Cross of Fire (18 page)

'Origins?'

'Shrouded in mystery.' Lasalle waved his hands again.
'Some say he is a Mittel-European. Others that he has come
from the East - the Balkans. Like Interpol, we have no description, no clue as to his nationality - but he is alleged
to be fluent in several languages. Again, which ones we
don't know.'

'In other words, Ren6,' Tweed smiled, 'we know damn-
all about Kalmar so far.'

'He will make a mistake sooner or later.'

'After creating more corpses,' Paula suggested.

Tweed glanced at his watch, reached for his overcoat.

'We have a flight to catch. Back to London. For your help,
for the information, many thanks, Ren
é
. We must keep in close touch. We shall be working on this day and night. It is
just possible the solution to what is going on lies in
England...'

Chapter Eleven

On a stormy November night all roads led to Aldeburgh,
the strange old town on the Suffolk coast of Britain.

Tweed and Paula had landed at London Airport, hurried
to their flats for a change of clothes, had met up again at
Park Crescent. From his office Tweed made a series of quick
phone calls, told Monica to hold the fort, then left the
building with Paula, each carrying a suitcase. Getting into
his Ford Escort, he drove them out of the city, across the
flatlands of Essex in the dark and on into Suffolk. They
arrived at the Brudenell Hotel on the front to find the place almost deserted of guests at that time of the year.

Paula had found it a weird experience to return to the
scene of her terrifying experience with her dead friend,
Karin Rosewater. Tweed had been so active she had kept
quiet until he invited her to his large room on the first floor.
He had summoned what he called a
'council of war' and
they drank coffee while they waited for the others to arrive.

Newman had been phoned, back from Bordeaux and
Paris for only a few hours. Marler was on the way, bringing
with him in their own cars two more SIS men - Harry Butler
and Pete Nield, who often worked in tandem. Paula asked
the question as they waited.

'Why did you tell Lasalle the solution might lie here in England?'

'One interesting and deadly - literally - fact. Your friend,
Karin, was strangled by someone the Suffolk pathologist described as a professional. Remember what the autopsy
report said?'

'How can I ever forget it?'

'Sorry, I put that too bluntly. Then in Paris Rene Lasalle gives us the gist of the Bordeaux pathologist's comments on
how Francis Carey was murdered at the Gare St Jean. He,
used the same word - professional. He even went on to give
almost precisely the same description of how Carey's murder was enacted.'

'I did actually notice.' Paula admitted, 'but I thought it must be a coincidence. You're not suggesting that...'

'The strangler in Suffolk is the same strangler in Bordeaux? I'm suggesting just that.'

Tweed reached into his breast pocket. He brought out a current British Airways timetable, opened it at a page with
the corner turned down.

'I collected this before we left Park Crescent. The murder
of Karin Rosewater took place in the evening. In the evening
of the
following
day Francis Carey was murdered in exactly
the same way in Bordeaux. This timetable shows a BA flight leaving Heathrow at 10.55, arriving Bordeaux 12.25. There's
also another direct flight via Air France - leaves a little later
but gets to Bordeaux mid-afternoon.'

'Aren't you letting your imagination run away with you?'

'The facts I've given have nothing to do with imagination
- allied to two different pathologists' identical descriptions of the murder technique used.'

'Kalmar?' she ventured.

'A top assassin can move fast. Operating in Europe he'll
know all the routes, flight times. It's part of his stock-in-
trade.'

'Kalmar,' she repeated. 'A strange name.'

'Chosen deliberately to conceal his real identity, his real
nationality. One fact common to both pathologists' reports -the strangler has large hands.'

He broke off as the phone rang. Paula answered it, said
come up now, put down the receiver.

'Newman has arrived. And so have Marler, Butler, and Nield. Good job you asked for extra chairs ...'

The spacious bedroom had a wide bay window overlook
ing the North Sea. The curtains were drawn against the
night but Paula could hear beyond the windows the insidious surge of the sea, the thump of waves hitting the beach
with the incoming tide. When the four men had entered the
room, found themselves seats, she poured coffee. Characteristically, Marler refused a chair, leaning against a wall while
he lit a king-size cigarette.

Tweed wasted no time. He sketched in briefly what was
happening in France and Germany, gave them the data
supplied by Lasalle and Kuhlmann.

'We have to take action urgently.' he went on. 'I had a
quick call from Lasalle after I'd arrived back at Park Crescent.
More details of the Lyons riots had reached him. He said events were assuming the character of an insurrection. I
suspect de Forge is only waiting for the trigger - some new
event which will give him the excuse to move on Paris. Now,
Bob, you learned something while you were in Bordeaux?'

'I learned a lot - all of which confirms what you've just
said...'

Tersely, he described the hazards of his experience of his stay in Bordeaux. His interview with de Forge, the punish
ment well, his narrow escape when pursued by the Berliet
truck. And Isabelle's ordeals.

'That's it,' he concluded.

This Isabelle,' Paula asked, curious about the way he
had described her, 'she's attractive?'

'I suppose she is,' Newman replied and said no more.

He fancies her, Paula thought. She sounds to be quite a
girl. And she probably likes Bob, too.

'That riot you witnessed in Bordeaux.' Tweed said in a business-like tone. 'You conjured up a picture of a disciplined force - not a mob of hotheads. The way they out-manoeuvred the CRS, a skilled paramilitary force. Almost sounds as though they were well-trained troops under those damned Balaclavas.'

'Which was exactly the impression I got, watching from that upstairs bar.' Newman confirmed. 'I was about to make the same comment.'

'Anything else?'

'Some of the smaller rioters are probably members of
Pour France -
farmers, peasants, shopkeepers. But the big stuff, I'm convinced - after what I saw in Bordeaux - are de Forge's men disguised with those Balaclavas.'

'Then the situation is more than dangerous, it is explo
sive. And we have very little time left.'

Marler spoke for the first time, in his off-hand drawl. 'Then why, may I ask, are we all assembled here out in the backwoods of England?'

'Because this is where it all started - the murder of Karin Rosewater, the attempt to kill both women. Why? Because they had been caught exploring underwater off Dunwich. Something is going on up there.'

'Might be able to give you a start point.' Marler con
tinued. 'While you were all gallivanting abroad I drove
around up here — as far as Dunwich and then up a bit
further north to Southold. Visiting pubs. The people who
frequent local pubs know things.'

'So what did you discover?'

'That the man financing the new underwater exploration
of that sunken village, Dunwich, is a certain Lord Dane Dawlish.'

'A millionaire several times over.' Tweed mused after
digesting Marler's information. 'And someone must be financing de Forge - Lasalle made that point. He'll need
money to pay his men extra for creating the riots, to smooth palms liberally high up in Paris. It's a long shot - we need a link between Aldeburgh and Bordeaux. And we haven't got
one - except for the similarity between the two murders.
We need far more.'

'So it's probably helpful,' Marler remarked, 'that I wan
gled an invitation to a shooting party on Dawlish's estate at Grenville Grange.'

'How did you work that one?' Tweed asked.

'I was having a quick lunch at the Cross Keys - a very
good pub further along the front from here. Behind the
Moot Hall. At the next table was a bunch of tough-looking
individuals, smartly dressed. Gabbing about a clay pigeon
shoot at Dawlish's place. I got talking to them, put on an
act, told them I was a stockbroker on holiday, that I could
shoot clay pigeons out of the sky. They took the bait - a heavy type called Brand laid a bet with me. Five hundred quid, as he put it.'

'What do you do to win?' Newman asked. 'And maybe I
could join the party.'

'I have to blast all my clay pigeons out of the sky. I'm
going to lose. No point in letting them know about my
marksmanship. You can come - if you insist. Brand said
bring friends if I wanted to. Dawlish, I gather, is very
sociable. Likes big parties.'

'When?' Newman asked.

'Tomorrow. Turning up at Grenville Grange about eleven in the morning. They think I'm Peter Wood. I've a stockbro
ker pal in the City of that name. I phoned, asked him to cover for me. If they check, his secretary will confirm her boss, Wood, is away in Suffolk.'

Tweed leaned forwa
rd. 'Why such careful precautions?'

'Something phoney about them. Except for Brand, they
don't look comfortable in their fancy country gear. An
athletic gang, in their late twenties, early thirties.'

Tweed took from his breast pocket the well-filled wallet
he always carried. Extracting ten fifty-pound notes he
handed them to Marler.

'Your lost bet. I think you're wise to conceal your markmanship. It's another long shot -
Dawlish. But there is a link there. Dawlish involved in underwater exploration at Dunwich. And those scuba divers who tried to kill both Paula and Karin.'

'And I'll join you,' Newman decided. 'Under my own name.'

'If you must,' Marler agreed, shrugging his shoulders.

'That's what I like.' Newman grinned. 'Enthusiasm.'

'I'd like to come, too,' Paula suggested. The editor of
Woman's Eye
is a friend of mine. And they'd like an inter
view for their feature
Men of Distinction.'

'That would be overdoing it,' Newman objected.

'And.' Tweed warned her, 'supposing some of the thugs
who pursued you from Dunwich in dinghies turned out to
be among the group of characters Marler met at the Cross
Keys? You could be recognized.'

'Don't agree,' Paula insisted. 'They only saw us under murky water with our masks on. Impossible to recognize anyone wearing one of those.'