Vorpal Blade (10 page)

'Never been more serious in my life.' He had minutes
ago taken his hand off her arm as he turned to Paula. 'The
offer still stands. Take you out for a drink and I'll spill the
beans. Interesting beans - in view of what has happened to
the poor devil.' He was amiable without being persistent.
'Give me your phone number and I'll call you.'

Behind Black Jack's back Tweed nodded at Paula. She hesitated, then produced a card from her evening
bag. It was printed with the cover name for the SIS, the General & Cumbria Assurance Company. Plus the phone number for Monica's second telephone for outside calls.

'Make it seven o'clock the day after tomorrow,' Paula
decided. 'At Marino's.'

'Give you a buzz,' he said, and walked off into the drizzle
with long strides.

Newman had hailed a cab and they all piled inside.
Tweed gave the driver the address of Park Crescent and then closed the glass panel so he couldn't hear what they
were saying. He had seen the expression on Paula's face.
She had perched on the folding seat facing him.

'What the hell do you think you're playing at?' she began. 'All right, just before he pushed off Black Jack was the soul of good manners, but you didn't see him
when we were dancing together.'

'No, I didn't,' Tweed admitted quietly.

'He was drunk, behaving like an animal. Now you ask
me to go and have a drink with him on my own in a bar.
His story about knowing something about Adam Holgate is probably just that. A story, a fairytale.'

'I'm inclined to agree,' said Newman. 'He's the biggest liar in town. Then there was that tripe about someone offering him ten thousand to rough up Tweed. He said that to get your attention. Comes outside and he's as nice as pie.'

'My turn?' Tweed enquired quietly. 'I was watching
him when he said he knew something about Holgate. I am
supposed to be good at spotting when someone is lying. I
don't think he was. He might just have information of a
vital nature. He's the sort of chap who gets around. Paula, if you don't like the idea we'll drop it. You don't take any
calls from him.'

The cab driver was aware a row was going on. Newman
saw his eyes in the rear-view mirror, glared at him. The
driver looked away. Paula had quietened down, was staring
at Tweed thoughtfully.

'I suppose I could come with her to Marino's,' Newman
suggested.

'Won't work,' said Paula. 'He wants a girl he can have
a drink with. Then - and only then - he might talk.'

'Both of you think about it,' Tweed suggested. 'And
I've just realized I stupidly gave the driver Park Crescent as our destination. Our first stopping point is Paula's flat
in Fulham.' As he reached forward to slide back the glass
to speak to the driver Paula's mobile phone buzzed.

He waited while she answered it. Her conversation was
short. She put away the mobile, looked at Tweed. 'You gave the right address. That was Monica asking us to go to the office. Something has happened but she wouldn't
say what - not over a mobile phone.'

Newman sighed, grinned wrily. 'Sounds like another
crisis. Something tells me this is going to be a long
night.'

'Professor Saafeld called,' Monica told Tweed the moment
he entered his office with the others at his heels. 'Asked
you to contact him no matter what time of night it was.'

'Get him on the line,' Tweed said as Paula took his
coat.

'Tweed here,' he began as he heard Saafeld's deep
voice.

'You know I occasionally attend a conference of pathologists in America?'

'Yes.'

'I take the
International Herald Tribune,
It has a long article in one issue on the murder at Pinedale in Maine . . .'

'I know. Newman was talking about it this morning. I've
read it.'

'Then you may have noticed the autopsy on the victim,
a man called Hank Foley, was carried about by a top medical examiner brought up from Boston. Dr Ramsey. We happen to be chums. All this goes back a few days ago. I called Ramsey and we compared notes. The upshot is he's sent me copies of the photos he took, plus X-rays. They came by Fed-Ex this evening. In return I've sent Ramsey copies of my photographs.'

'So?'

'I wouldn't be adamant. I didn't do the autopsy on Hank
Foley. But, having studied all Ramsey sent me, compared
his photos with mine, I'm pretty sure an axe was used to
behead him. One very strong slicing blow just beneath the
chin, and at the same angle.'

'But is that conclusive?' Tweed persisted.

'The razor-sharp blade used has a notch in it - same
shape, same place as the blade used on Holgate. Have you
a strong magnifier?'

'Yes. One very like the one we peered through at your
place. In Boffinland downstairs in the basement.'

'Would you like me to Fed-Ex Ramsey's material to
you?'

'Yes, please. And thank you for calling me . . .'

Once again the phone went dead. No wasted words
from Professor Saafeld. Tweed put down the phone, told
Newman and Paula what Saafeld had said, was doing.

'Another random serial killer?' Newman snorted. 'One at the edge of the Thames, the other thousands of miles
away across the Atlantic? It seems damned unlikely.'

'Not a random serial killer,' Tweed contradicted. 'I am
getting a feeling these murders are linked. That the victims
had to be silenced at all costs because they knew some great
secret.'

5

Tweed arrived back at his office at seven o'clock that
evening. He found not only Monica waiting but also
Paula and Newman. On his desk was a huge magnifying
instrument and a package from Fed-Ex.

'I resisted the temptation to open it,' Paula said.

'I hope you didn't carry that magnifier up from the
basement. It weighs a ton.'

'I got Freddie to bring it up. You know he's as strong as
an elephant. He wants to look at the photos himself. Not
that he has a clue as to what they are.'

'You can open up the package. I can tell you're dying
to.'

He sat at his desk while she struggled with the package,
using a pair of scissors and her nimble fingers. A strong cardboard
box eventually appeared and she prised off the
lid. Typically Saafeld had enclosed the photos inside plastic envelopes with even stronger protection for the X-rays.
Tweed selected the best pictures of the necks of Foley and
Holgate and the result was grisly. Then he asked Monica
to summon Freddie up from the basement.

He arrived very quickly, a heavily built man over six feet
tall with a dour expression which never changed. Tweed gave him two photos, one of Foley which was on better
paper than the one of Holgate from Saafeld.

'Freddie, this is top secret. No gossiping about any of
this down in the underworld.'

'Never tell them anything.'

'You know how to fix the plate so we can study these
two photos side by side.'

Freddie inserted a large plate in a holder below a lens.
He carefully placed the two photos in position, looking through another lens to adjust them. Then he stood back.

'What do you think, Freddie?' Tweed asked. 'You may have noticed the stumps of the necks are very cleanly cut,
but on one, at least, there's a ragged patch. As though the
blade which did the job had a notch in it.'

'I suggest, Mr Tweed, you look for yourself.'

Tweed peered through the lens. He took several minutes
studying what he saw. Then he straightened up, turned to
Paula. 'Your turn now.'

'Ugh!' was her first reaction. But she continued gazing through the lens. Her nerves were rattling inside but she
forced herself to continue her examination. When she
stood up she nodded at Tweed while Newman, with a
sceptical expression, peered through the lens.

'Freddie,' Tweed said suddenly, 'your opinion, please.'

'A perfect match. This candidate -' he pointed at the
photo of Foley's stump - 'had a thinner neck. Even so
the blade has to be an axe. And whoever wielded it has
to have plenty of strength. Especially to create such a neat cut.'

For Freddie this was a long speech. Tweed thanked him
and he left the room. What he had seen and heard was
kept inside his head as though he had locked it in a safe.
Newman stood up.

'I do see what you mean,' he conceded.

'Bravo for you,' Paula snapped.

They spent the next half-hour examining the X-ray
films sent from Boston. Paula had fetched up a special lamp from the basement, with which the strength of the
light could be adjusted. The X-rays further confirmed
the presence of a notch in the missing axe. Paula had
carefully repacked everything inside the outer box when
the phone rang.

'It's Chief Superintendent Buchanan again,' Monica
reported.

'What can I do for you, Roy?'

'It's what I can do for you. Hope you don't mind, but
since I've been pushed firmly out of the picture I'm passing
on to you tips I'd normally handle myself.'

'I'm listening.'

'I've been talking to a remarkable woman who helped
me locate a murderer once. She sensed it was someone I hadn't even considered - and she was right. A Mrs Elena
Brucan. I'll spell that . . .'

'Sounds foreign,' Tweed commented as he wrote down
the name.

'She's from Romania and was standing outside the
ACTIL building for a long time yesterday. She sensed something wrong.'

'She's a spiritualist?' Tweed asked without enthusiasm.

'No, she isn't. Never attended - or held - a seance in
her life. She's very sensitive to people. No harm in seeing
her. Can I give her your address, using Cumbria & General
Assurance, of course?'

'She's in London?'

'Yes. Rented a flat not far from where I live. Would
you say, eleven tomorrow morning - today - be all right
for you?'

'Yes, it would.'

'And I've someone else I've used unofficially I could
send to you.'

'Tell me,' said Tweed, keeping the exasperation out of
his voice.

'Dr Abraham Seale, the well-known profiler. He helped me with another case. Located a top drug baron I'd thought
was a respectable stockbroker. Three o'clock tomorrow afternoon any good?'