tipped with the white of snow. Stretching across to the highway she saw in the moonlight the neat grids of the vineyards which would start to flourish later. Here and there neat little villages of stone were laid out in organized rectangles. Each had an onion-domed spire of a tiny church. So Swiss. So peaceful.
She looked the other way beyond Tweed and Beck, towards where she knew the lake stretched. In the distance, on the French side of the lake, grim mountain crags reared up. Sheets of rain like long slanted needles close together suddenly appeared, sweeping towards them. Beck pointed in their direction.
'We shall soon pass Ouchy, where the autoroute is close to the lake,' he remarked. 'The storm is building up at this end of Lac Leman. The forecast is for it to go away in the early morning.
Then we hope the body will return to us.'
Paula felt sleepy. She moved so her head was on the rest. So comfortable. The limo purring quietly along on the superb highway. She fell fast asleep.
She was woken up by Tweed gently shaking her arm. Blinking, she sat up straight, aware of two things. The limo was slowing, then stopping. Her right hand still clasped the briefcase with the precious book on her lap.
'We have arrived in Montreux,' Tweed told her as the limo stopped.
She peered up out of the window. A yellow-gold colossus of a hotel which seemed to stretch along the Grand-Rue forever loomed above her. Many rooms had balconies but no one was using them tonight as the rain sheeted down. Smartly uniformed servants appeared holding huge umbrellas, opened their doors. Huddling under the umbrellas, Tweed and Paula hurried inside followed by Beck and the rest of their team.
At the reception area they produced their passports while Beck stood a distance away. The receptionist welcomed them warmly as he noted down details.
'You're not full at this time of the year, I imagine,' remarked Tweed.
'No, sir. But you have just missed being with us at the same time as another honoured guest.'
'Who was that?'
'The Vice-President of the United States.'
16
'Can't be helped,' Tweed said to the receptionist. 'I was talking to Russell Straub in London barely a week ago.'
Paula had trouble stifling a chuckle. Tweed certainly extracted mileage from the brief confrontation he'd had with the Vice-President at Sophie's birthday party.
'Really, sir,' the receptionist commented, impressed. 'He left here about an hour ago. After dark.'
'By train, I expect?'
'Oh no, sir. He drove himself off in a big Ford.'
'On his way to Berne, I suppose,' Tweed replied, choosing the first city which came into his head.
'I've really no idea where he was going. He was out of the hotel a lot, kept very much to himself.'
'We'd better get up to our rooms. Dinner is still being served?'
'Yes, indeed, it is.'
Paula was taken one way to her suite while Tweed, accompanied by Beck, was taken in another direction. His suite was spacious, had a balcony overlooking the lake. He turned to Beck after paying the porters.
'Can we see from this balcony where the body was discovered first?'
'If you don't mind risking getting a bit wet, although I see they have lowered the blind.' He led the way outside and pointed. 'You can hardly see it from here because of the evergreens. It was down there by the quai.'
'So now we can only hope,' Tweed said, going inside.
'I have sent out a large patrol boat with a huge scoop to see if they can find it. I'll be leaving now.' He picked up a hotel pad, scribbled down a number. 'I shall be at this number all night. It's the police HQ not far from the quai.'
After a quick wash Tweed went in search of Paula's suite. On the way he bumped into Newman on the same quest. The hotel was huge but eventually they found the room. Tweed knocked on the door.
'Who is it?' Paula called out cautiously.
'Tweed here.'
She unlocked the door and they walked into a suite on the scale of Tweed's. Paula had already changed for dinner into a sleeveless midnight-blue dress and a high collar. Tweed walked round, peered out of the window.
'This is pretty isolated,' he remarked.
'That's what I thought,' Paula agreed. 'If either of you needs me, knock four times on the door, pause briefly, then knock once. Repeat the code if I don't respond. After dinner I think I'm going to fall into a deep slumber. But now I am ravenous . . .'
Reaching the entrance to the restaurant Tweed paused, told the head waiter he'd like a moment to look round. Paula peered round him while Newman shuffled his feet impatiently. She let out a gasp.
'Oh, my God. I don't believe it.'
'What is it now?' Newman asked.
'Look at that table over there by the window, half hidden. Marienetta with Sophie. And with Black Jack Diamond. What the devil's happening?'
'Why don't you go over and see them?' Tweed suggested. 'Bob and I will grab a table over there, well away from them. I suggest you chat to Marienetta. You get on well with her.'
Paula made her way between the tables. She was only halfway there when Marienetta, wearing a strapless dress, spotted her, jumped up from her chair. She hugged Paula the moment she reached their table.
'Now I will have someone interesting to talk to. I'm so glad to see you.'
'What the devil are you doing in this part of the world?' Black Jack, lolling in his seat, called out.
'I might ask you the same question,' Paula rapped back.
'She's following us,' Sophie said unpleasantly.
'Since I'd no idea you were even in Switzerland that would have been a difficult achievement,' Paula replied amiably.
'They've been having another row,' Marienetta said, taking Paula by the arm. 'Let's go over by ourselves to the bar. I feel like a Cointreau.'
And I feel like food, Paula thought, but she allowed herself to be parked at the bar. She asked for a small glass of Chardonnay. Marienetta ordered her Cointreau, enthusiastically admired Paula's outfit.
'What are you doing here?' Paula enquired.
'Uncle has a very advanced plastics plant at Vevey just down the lake towards Ouchy. He came over unannounced to check progress. Expected me to come with him because he knows I'm better at administration. Sophie's baby, really. She is the scientist.'
'Roman is staying here?'
'He was. He drove off somewhere by himself a couple of hours ago. Don't ask me where to. He's so secretive. An early business experience gave almost a mania for secrecy. I saw police cars rushing down to the lake front before dinner.'
'What was that about?' Paula wondered.
'No idea. Before we left London, Roman introduced Sophie to the American millionaire he'd chosen to get her away from Black Jack. Apparently he was taking Sophie out for lunch in a cab. They arrived at the restaurant, the American found he had no English money, tried to borrow the fare from Sophie. That did it. She turfed him out, told the cabbie to take her back to ACTIL.'
'Doesn't take a lot to upset her, does it?'
'Not if she's in a mood. She found out we were flying out here and decided to fly out on her own, that is with Blackjack.'
'Why?'
'To pay back Uncle for trying to palm her off on the American. The slightest little thing can set her off. Uncle was livid when he saw Black Jack out here - refused to eat with them.'
'When did you all come out here?' Paula asked casually between munching pretzels. Anything to keep the demon hunger at bay.
'May I ask why you're out here with the formidable Tweed and the tough guy, Robert Newman?'
'We're heavily involved in these horrific murder cases. A third victim - another headless corpse - has been found floating in the lake. Still out there somewhere.'
'Oh, my God! That explains the flurry of police cars.' She paused. 'Whose body is this one?'
'We don't know. Hope you don't mind my mentioning it but I haven't eaten for weeks.'
'Oh Lord! You should have spoken earlier. Back to the table right now. You poor thing.'
Strange, Paula thought as they headed for the table, how everyone came out here two days ago. The Arbogast family and the Vice-President. Tweed would never believe that was a coincidence. Especially with a third murder.
17
Paula was consuming pasta avidly when Sophie took her over, speaking so sensibly and knowledgeably Paula could hardly credit it was the same woman. Sophie the scientist.
'We've got a plastics factory down the road which was my idea. I've invented - and patented - a new technique for plastic. It's going to make my father another fortune.'
'Tell me about it,' Paula said between mouthfuls.
'It's stronger and much more flexible than any existing form of plastic. I spent months working on the theory bu
t now it's in production—'
'Let Paula eat her meal,' Marienetta interrupted. 'She is starving.'
'So,' Sophie continued, ignoring the hint, 'you can warm it then mould it into any shape you like with your hands. A lot of airlines have placed contracts. The flexibility can be adjusted - by hand or machine - to any strength or shape simply by moulding it, and when it's cool it keeps its form, solid as a rock. I read chemistry and physics at Durham University and came out with a double First.'
'Really?' Paula stopped eating and gazed into Sophie's intense eyes. She was impressed. The lady had a first-rate brain, something she had missed. 'Your father must be very admiring of your achievement.'
'Oh, I suppose he is.' Her expression had darkened. 'He goes to Vevey with Marienetta and they pore over the money side. Marienetta flies over without telling me so she can organize the administration. I invented the damned stuff and I'm not even a director. Both of them are.'
'Yes,' Black Jack interjected with a sneering smile, 'but you're a scientist. A balance sheet is hieroglyphics to your limited intellect.'
'Paula,' Sophie said quietly, picking up a fork, 'may I have a taste of your pasta?'