by Colin Forbes
'I have seen worse things,' she snapped obstinately.
Beck raise both hands in a gesture of resignation. As they came to the corner she saw the narrow River Sihl, almost black in the darkness except where the police lights reflected off it. Dr Zeitzler suddenly appeared. When he saw her he took her arm, spoke in English, no longer abrupt in manner. His tone was gentle and sympathetic.
'Fraulein Grey, I beg of you not to proceed one step further. This is an escalation -I trust that is the right word - in horror.'
'I appreciate your sentiments, Dr Zeitzler. But I have seen beheaded bodies before. Please do not stand in my way.'
Zeitzler looked at Beck. He made a gesture. I have done as much as I can.
She walked round the corner. Boats covered with green canvas to protect them against the winter were moored at intervals. Policemen who had been chattering went quiet when they saw her. A ghastly silence descended on the promenade running along the side of the Sihl. One powerful police light was focused on a boat where the green canvas had been rolled back. At the stern there was a seat with a canopy and it was occupied.
A woman sat in the seat, propped up by the back rest. Her green fur cap was tilted to one side. Her eyes were open. Paula stopped, stood quite still, unable to take her gaze away from the occupant.
'Oh God, no!' she gasped, muffling her outburst with her hand which she clamped to her mouth. She stiffened her legs, steeled herself. 'Oh, dear God, no,' she said behind her hand.
The figure sitting so still in the boat was that of Elena Brucan. Apart from her extreme immobility she appeared normal, as if taking a rest. Throwing off Zeitzler's hand, which had again grasped her arm, Paula advanced slowly along the narrow walk. Tweed was now beside her, Newman, who had rushed from the hotel, behind her.
'At least it didn't decapitate her,' she said in a steady tone of voice.
She was walking closer to the boat as she spoke. Behind her back Zeitzler glanced at Beck with an alarmed expression. The police chief made a gesture of resignation. No point in stopping her now. She'd just have to see it.
The first thing Paula noticed with puzzlement and then a shock of growing presentiment was a large brownish pool on the walkway alongside the boat. In the middle was a clear area, an area shaped like the oblong she had seen imprinted into the grass near the asylum at Pinedale. The site of an execution block. She went closer to the still figure of Elena Brucan, propped against the headrest at the stern. A few inches below the chin a brownish rim of encrusted blood encircled the neck.
'She has been beheaded,' she said in a low voice. 'That is why her hat is tilted at the wrong angle.'
'And then,' Tweed said, 'it lifted the head by the hair from where it had fallen and perched it back on the severed neck.'
'It's obscene!' she shouted. 'I'm going to locate it and when I do I'm going to kill it. . .'
She was shaking as Tweed, gripping her by the arm, led her back to the hotel. Both he and Newman thought it was the appalling shock of what she had seen which was making her tremble. They were wrong. She was shaking with fury.
'She was such a nice lady,' she said eventually as they approached the entrance to the hotel. Her voice was trembling now with sorrow. 'She meant no harm to anyone. Why?'
'Probably because she spoke to the wrong person,' Tweed told her. 'It realized Elena suspected it.'
'Can we pause here for a moment?' Paula asked.
They waited while she took in deep breaths of the ice-cold air. Her figure stiffened and she turned to Tweed and spoke.
'I'm OK now. I've got control of the anger. Let's not say anything to anyone we meet.'
As they walked into the hotel Marienetta rushed out of the lift. She stared at Paula, came forward with an expression of concern.
'You've lost all your colour. Are you all right?'
'I'm fine. I tripped up as we were coming back from a walk. Sprawled full length. Knocked the breath out of me.'
'You'd better go upstairs and lie down.'
Paula was looking past her into the lounge. In a chair near to the entrance Sophie, wearing an overcoat, was gazing at her. She had the most peculiar look on her face, a strange smile as though she had just achieved something which delighted her.
'Not feeling so good, Paula,' she called out.
'I was wondering why you're looking so pleased with yourself.'
'She gets like that sometimes,' Marienetta remarked.
'Marienetta thinks she's so clever,' Sophie sneered.
'That's enough of that,' Marienetta rapped back.
'She thinks she's the Queen of ACTIL,' Sophie sneered again, standing up. 'She should have been an actress,' she ploughed on. 'She tried to be once in the provinces and the producer threw her out, told her to get a job as a typist.'
Marienetta swung round. Her manner was calm as she walked to Sophie.. Her right hand swung up and gave Sophie a ferocious slap on the side of her face, a slap which caused her to sway and almost fall.
'Nearly took her head off her shoulders,' Newman whispered. 'Sorry, just realized what I said. Let's get upstairs. We can do without this.'
He had just spoken when Blackjack, clad in an overcoat, came in from outside. He was carrying a large leather bag. Paula thought he was drunk as he grinned at everyone, buoyantly shouted at the top of his voice.
'I'll take the first lift. Damned well freezing out there. A hot shower is next on the programme for me. Sure you won't mind.'
Newman had never seen him in such a joyous mood. A man who was so pleased with an achievement he had pulled off. He blocked Black Jack taking another step. He was in a mood to knock him down.
'The lift is booked for us. And there's no room for you. It's warm enough in here.'
'Don't like your tone of voice, old man.'
Tve never been over the moon about yours.'
Tweed was escorting Paula to the lift, waiting with its doors open. Behind them Newman and Black Jack glared at each other face to face. It was Black Jack who backed down. He called across to Marienetta still standing close to Sophie.
'I don't think either of you should have anything to do with that thug. He's only a cheap reporter.'
'I rather like him—' said Sophie.
They didn't hear the rest of her sentence because the lift doors had closed and it was ascending.
* * *
'A small brandy for you, Paula,' Newman said once they were inside Tweed's suite.
'Not brandy,' Tweed said sharply. 'A glass of water. Then maybe another.'
'Yes, please.'
Paula had collapsed into an armchair after throwing off her coat. She swallowed the water in the glass Tweed handed her, gave it back to him for a refill. She sat with her knees close together, her hands on the arms of the chair. Staring into the distance she said nothing for a few minutes. Tweed put a finger to his lips, warning Newman not to speak. She had three glasses of water before she relaxed and spoke.
'That was quite something to come back to downstairs. Sophie and Marienetta at each other's throats.'
'Sophie asked for it,' Newman commented, sitting opposite to her.
'Then the strange arrival of Black Jack who seems so anxious to get away from us.'
'The Arbogast family in action,' Tweed remarked. 'Except for Roman.'
'I saw Roman leaving the building - I was with Bob - well over half an hour ago. I think he was in his headquarters near the Sihl where it happened. There was a light in one window on the second floor, the blind drawn.' She frowned. 'That doesn't mean there was anyone in the room. Whoever had gone up there could have drawn the blind, switched on the light - and left.'
'Your brain's whirling round,' Tweed said.
'It could be staying at this hotel,' she went on as though her mind were far away. 'It. Whoever committed that foul atrocity. The indignity of it. Why didn't it take the head away as it did with the others?'
There was a knock on the door. Newman opened it and Arthur Beck walked in. His expression was grimmer
than Tweed had ever seen it. Paula looked up, stared at him.
'Why didn't it take the head away this time?'
'I think . . .' Beck paused and studied Paula to assess what state she was in. He was surprised by her normality. 'I have thought about that,' he started again. 'My theory is that as it took place in the middle of a big city, whoever is responsible thought it would be too risky to take away the head. At Montreux no one would be on the front for several hours - it was still night. I presume similar isolated conditions prevailed at Bray in Britain, at Pinedale in Maine.'
'They did,' Tweed confirmed.
'Now all hell is going to break loose in Switzerland,' Beck's tone was grim. 'Two Europeans beheaded within days. The press will go mad. The horror of the way they were killed will add to the panic. Zeitzler is working through the night on this, his second autopsy. Results will be ready in the morning. We have the data - films and photos - of the murders abroad for comparison. I'll let you know, Tweed. Now I must dash.'
As Beck left the suite Marler slipped into the room and took off his raincoat. Tweed stared at it.
'You've been outside, prowling around?'
'To some profit.' Marler stood against a wall, produced a cigarette, lit it. 'Did any of you know Sam Snyder is here in Zurich?'
'No, we didn't,' Tweed replied.
'Odd how he keeps popping up whenever there's one of these beastly murders,' Paula said quietly.
'Snyder,' Marler continued, 'is staying just up Bahnhofstrasse. At the Baur en Ville. I strolled into their bar, which you can enter directly from the street, and there he was, having a drink.'
'You asked him why he was here?' Newman demanded. 'What the devil he was doing?'
'Not quite in those terms,' Marler drawled. 'He'd have closed up like the proverbial clam. Had a drink with him.
'Why didn't it take the head away this time?'
'I think . . .' Beck paused and studied Paula to assess what state she was in. He was surprised by her normality. 'I have thought about that,' he started again. 'My theory is that as it took place in the middle of a big city, whoever is responsible thought it would be too risky to take away the head. At Montreux no one would be on the front for several hours - it was still night. I presume similar isolated conditions prevailed at Bray in Britain, at Pinedale in Maine.'
'They did,' Tweed confirmed.
'Now all hell is going to break loose in Switzerland,' Beck's tone was grim. 'Two Europeans beheaded within days. The press will go mad. The horror of the way they were killed will add to the panic. Zeitzler is working through the night on this, his second autopsy. Results will be ready in the morning. We have the data - films and photos - of the murders abroad for comparison. I'll let you know, Tweed. Now I must dash.'
As Beck left the suite Marler slipped into the room and took off his raincoat. Tweed stared at it.
'You've been outside, prowling around?'
'To some profit.' Marler stood against a wall, produced a cigarette, lit it. 'Did any of you know Sam Snyder is here in Zurich?'
'No, we didn't,' Tweed replied.
'Odd how he keeps popping up whenever there's one of these beastly murders,' Paula said quietly.
'Snyder,' Marler continued, 'is staying just up Bahnhofstrasse. At the Baur en Ville. I strolled into their bar, which you can enter directly from the street, and there he was, having a drink.'
'You asked him why he was here?' Newman demanded. 'What the devil he was doing?'
'Not quite in those terms,' Marler drawled. 'He'd have closed up like the proverbial clam. Had a drink with him.
Listened. He's pursuing the Arbogast family. Tracked Sophie and Black Jack to Zurich, slipped aboard the same plane. The way he traced them from Heathrow.'
'He'd have loved,' Paula began, 'to get a picture of poor Mrs Elena Brucan in that boat.' He voice was tinged with rage.
'How was Snyder dressed when you found him in the bar?' Tweed asked Marler.
'Wearing a fur-lined coat as though he'd just come in from outside. Under the table was a leather camera case.'
'So maybe he did get pictures,' Newman commented. 'He could have walked down the narrow promenade alongside the Sihl from the other direction. That would be the quick route from the Baur en Ville.'
'If that leather case was for the purpose of transporting his camera,' Paula observed.
'Now,' said Tweed, anxious to change the subject, T think Paula is ready for a small brandy - if you'd do the honours, Bob. And you were going to tell me, Paula, about your chat with Marienetta over tea.'
With her perfect memory Paula recalled every word of her conversation. What she had said, what Marienetta had said. She also remembered to describe the brief confrontation Marienetta had with Russell Straub when the Vice-President entered the lounge. Tweed listened, his eyes never leaving her, recording every detail in his memory. She took a sip of brandy, spread a hand.
'That's it. Don't think I've left out anything.' 'And,' Tweed checked, 'Straub looked furious when she called him cousin.'
'Looked as though he could have killed her.' 'And Marienetta quoted Straub's ex-wife as calling him a fanatic? That was the exact word used?' 'It was. She confirmed it twice.'
'A wife should know, even if she was on the verge of throwing him overboard. Gives us an interesting view of Russell Straub.'
'I could have told you that anyway,' Newman said dismissively. 'Any politician with a load of money and party-machine support is not going to be too fussy about how he gets to be President.'
'I'm rather intrigued by the word "fanatic",' Marler said.
'Then there's the axe,' Paula said vehemently. 'The killing weapon. We haven't thought enough about that. If - and it looks pretty definite - the same axe was used across the Atlantic in Maine how was it transported over here?'
'It could have been taken over from Europe in a case wrapped in fibreglass,' Newman suggested. 'The case travels in the cargo hold.'
'So how was it brought back for committing three more hideous murders?' Paula wanted to know. 'Heathrow Customs can order anyone to open a case. The killer would never take that risk.'
'Then I don't know the answer,' Newman admitted.
'Paula, list those people who we know have travelled to America,' Tweed requested.
'Here we go again. Marienetta, Sophie, Roman Arbogast, Black Jack Diamond . . .'
'And why does he fly out there?' Tweed persisted.
'From what we've heard to enjoy himself, tour the clubs, I'd imagine, look for girl friends. It's his style.'
'And who else do we know has gone?'
'Sam Snyder, who from his arrangement with Roman, has the use of the Gulfstream when it's available. I'm running out of names.'
'You're forgetting someone because they're so obvious,' Marler interjected. 'The Vice-President, Russell Straub. A man like that can move anywhere without interrogation.'
'There is one more,' Newman added. 'Broden, security chief for ACTIL. He's in this hotel, presumably watching over Roman. With his authority he could move anywhere he liked.'
Tweed had been sitting in a hard-backed chair. He was leaning forward, hands clasped in front of his lap. They were suddenly aware he hadn't spoken for a while. He was looking into space. He spoke now very deliberately.
'I could narrow that list down. A big piece is missing from the picture slowly forming in my mind. Paula, how are you feeling?'
'Normal,' she replied immediately, 'as poor Abraham Seale used to say. Ready for anything.'
'Then could you go downstairs and see if Sophie is still in the lounge? She was when we came in, and had a coat on. I'd like you to talk to her on her own. Providing Marienetta is not there. Most people will be having dinner. We'll have ours after you've talked with her. It's important.'
Paula found Sophie, her coat on another chair, sitting by herself in an otherwise empty lounge. A waiter had just served her with glass of Scotch. Not the first, I suspect, Paula thought as she walked up to her.
'He
llo, Sophie, mind if I join you for a drink?'
'Another double Scotch,' Sophie shouted before the waiter had disappeared. 'Sit down, Paula. I'm feeling neglected.'
'That's entirely my fault,' Paula replied as she eased herself into a chair facing Sophie.
She quickly studied Roman's only daughter. Sophie was good looking. Not in the glamorous manner of Marienetta, but in a more comfortable way. She had good features, grey eyes which looked frankly at Paula. Her nose was snub but well shaped and her chin suggested determination. Her brown hair, still tied back in a ponytail, suited her. She wore a blue evening dress, long-sleeved and with a high collar. When Paula's drink was brought they clinked glasses. Sophie smiled and looked round to make sure they were alone, then pulled her chair closer to Paula's.
'I'm sure any impression you have of me has come from Marienetta. We don't get on too well. Maybe my fault. I get periods of fatigue, then I'm full of energy and ready to push the whole world over. I've always been like that. I was once lured into seeing a psychiatrist - thought he was just a doctor. He said I was wired. Funny word, but he told me not to worry about it. A question of temperament.'
'Who "lured" you, as you put it, into seeing this medical man?'