Blood Storm (6 page)

She had just finished speaking when the door opened and
Monica walked in, followed by Nield and Butler. Monica spoke to Tweed quickly.

'While we were upstairs I had a call for you from
Professor Saafeld. He has data he wants to show you
urgently. At his place in Holland Park . . .'

'Call him back when I've left. Tell him I'm on my way now. While I'm away get the recorder moving.' He looked
at all three of the new arrivals. 'You'll hear my conversation
with Macomber - Nelson Macomber. Keep what you hear
under your hats.'

'Never wear a hat,' Harry told him with a straight face.

Tweed glared, went on speaking.

'Nield, when you've heard it I want you to get moving.
Check with your informants. I need to know if the other two
brothers, Noel and Benton, are married. If so, who to. We
know Nelson is married to Loelia, daughter of the Earl of
Something. Do any of them have girlfriends? If so who are
they and where do they live?'

'Is that all?' Nield asked with a grin.

'I'm off to Professor Saafeld's place. Could be there for a couple of hours. Have the info for me when I get back.'

'Should give me plenty of time.' Nield grinned again.
'Don't be surprised if I'm still out when you get back.'

Tweed, still speaking rapidly, turned to Monica. 'If a Chief Inspector Hammer arrives or phones tell him I've
gone abroad. You don't know where or when I'll be back. Now I must get moving.'

'I'm coming with you,' Paula said firmly.

She had already slipped on a windcheater over her slacks
and jumper. Tweed stood uncertainly.

'Thought you were in a hurry,' Paula said, grabbing his
arm.

Harry followed them downstairs, talking as they hurried.
'I got here early. Spotted our friends had fixed up cameras
to the lampposts on the other side of the road. The cameras are difficult to see. They were aimed to cover the entrance
here.'

'Were?' queried Paula.

'I covered them with black goo - same colour as their spy
cameras. They'll need new lenses.'

'Don't waste much time, do they?' commented Tweed.

'Neither does Harry,' Paula replied.

The drizzle had stopped. Above was a clear blue sky and it was bitterly cold. Tweed had slipped on his overcoat as he
skipped nimbly down the stairs.

They were driving through heavy traffic, approaching
Holland Park, when Paula looked back again through the
rear window. She swore softly.

'We're still being followed. Big black car picked us up as
we left Park Crescent. Look to be two men in the front.
Black coats, I think, and black peaked caps.'

'The uniform Nelson said they hadn't got round to. I'll
lose them.'

Tweed slowed down as they approached traffic lights on
green. He waited for amber, pressed his foot down, passed
the lights as they turned red. A police car was parked by the
kerb. Tweed recognized the driver, used one hand to hold up his SIS folder. The police driver saluted him.

'That was Ned,' Tweed remarked. 'He knows me well.'

'Well, you've lost our friends,' said Paula after glancing
back. 'They were caught by the lights . . .'

Shortly afterwards Tweed swung into the side street
where Saafeld's mansion was located. He drove to the end, parked the car round a corner. They walked back quickly to where a pair of high wrought-iron gates were closed at the
end of a curving drive. Tweed pressed the button on the
speakphone.

'Yes. Who is it?' Saafeld's clear voice enquired.

'Me,' said Tweed. 'The "me" you're expecting.'

The electronically operated gates swung open and they
walked quickly up the drive. Little time was given to allow
a car to drive in, to stop the vehicle being followed. Rounding a corner of the drive bordered by evergreen
shrubs the elegant mansion came into view. The massive front door was open as they mounted the steps. Saafeld,
wearing a white gown closed at the neck, ushered them inside, stared at Paula as he shut and relocked the door.
They were standing in a large hall with a marble floor.

'Paula,' Saafeld said gently, 'I'm not sure you want to see
this.'

Knowing the drill, Tweed and Paula removed overcoat and windcheater. Saafeld slipped them over hangers, put
them in one cupboard, opened another, took out white
coats, white caps and two pairs of latex gloves. As they put
them on quickly their host stared again dubiously at Paula.
Her reaction was instant and sharp.

'I've been in there before. Stop treating me like a
schoolgirl.'

Saafeld shrugged, walked to a heavy steel door, took out
a key card, inserted it in the slot. The door slid open and
Paula breathed in powerful disinfectant. They went down
several steps to another heavy steel door which Saafeld
opened.

Underground now, they followed him into a large room

37
with tables of metal and gutters along each side to catch any blood which spread too far. The first two tables had corpses
lying on them while white-coated assistants went about
their grisly work. There were large cameras overhead and
X-ray machines poised above each table, held by telescopic
arms. Now there was another odour which Paula recog
nized, the odour of bodies that would never move again.

'Here she is, poor woman,' Saafeld said quietly.

It was unusual for him to express any emotion about what
was brought into his mortuary. Paula stood very still, her
palms clammy. The body of Viola Vander-Browne was
lying on the table. The severed head, ashen, was placed an
inch or so from the neck, coated with dried blood, now
darkish brown in colour. Paula's teeth were clamped tightly
behind her closed lips as she continued her
survey. The
severed left lower arm was also placed an inch or so below
the elbow. The same applied to the right arm, to the lower
limbs severed below the jagged ends of the knees. Paula
found the strange sequence hideous. Saafeld seemed to read
her mind. He began talking in his detached professional
voice.

'This is exactly how I found the corpse on the bed at Fox
Street. The killer had first slammed her naked body on to
the wooden floor, by the side of the bed. I think he—'

'Why "he"?' Paula interrupted. 'Couldn't it have been a
woman?'

'You could be right, possibly,' Saafeld agreed. 'Except
that after gagging her the murderer raped her. He used a
condom - no traces of semen. That doesn't rule out a
woman completely, if a condom pulled over one of those
sex toys was used. After the rape the murderer used a sharp-
bladed instrument to cut her up - a meat cleaver, I suspect.
The head was severed last - severing the carotid arteries.
Hence the jet of blood which covered the window.'

'Excuse me,' Tweed suggested, 'but was there a light on in the room when you arrived?'

'Yes, left on after the killer left, so when the police arrived
before me the blood-covered window was very prominent. Now, I said earlier the body was found laid out on the bed. There were blade notches deep into the floor, which is how I know for certain that's where she was killed. He - or she -
afterwards lifted the several pieces of the body on to the
bed, created an arrangement as I have
done on the table.'

'That's horrible,' Paula said after clearing her throat.

'One of the worst cases in my experience - and I've just
about seen everything, or so I thought. I think now we
ought to adjourn to the drawing room. My wife will provide
refreshment. We can discuss the case in more pleasant
surroundings.'

He turned to a youngish man who was washing his hands
at a deep sink.

'John, I know you've taken X-rays and photos of the lady
on my table. I'd like you to take more photos, concentrating
on every angle. Thank you . . .'

In the small room they had passed through earlier he
relieved them of their white clothes. As he closed the cupboard doors he turned to Tweed.

'I'm very fussy. Those clothes will be burned, in case you picked up something undesirable while in the mortuary. Now for that tea.'

They mounted the steps into the hall. Saafeld closed the
heavy door and did not bother to use his key card. Paula
guessed it locked again automatically.

They were seated in armchairs in the luxurious comfortable
drawing room when a tall grey-haired lady, in her late fifties
Paula guessed, came in carrying a large silver tray laden
with plates of cakes, Wedgwood china, a teapot and another
pot containing coffee.

Saafeld started to get up. 'I'll take that. . .'
'No, you won't, Willy,' she said firmly. 'I can still cope
with this.' She laid the tray on a table between the chairs.

'Hello, Paula. So nice to see you again. And you, Mr Tweed.'

'You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble,' Paula said, returning her warm smile.

'You'll have to excuse me,' Mrs Saafeld went on. 'We
have people coming to dinner so my place is in the kitchen.'

'We have . . . ?' Saafeld began, then stopped as she gave
him a certain look, then left the room. She
knows what
we've seen, Paula thought, so she's tactfully leaving us
alone.

Paula accepted tea with a little milk but no sugar when
their host also offered her both plates of cakes. She forced herself to smile when she refused. She had arrived hungry
but her appetite had deserted her. Tweed accepted coffee
but he also declined anything to eat.

'We had lunch before we came to you,' fibbed Paula.

'Can you tell us anything about the killer?' Tweed asked.

Saafeld settled back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling as though choosing his words carefully.

'The killer is exceptionally strong,' he began. 'That's
proved by the fact that each time he wielded the cleaver - if
that's what it was, but I think so - it not only sliced through
bone, muscle and flesh in one blow but ended up leaving a
deep gash in the oak floor. It must have taken more strength
to ease the weapon free for the next strike.'

'Surely he must have had blood all over his clothes?'
Tweed suggested.

'Not if he was clad as you two were in the mortuary, plus
the kind of face mask used by surgeons. Afterwards he'd
have taken all his whites off and stuffed them inside some
container he took away with him.'