Vorpal Blade (17 page)

'You know perfectly well I didn't,' replied Jed with an
edge to his voice. 'And it wasn't a joking business.'

'Then take 'em out, show 'em where you found Mr
Missing 'Bad.'

'Is your investigation into the crime proceeding?' Tweed
demanded. 'If so, how far have you got? I need details.'

'Takes time,' Parrish mumbled as Paula glanced round
the room, noticing the contrast between Jed's desk in a
corner, with an old Remington typewriter, and neatly
arranged piles of reports, and the mess Parrish had created.
His desk was covered with papers scattered at all angles,
the marks of the bottom of beer bottles staining them.
Stacks of files, almost toppling, were shoved against the
walls.

Tweed stood up. He'd decided they would get nowhere
with Mr Parrish. He wasn't doing a thing about the
Foley case.

'I'd like Jed to take us immediately to where he discov
ered the corpse. We're short of time.'

'I can drive you there now,' Jed said, on his feet as he put
on a windbreaker, zipped it up. 'Be there in five minutes
at the outside.'

'Then let's go,' said Tweed.

Parrish stumbled to his feet, followed them as Jed walked
quickly outside. He led them down the steps and headed
for the back of the house. The icy cold stabbed into them
like a knife. Parrish stood in the open doorway, called
after them.

'You're gonna have a mighty long walk back to Port
land.' As he turned back into the house he held a fresh
bottle of beer by the neck. At the top of his voice he
laughed, almost choking.

'My car's round the back,' Jed explained. 'Anything
you want to know you just ask.' The storm wind battered
them as they turned a corner. Jed ran back, took Paula
by the arm. 'You were nearly blown over there. You'll get
used to it.'

10

Jed's car was a battered Chrysler parked behind the house.
He turned the heater up full blast, stood outside as Tweed sat in the front passenger seat while Paula was in the rear
with Newman. The warmth was building up as he called
out before slamming the rear door shut.

'Back in a minute. Got to collect something.'

Paula watched him run to open a door at the back of the
house, reached inside to pick something up. He returned
carrying a suitcase, which he dumped in the boot before
he jumped in behind the wheel.

'Going somewhere?' Paula enquired.

'You bet!' The car was already moving, heading back to the main highway. 'All my things. I've had a bellyful
of that Parrish. Andersen in Portland has secretly offered
me a much better job, plus more money. The real appeal is I'll be working under Andersen, a real right guy.'

He had reached the highway. He turned left, away
from Portland in the direction of distant Boston. He
turned round to look at Paula, grinning. 'I can start
enjoying my work now. And I'll drive you folks back
to Portland. But only when you've seen everything you
need to.'

'Does Parrish know?' Paula asked mischievously.

'Hasn't a clue. I'll phone him from Portland to give him
the good news.'

The landscape had changed as they sped along the
blacktop. On both sides the ground opened out across stretches of crusted clods of earth where fields had been ploughed. Ahead were more trees but the forest had been thinned out. Jed was whistling to himself.

'Where is Pinedale?' Tweed asked.

'This is it.'

Glory, Paula thought. Here and there, well spaced out,
were small miserable clapboard houses with lights behind
the closed curtains. People live here all their lives, she was thinking. Londoners who take cheap package deal trips to
Italy, to the Caribbean, have no idea what the rest of the
world is really like.

'See that burnt-out building near the edge of the highway
in the distance?' Jed asked Tweed.

'Yes.'

'That was the asylum - nursing home, they called it -
where people parked their unwanted relatives who were
mental kooks. Sometimes patients went in for treatment
and came out again. You needed a load of dollars to get
in there. Privacy was absolute.'

He suddenly swung off the highway along a track,
climbing. Paula was aware of a booming sound as the
track veered closer to the burnt-out ruin. The storm was
hammering against the windscreen. Tweed peered across
Jed to his left.

'How far is the asylum from the point where you discovered Hank Foley's body?'

'No distance at all. I found traces suggesting the body had been dragged from the asylum to the coast. Streaky
patches of blood. All gone now. We've had heavy rain and
no one believed me.'

'How did you come to find the corpse?'

'I was patrolling the edge of the coast in case some ship
was heading for the rocks. It was stormy that night. I'd
have called the Coastguard in Portland. Parrish of course
didn't give a s—t. Excuse me, ma'am.'

'I'm familiar with the word,' she assured him. 'What is
that booming sound?'

'Huge waves coming in and smashing against the cliffs.
So here we are.' He stopped the engine. 'Don't get out
yet, folks. When you do, watch yourselves. The cliff drops
straight down. The wind's off the ocean, which helps, but
you can get blown flat like when you hit a pin in a bowling
alley. You guys can manage but,' he went on turning to
look at Paula, 'mind if I hold your arm?'

'I'd welcome the protection,' she replied, meeting his
eyes in the rear-view mirror, smiling.

Taking Jed's advice, they got out of the car on the
right-hand side, away from the ocean. Paula first buttoned up the collar at her neck before climbing out. Leaving the car, the wind hit them like a moving wall. They bent their heads as Jed clung on to Paula, and suddenly they were at
the brink.

Monster waves rolled in as though determined to over
whelm America. They slammed against the cliffs below
and spume splashed their faces. The noise was deafening.
Still
holding on to Paula, Jed pointed down, yelled to
Tweed.

'Body was crammed in that huge crevice.'

'Was the storm worse than this when you discovered
Foley's corpse?' Tweed shouted.

'No. This one is the biggest we've 'ad this year.'

Tweed had noticed the biggest waves were breaking a
good twenty feet below the chasm-like crevice tucked
into the cliff. So if the corpse had been thrown into the
sea, how had it ever been hurled back, when the ocean didn't reach anywhere near the crevice? He shouted his
observation at Jed.

'Never thought of that,' the American replied after
staring down for a while.

'I'd like to explore over there,' Paula yelled, pointing
down the scrubby slope towards the wrecked asylum. 'I
can manage on my own, but thanks for looking after
me.'

Then she was off, taking out of her large bag a powerful
torch, which she switched on. It was a dreadful night. The
howl of the wind, the thudding of the sea against the cliffs.
As she moved her booted feet carefully, descending the
slope towards the asylum, she was visualizing what direct
route she'd have used dragging a body from the wrecked
nursing home to the cliff. Except she doubted the place
had been burnt down by then.

She was close to the ruin when she found what she was
looking for. Earlier she had entered an area of tall grass
but here the ground was exposed, as though handfuls of
grass had been torn up. Imprinted in the ground was an
oblong shape.

'What is it?' Tweed had followed her. They were shel
tered from the wind at this spot.

'The place where the execution block was placed. Foley
was beheaded here.'

'Keep that idea to yourself.'

'Information, not an idea.'

She took out her small camera, which took perfect
pictures without a flash. She clicked the button five times,
slipped the camera back into her handbag just before
Newman arrived with Jed. Tweed turned to the American. Earlier he had told him when their commuter flight left for Boston, a flight which hopefully linked up with a plane to
Heathrow.

'Jed, have we time to look at that nursing home, or what is left of it?'

'Sure. I'll ram the pedal down on our way back. Take
you straight to the airport. We'll go back to the car first.
Not far.'

It was a short drive to the burnt-out building. As soon
as Jed had parked, Paula jumped out and pushed open
the wrought-iron gate, which was still standing. She
approached the blackened ruin slowly. Brick walls still
reared up. So Dr Abraham Scale was wrong when he'd
said the Americans didn't know about brick. Had he been
here? Now why do I wonder that? she asked herself.

'Where would I hide it?' she asked aloud.

'Hide what?' Tweed asked.

She didn't reply as she was now imagining she was an
arsonist. Behind the building was a dense area of evergreen
shrubs.

With her gloved hand she picked up a long charred stick,
began poking round inside the shrubbery. Tweed had also
found something to root around with. Unlike Paula, he
plunged deep into the shrubbery, sweeping his thick stick
back and forth deep down. There was a
dang!
as it hit
something metallic. He stooped down, holding the stick
in place with one hand while with the other he felt down
the stick. When he straightened up he was holding a large
red metal container by the handle.

'This what you're looking for?' He turned to call out
to Jed. 'Can you identify this?' He shook it. 'Empty. Any
idea what it contained?'

'Gas,' said Jed. 'Highly inflammable.'

'And if,' Tweed continued, 'the full contents were spread over the bottom floor of the house what would be the result
when it was ignited?'

'An inferno. And the asylum had a cellar with windows
low down. The records were kept there.'

'What sort of records?'

'Detailed records of the patients who were staying here
- or had stayed here.'

Paula had crept towards a standing wall cautiously.
She peered round the end. Jed was right. There was a
spacious cellar with small arched windows which would
enable anyone inside to peer outside.