No Mercy (15 page)

Tweed ran up the stairs to his office. Some of his staff
were present. Monica was at work at her computer.
Newman was seated, reading a newspaper. In his forties, he
was well built with fair
hair and a strong face, which women
stared at when he walked into a restaurant. Thugs in the
street took one look at Newman and gave him a wide berth.

Marler, reputed to be the best marksman in Western
Europe, occupied his normal position, standing up, leaning
against a wall, smoking a long cigarette. In his late thirties,
five foot eight tall and slim, he wore a smart blue suit, a pristine white shirt, a Hermes tie. His movements were
deceptively slow, deliberate, his face good-looking, his expression sardonic.

Tweed took off his overcoat, slung it on a hanger and
slipped behind his desk. Tersely, he brought his staff up to
date, starting with the strange case of Michael's amnesia, continuing with the drive to Post Lacey, the skeletons on
Dartmoor, Abbey Grange and the mixture of characters
there, including the servants. As he continued, Monica was
watching him.

Of medium height, with a strong build, Tweed was
ageless, with alert eyes behind his horn-rimmed glasses. He
had been the sort of man you passed in the street without
noticing him, a feature he'd found useful in his work. Now,
since returning from the murderous training course at
the
Surrey mansion, he seemed more dynamic, his tone of voice
more commanding. He definitely seemed younger, she thought.

'So that's it, up to date,' Tweed concluded.

'You're missing bits out,' Marler drawled in his upper-
crust voice. 'The bullet fired when you and Paula were west of the Gantia plant. Someone doesn't like you investigating this case.'

'Well, there was that too,' Tweed admitted.

Marler brought an Ordnance Survey map to his desk,
unfolded it, gestured.

'Could you mark the location of that ambush?'

'Yes, why?'

'Just locate it for me, please.'

Tweed bent over, pen poised. 'This is a good map. I'd say
it was about here.' He made a cross. 'A very good map,' he
repeated. 'I noticed an isolated hill to our left about a
hundred yards back in the field. Has a single fir tree on the
top.'

'That should do me. I'm off now. See you gremlins.'

'Hold on.' Newman had risen to his feet. 'You might tell us where you're going.'

'Curious, old chap? You may have been a famous
newspaper correspondent, but you don't need to know
everything.'

Tweed sat back, amused. Although great friends these two
were often mocking each other. It was part of their
relationship.

'Righty-ho,' Marler replied. 'I'm going to check out where
we nearly lost our Deputy Director of the SIS. Takes one marksman to identify another.'

'You won't find a damned thing,' Newman joshed him.

'I won't standing around here.'

Marler was gone, closing the door quietly. Newman
shrugged, picked up the newspaper to show Tweed
something. The phone rang. Monica looked at Tweed and
said it was Paula.

'I'm listening,' Tweed said.

'First, Pete has arrived. I think Anne likes him. I'm down in the master bedroom in the basement. He brought Butler,
who's busy securing all the windows and doors. I was going
to suggest to Anne I cook a meal. She shuddered, said not
after her trip to the morgue in Holland Park. As you know, Saafeld has already supervised removal of Christine's body
to the morgue.'

'Then I think that's it.'

'I had a thought,' Paula went on. 'Michael stayed at Bella
Ashton's place for two weeks, and was then moved to Dr
Saxon's charming clinic. He charges far less. This suggests
to me the mysterious caller to Bella Ashton - man or
woman - is short of money in substantial amounts.'

'That really does narrow the field,' Tweed said ironically.
'How many hundreds of thousands are short of money?'

'I said substantial amounts,' Paula persisted obstinately.

'I'm leaving now. To pay a brief call on Saafeld at Holland
Park. He's so quick he'll have conclusions he's drawn now
from the three corpses. Then back here. Bob has something
he wants to show me in the paper.'

'Then I'll also go to Holland Park. Pete's coping
wonderfully here.'

'This item in the paper could be important,' protested Newman.

'I won't be long. When you can, find out everything you
can about our friend Abel Gallagher.'

Paula was waiting for Tweed when he arrived in Holland
Park. She stood outside the large mansion screened by evergreen trees from the road. It was drizzling and she
sheltered under an umbrella.

' 'Came here by taxi,' she explained as Tweed said he
hadn't expected to see her here so quickly.

At once time they could have opened the gate and walked
up to the front door along the winding drive. Now, Saafeld
had top security. Tall wrought-iron gates were closed with an
intercom in a pillar. Tweed pressed the button and
announced himself and Paula. The gruff voice of Saafeld said he supposed he'd have to let them in.

The gates swung inward, and closed soon after they had walked inside. Paula had always found the drive bordered
with massive clumps of rhododendrons depressing. With
the heavy overcast, the drizzle and the drip-drip of rain off
the rhododendrons, the atmosphere seemed even more
depressing. Not because she had previously visited the
best-equipped autopsy suite in the basement. It seemed as
though Saafeld felt more comfortable with his grisly work
shut away from the world.

He met them in the large entrance hall furnished with small, beautiful antiques. Their footsteps clacked on the
polished woodblock floor as he led them into a sitting room.
They were seated in comfortable armchairs when Saafeld's
wife entered, carrying a silver tray with tea and cakes. She
placed it on a table near to Paula. A tall white-haired
woman, she had a pleasant smile. She studied both her
visitors.

'You two look younger.'

'Nothing but outrageous flattery,' Saafeld growled
amiably as his wife served the tea.

'Now,' he began, 'your three-time killer, possibly middle-
aged, no older, is strong and fit. Has to be to wield the knife
in the way it was used.'

'Three-time
killer?' Tweed interposed.

'Yes. I have no doubt. The two skeletons on Dartmoor,
Christine's body in that fridge, all were accomplished with the same modus operandi, as I told you before. Victims
attacked from behind, heads jerked back, sharp edge of the
blade used to cut the throat, blade reversed to serrated edge,
used to slash halfway through to the spine. Heads still left
attached. Chunks of flesh savaged off with fine edge of blade.
Time of deaths, probably three to four months ago. Get the
picture?'

It was a typical Saafeld diagnosis. Not a wasted word.
He conjured up a vivid picture without a trace of the
dramatic. The fiercest defence counsel, cross-examining
him in the witness box, trod warily. One had confessed to Tweed he'd sooner have any other pathologist to confront
than Saafeld.

'Yes,' Tweed said. 'Just an opinion. A psychotic at work?'

'Meet one in the street, man or woman, and you'd think
they were perfectly normal. I suspect there has to be a
psychotic streak in this killer. Why carve out chunks of
flesh?'

'Any signs of a struggle put up by the victims?' Paula
enquired.

'Can't say with those two on Dartmoor. As regards
Christine Barton, I don't think so. Fingernails were intact.
Not a trace of someone's skin under them.'

'Suggests she knew the killer,' Tweed mused.

'That's your job.'

'The fact,' Tweed continued musing aloud, 'that two were
found on Dartmoor, one in London, wipes out certain vague
theories I was developing. Anything special about the knife used?'

'Not really.' Saafeld drank more tea, shrugged. 'You can
find that kind of knife in any kitchen, maybe one of the tools
in a carpenter's kit. Who knows?'

'I appreciate the data you've given us.'

'Not much to go on.' Saafeld ate a cake swiftly. He gave
one of his rare smiles. 'Expect you'd hoped I'd be able to say
look for a man six feet tall, dark hair and with bony wrists.
Can't oblige you.'

'Then we'd better go. Thank Mrs Saafeld for the tea. The
cakes were home-made, I'm sure.'

'Sit down. I did find something that might help.' From
his pocket he produced a transparent evidence envelope. Tweed and Paula could see inside a gold ring embedded
with a large diamond. Saafeld held up the envelope
tantalizingly. It was a typical manoeuvre of the pathologist.
He enjoyed surprising people. 'When you get it back to
your office look at the interior under a glass. There's an inscription.'

'Can I ask you where you found it?'

'It was just before I decided I'd done all I could. The
ambulances had taken away the two skeletons; the police,
including Buchanan, had flown off in their chopper. One
local uniformed
bobby was left to keep watch on the tape
surrounding the key areas. Not too bright. He started to smoke a pipe. Had to tell him to put it out. If he dropped
ash it might be confusing evidence. He marched off towards
Post Lacey. I still had the telescopic ladder - could easily
take that away in my car. Something made me go down
inside the mine shaft where the woman's body was
discovered. It was broad daylight. I used a stick to poke
among the debrisj found that ring.'

'You think then that it was originally on a finger of the
skeletal woman?'

'Seems likely. The killer missed it. So did the police.'

'And the inscription reads?'

'"From Lee to Lucinda".'

'It's weird.' Paula commented as Tweed drove them back to
his office. 'Lee could be the name of a man or a woman.'

'Could be.'

Tweed had the evidence envelope containing the ring
inside his pocket. He also had two sheets, headed 'Your
skeleton' and 'Mine shaft skeleton'. The first contained
Saafeld's estimate of the height,
possible
weight and age of the
skeleton they had discovered while walking behind Michael
up the track. The other sheet contained the same data about
the woman in the mine shaft.
Possible
age ranges were also
given.