Vorpal Blade (31 page)

'What is it?'

'At an isolated spot near the outside of the airport I saw
a big Gulfstream plane. It could be Arbogast's. If so, what
is he doing here?'

'Will Beck have arrived yet?' she wondered.

'He will,' Marler replied. 'He took off in a chopper to
get here. I saw something curious while you were way up
on the mountain. A photograph taken by Newman's pal, Sam Snyder.'

'No pal of mine,' Newman growled from behind.

'You don't know how to handle Snyder,' Marler told
him. 'With me Snyder knows I'll stand no nonsense, so he doesn't try it on.'

'What was the photograph?' Paula asked.

Marler took a stiffened envelope from his coat pocket,
handed it back. Paula opened it, took out a cellophane envelope and the photograph inside it. She gazed at it in astonishment.

'Where was this taken? Looks like somewhere near the
quai
in Montreux.'

'It is. Let Tweed see it.'

Tweed took the photo, was if anything more taken
aback than Paula had been. He studied the picture of
the woman who was smiling grimly, as though she'd had
the satisfaction of being proved right. The picture of Mrs
Elena Brucan.

It was a colour print and she was wearing the same pale green overcoat, the same green fut hat that she had when
she visited Tweed in his office at Park Crescent. Marler
had been in the room at the time, he recalled.

'Why do you think Snyder took this picture?' Tweed
wondered. 'I get the impression she was in a crowd, looking
down at the body of Abraham Scale.'

'She was,' Marler confirmed. 'Snyder was struck by her unusual appearance, thought it made a good shot, which it does. He introduced himself and she said she was Elena Brucan. She said she was following a murderer. He thought she was batty. You all went back to the Montreux Palace and I brought up the rear. Ahead of me -I hadn't seen the photo then - and as you went to your rooms, I saw someone ahead of me, entering the hotel. Mrs Elena Brucan.'

'She was staying at the hotel then?' Tweed asked.

'No.'

'Marler,' Paula said impatiently, 'you're talking far more
than you usually do. I get the feeling something else
happened. Do get on with it.'

'Patience, my dear. I was curious. I lingered in the hall,
pretended to be looking at a brochure. The receptionist
was holding two air tickets. He called out to one of the
staff to take these tickets from Geneva to Zurich to Mile Sophie Arbogast's room. If she wasn't in take them to M.
Diamond's room. And it was very urgent.'

'So they were flying together to Zurich, just as they flew
out here together,' said Tweed thoughtfully.

'There's more,' Marler continued. 'While this was going
on Mrs Brucan was pretending to study a picture on the
wall. She was actually eavesdropping. When the chap with
the air tickets had gone she turned round, saw me. I went
over to her and she recognized me, so I introduced myself,
said maybe we could go for a walk. She was pleased,
said she was on her way back to her hotel. It was the Eurotel.'

'Where Abraham Scale was staying,' Tweed recalled.

'Is there a connection?' Paula speculated.

'Time will tell.'

'Haven't finished yet,' Marler drawled. 'In the reception hall I offered her coffee. She pointed out where I should go, then hovered by reception. I left her, stayed just inside the entrance to the lounge. I heard her ask the receptionist to book her on the next flight from Geneva to Zurich. She then dashed up to her room, ditching me.'

'She was in a rush to pack and get to Geneva,' Paula
said.

'I'm sure she was,' Marler agreed.

'Food for deep thought,' Tweed mused.
'She was follow
ing a murderer.
Her exact words to Snyder.'

'So,' Newman decided, 'it looks to be either Sophie or
Black Jack.'

'Maybe yes. Maybe no,' Tweed replied. 'Perhaps she
was tracking the Arbogast clan.'

The plane touched down, an exceptionally smooth landing. As they waited for the lights Butler and Nield, who had
sat well behind them, came up the aisle. Tweed looked up
at them, spoke in a clear whisper.

'First, we get cabs from the airport straight to Beck at his
police headquarters here. After that, on to the Baur au Lac
- I booked rooms for all of us before we left Montreux.'

Paula loved Zurich. She gazed out of the window as they
were driven into the ancient city, across the bridge over the
River Limmat which divided the city. Large modern blue one-decker trams trundled past, traffic sped when it could.

Nield and Butler preferred to wait outside the large stone
building which is police headquarters. Beck was waiting
for them in his usual office with its windows looking out across the river to the massive University building on the opposite bank.

'Welcome,' he said with a warm smile and again hugged
Paula. 'My favourite Englishwoman. Anna,' he said to a
uniformed girl, 'coffee for everyone. Cream for Robert
Newman here.'

'I left Nield and Butler outside,' Tweed remarked.

'I'll see them afterwards,' Anna responded, smiling
seductively at Tweed.

'Anna likes you,' Beck said when she had gone. 'I think
she is after you. Now to work. Sit down, please. Saafeld has
reacted quickly. A courier arrived from him this morning.' He handed a thick envelope to Tweed. 'Addressed to you.
Feels as though it's stuffed with films and photos.'

Beck had a new table. Oblong and large, its surface was
covered with a sheet of glass hinged in the middle. The edges were rounded so no one could get hurt. As Tweed
carefully opened the well-wrapped package, Beck, seated,
tapped the table top with the palm of one hand.

'This cost a fortune. I can lift half of it and place it on the other half. Easy to place material under the glass. The accountant in Berne nearly went mad when he had the
invoice. I should care.'

Tweed had extracted latex gloves from his pocket, put
them on before he took out films and photos. Saafeld
had sent films and photos not only of Adam Holgate
- he had also included the material sent to him by his
medical examiner friend in Boston, the films and photos of Hank Foley, late caretaker at the asylum in Pinedale. Beck added photos, X-rays from Zeitzler's autopsy.

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 approv
ing.

'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 com
mented 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?'