Vorpal Blade

by Colin Forbes

  Marler had also produced latex gloves, was wearing them as he extracted from a pocket a jeweller's glass which had been wrapped in velvet. Beck was most approving.

  'Ah! We have a professional!'

  Swiftly Marler selected photos and films of the necks of the three murdered men. Pressing the glass into his eye he examined them closely one by one. He grunted, removed the glass from his eye.

  'It's the same killer,' he announced. 'The notch in the axe used is apparent in all three cases. We are hunting a serial murderer.'

  'But not a random killer, I'm convinced,' Tweed said firmly. 'There is a link between all three victims.'

  'All the way from Maine to London to Switzerland?' Beck queried.

  'Yes,' Tweed repeated in the same firm tone. 'All we have to do is to trace the link. It's buried somewhere.'

  They were driven to the Hotel Baur au Lac in two unmarked police cars. The drivers were in plain clothes. In the front vehicle Paula sat next to Tweed in the rear compartment, while Marler, perched on a flat seat, faced them. Newman was travelling in the car behind them with Butler and Nield.

  Paula was fascinated because most of the journey took them down Bahnhofstrasse, the most famous, the richest street in the world. Banks alternated with expensive shops and the legend was the street was paved with gold. Actually the bank vaults where the gold was stored were beneath Bahnhofstrasse. Smart elegant women strolled along the pavements.

  'So now we know the same killer murdered Foley in Maine, Holgate at Bray and Scale in Montreux,' Paula pondered aloud. 'It's a frightening thought.'

  'Very frightening,' Tweed agreed.

  'Why did you choose the Baur au Lac?'

  'Because if the Arbogast family is coming to Zurich that is the type of hotel they're likely to use. To say nothing of the other players in this hideous drama. Like Black Jack.'

  'He is an Arbogast,' she reminded him. 'A cousin.'

  Ahead of them in the near distance they could see light reflections on the Zurichsee, Lake Zurich. They had now moved from French-speaking Switzerland to the large German-speaking area in the north. Their car turned right off Bahnhofstrasse, crossed another street and passed through the wide entrance to the ultra-luxurious Baur au Lac. They got out, entered, leaving the driver to hand their luggage to a flock of impeccably dressed waiting porters. Paula nudged Tweed before they turned right to reception. They had a view into a spacious lounge.

  'You were right,' she said.

  Seated well back by himself in the lounge was Roman Arbogast, a drink on the table before him. He was staring straight at them.

  'Looks like a good place to start,' Tweed agreed.

  He had just spoken when, from the direction of the lift, Marienetta appeared. She was wearing a green two-piece suit and her golden hair was loose. She came to them with a warm smile, tall, her movements elegant. She's like a goddess, Paula thought.

  'Welcome to Zurich now,' Marienetta greeted them. When Tweed kissed her on both cheeks he caught a faint whiff of perfume as she squeezed his arm. Turning to Paula she kissed her. 'I'm so bored with the people here. Thank Heaven you have arrived. You will join me for tea in the lounge, Paula. I won't take no for an answer.'

  'I could do with some refreshment. Let me go up to my room and I'll join you.'

  'I'll grab a quiet table.'

  'The pace is beginning to accelerate,' Tweed commented as they headed for registration. 'There always comes a stage when this happens.'

  'Don't understand you.'

  As Tweed was registering the young man behind the counter started chatting.

  'We have another honoured guest, Mr Tweed. Mr Russell Straub, Vice-President of the United States, is staying with us.'

  'Really? When did he arrive?'

  'At lunchtime. It is really rather funny. He has a bodyguard with him. A Mr Danvers. Mr Straub refuses to allow him to accompany him. He has been out all afternoon on his own.'

  'Have you been here long?' Tweed enquired with a smile. It was unheard of for staff here to be so indiscreet, giving out information about another guest.

  'No, sir. I'm only temporary. I shall be leaving within a week. I've obtained a post at a hotel in Geneva.'

  Both Paula and Tweed found they had good rooms overlooking the entrance where a Rolls-Royce was parked. Tweed had just opened his case when the phone rang. It was the police driver who had brought them there.

  'I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. My employer, with whom you were talking recently, would like to see you again urgently. Provided it is convenient. I could drive you back when you are available.'

  'I'm available now.'

  The driver had been the soul of discretion. No names mentioned. It must be important for Beck to want to see him so soon again, Tweed knew. He tapped on Paula's door. She opened it with a towel wrapped round her.

  'Beck wants to see me again. Back at police headquarters. No idea why. In any case you'll be having Marienetta for company.'

  When he had gone Paula, who moved quickly, had had a wash and was removing crushable items from her case. She changed into her blue two-piece suit and wondered what Beck wanted to see Tweed about. Sounded like an emergency.

  As she walked into the uncrowded lounge she saw Roman Arbogast get up from his table, padding off somewhere. At another table a good distance from where Marienetta sat Sophie was having tea by herself. Odd, she thought.

  'I have ordered tea for you,' Marienetta said as Paula sat facing her. 'I do like that suit.'

  'And I like yours. Very chic.'

  'Oh dear!' Marienetta chuckled. 'We're turning into a mutual admiration society. This might be a good opportunity to compare notes. We did agree to collaborate.'

  'A good idea.'

  A man walked into the lounge. Russell Straub, wearing a different suit, smart, biscuit-coloured. His tie was cinnamon, a perfect choice over a freshly starched white shirt. The Vice-President had good dress sense. He walked with a purposeful stride, about to pass close to their table, staring straight ahead.

  'Hi, cousin,' Marienetta called out to him.

  He stopped, stood stock-still for several seconds. Glancing at Marienetta he glared at her, his intense dark eyes vicious. The same look he had given Tweed during their brief confrontation at Sophie's birthday dinner in London. Then, without a word, he walked on, disappeared.

  'So, what did I say?' Marienetta said to Paula. 'Brits do refer to our American cousins. I have a friend at the Foreign Office who often uses the phrase.'

  'I think he must have a volatile temperament,' Paula replied.

  'Weird. At Sophie's birthday party I chatted to him over drinks before we started dinner. He must have had a disappointing afternoon. Now, these terrible murders. Have you come to some conclusion about the killer's identity?'

  'After you. I'm concentrating on food. Ravenous. But I can listen.'

  'Well, first there's that strange reporter, Sam Snyder. I remember when he first came to see Roman. He showed him a critical article he'd written on ACTIL as a global giant. Roman didn't like it at all. He offered Snyder the use of our Gulfstream to travel to the States when it was available. On condition he toned the article down.

  The article never appeared. Roman is wily,' Marienetta chuckled.

  'So did Snyder use your Gulfstream to fly back and forth to the States? I mean, the other way round.'

  'Yes, he did. It was a dream offer. If something big happened in the States, Snyder could beat his British rivals, get there first. I find it intriguing that his profession is that of crime reporter.'

  'I see what you mean. Incidentally, why is Sophie having tea so very much on her own?'

  'She's avoiding me.' Marienetta smiled wrily. 'We have these spats - or rather she does. Occasionally, especially when my sculpture isn't going well, I have dinner with Black Jack. Don't trust him but he's lively. I try to make sure Sophie never knows. But if she finds out she goes wild with rage. She could kill me.'

  'You're speaking rhetorically?'
<
br />   Marienetta paused. 'Of course I am,' she said after a few moments. 'She just gets these moods. Sometimes she decides she's going to marry Jack. Then, thank Heaven, she goes off him. It's a muddled relationship. But I digress. I wondered about Abraham Scale. Such a strange character. But now the poor man has fallen victim to the deadly blade. So I'm not getting far yet. What about you?'

  Her cat's eyes gazed straight at Paula. Was she hoping her collaborator had better luck?

  'I do think a lot about it starting in Maine. When did you first meet Russell Straub?'

  'In New York. At a party. He was all over me then, wanted me to fly to California with him. I didn't.'

  'Is Straub married? I should know but I don't.'

  'He was but his wife divorced him. It was kept quiet.'

  'Why did she take that decision?'

  'She told me she was fed up with the Potomac running through her living room. She meant politics. Said he was a fanatic, that he'd do anything to become President. Which is going to happen. He has key figures and groups lined up behind him.'

  'Fanatic?' Paula repeated.

  'That was the word his wife used.'

  They talked some more and then Paula saw Tweed returning, heading for the lift. She thanked Marienetta for the tea and they agreed to meet later.

  Paula was going to collect the coat she had left with the concierge - she had thought Marienetta might suggest a walk after tea. Pausing, she saw Roman, wearing a heavy black overcoat, leaving the hotel.

  Grabbing her coat she put it on as she left the hotel. It was dark outside now. Night falls early at this time of the year. Hurrying along the wide drive and out of the entrance she was just in time to see Arbogast turn left up Bahnhofstrasse. He was carrying a large executive case which looked weighty.

  Reaching Bahnhofstrasse she saw his heavily built figure padding rapidly up the main street. She walked after him, aware that the street was otherwise deserted. She was thankful for the powerful street lights at intervals. Behind her she heard rapid footsteps. She glanced back as Newman caught up with her.

  'What the devil do you think you're doing? Going out in the dark by yourself?'

  'I'm following someone. That's Roman Arbogast in front of us. Please don't tell Tweed.'

  'I'll think about it.'

  Suddenly Roman disappeared. He had turned down the first side street to the left. Where on earth could he be going to? At this time of night? Newman gripped her arm, swung her round.

  'Back to the hotel. There's no one about . . .'

  Inside the hotel Newman left her as she entered the lift.

  She dashed to her room, took off her coat, hung it in the wardrobe, went back to Tweed's room. She tapped on the door. His expression was grim when he opened it.

  'What's the matter?' she asked, sitting down in a chair.

  'Beck called me back because Monica had called him, wanted to speak to me urgently on a safe phone. I got through to her immediately.'

  'And why was she calling you?'

  'Monica, I'm sure, hasn't slept for over twenty-four hours. She has been calling the world to build up the Arbogast family tree. She hasn't completed it yet by any manner of means, but she has given me invaluable data.'

  'Can I get a big pad? I want to make notes. There, ready.'

  'The Arbogasts originated in Italy. Their real name was Arbogastini. Three generations back there were two brothers - Benito and Vicenzo. They were born in Rome. When they grew up they moved to Milan. They probably couldn't make it there, so Benito moved to London while Vicenzo moved to New York. They had children. Vicenzo changed the family name to Arbogast - to avoid sounding like Mafia. He became a key figure in a Democrat political machine in Memphis, Tennessee, controlled by Boss Crump. I've heard of him by reading American history.'

  'We're coming close to this generation,' she said.

  'We are. Vicenzo had also changed his Christian name, to Vincent. This is where the political element came in. Vincent's eldest son changed the name again - to Straub so there was no possible hint of Mafia. His Christian name he changed to Russell. He was brought up in a highly political atmosphere.'

  'So in America we have reached the present?'

  'As you know Russell Straub is staying in this hotel. But Vincent had other children. Names as yet unknown. Meanwhile Benito in London became Alfred Arbogast. Then we come to the second generation. The eldest son was Roman. I suppose there was a desire not to sever all links with Italy. This branch of the family never entered politics. They moved from one trade to another. It was Roman who had the idea of building the ACTIL empire, a global system. He succeeded, had a daughter, Sophie. Both in the States and here there were other brothers who produced families. So far we know nothing about them.' Tweed stood up, began pacing. 'At long last a vague pattern is emerging. I have a theory but nothing to base it on. When I have I'll tell you. Of one thing I'm now convinced. These horrific murders concern power, power., POWER

  'I'm not sure I've grasped this,' Paula said, staring at the scribbles on her pad.

  'Simplify it. Work it backwards. Today we have the older generation, represented by Roman Arbogast. Roman has a daughter, Sophie. He also has a niece, Marienetta - who must be the offspring of a brother of his who also came to Britain. We haven't traced the brother yet.'

  'I'm quite clear now on the sequence.'

  'In the States Russell, the son of Vincent Arbogast, changed his name to Straub. His father was involved in Boss Crump's political machine in Memphis. Which is why Russell became a politician and ultimately Vice-President.'

  'Soon to be President once the present occupant of the Oval Office retires. And the existing President is backing Russell to be his successor.'

  'You've got the picture. A significant factor I suspect in these horrible murders. Hence my emphasis on power. I do believe Russell Straub would go to almost any lengths to make sure nothing blocked his ambition.'

  'You're making me think,' Paula told him.

  'That was my purpose. To make your realize what we are investigating has the world's future security at stake.'

  'Then we could be up against colossal forces,' she said.

  'We are. This explains the intervention of Nathan Morgan and Special Branch. They are doing everything they can to stop our investigation. I'm sure the President has asked our Prime Minister for a favour. The PM wants to keep in the good graces of Washington. Hence the pressure we are facing. I must not discover the great secret.'

  'You think the PM knows what it is?'

  'I don't think for a moment he does. I also doubt whether the President knows what it is.'

  'So,' she suggested, 'you find it strange that Russell Straub keeps turning up?'

  'Very strange.'

  'I haven't told you about my conversation with Marienetta over tea.'

  Tweed had been pacing as he explained what he had learnt from Monica. Now he sat down, facing Paula, his expression alert, preparing to concentrate.

  'Oh, before I start, it did strike me as possibly significant that all the victims so far have been men.'

  'I had pondered that. Now, it sounds as though you found out something interesting from Marienetta.'

  'I did . . .'

  She stopped speaking as someone hammered urgently on the door of the suite. Tweed jumped up, opened the door on the chain, then released it. Beck walked in.

  'There's been another murder. Close to this hotel.'

  21

  It was very chilly in the night as Tweed and Paula were led by Beck out of the main entrance where he immediately turned left up the street running parallel to Bahnhofstrasse. Two plainclothes detectives, escorting their chief, kept their distance.

  'Have you identified the victim?' Paula asked quietly.

  'Not yet. I'm waiting for Dr Zeitzler to arrive. He insists nothing is touched until he's made a quick examination. He's right, of course. Ah, there is his car . . .'

  They turned left again and Paula realized they were walking along a
n extension of the street she had seen Roman Arbogast disappear down from Bahnhofstrasse. That seemed ages ago now.

  'At the end of this street is the River Sihl,' Beck explained. 'It's an offshoot from the Limmat and not far down from here it enters the lake.'

  The street was narrow and a tunnel of darkness apart from the occasional street lamp. As they drew closer to where it ended Paula saw the glow of police lights perched on tripods, a lot of police cars parked, a police tape across the end of the street.

  'Does Roman Arbogast have an office around here?' she asked.

  'There.' Beck pointed to a building they were about to pass on the opposite side of the street. On the second floor a light glowed behind a closed blind. 'That is his headquarters for running his plants in Switzerland and certain surrounding countries. It has a big staff.'

  'And we're now approaching this little river, the Sihl?' she enquired.

  'You'll see it any moment now. Boat owners moor their craft here for winter. Some very expensive.' He stopped suddenly, turned to Paula and Tweed. 'This is pretty grim. I'm not sure Paula should see it. I don't doubt her courage but this is pretty eerie and horrific.'