No Mercy (49 page)

'Welcome back, both of you. Party's just. . . warming up.
We are making a night of it. Come on in, you two sleuths.'

She gave Tweed a long passionate hug when he reached
her, her body pressed into his. She's well away, Paula
thought, as Lucinda turned to hug her, then took their outer
clothes and dumped them on the back of a sofa.

Tweed was smiling as he walked into the living room, scanning the place swiftly. Various coloured balloons hung
from the rafters; a large white cake sat in the middle of the
table, as yet uncut. Aubrey was sprawled on a couch, his
shirt half out of his trousers. He was no longer wearing his
absurd naval cap and held a glass of Scotch tilted at a
perilous angle. He grinned foolishly at Tweed, raised his
glass.

Larry, smiling warmly, was still seated at one end of the
table. At the other end sat Michael, stiff as a poker, his
glazed expression staring into space. He didn't appear to
notice the new arrivals. All four suspects were present.

'Take it.'

Lucinda, managing to hold a silver tray straight, offered
Tweed a glass of champagne. He grasped it as Paula sat down at an empty chair at the table, facing everybody.
Tweed joined her. Lucinda gave her a glass, then walked to
the far side and sat in an armchair.

Tweed raised his glass, still smiling. 'To three of the
guests.' He paused. 'The fourth is a mass murderer of at
least five people. Cheers!' he continued in the same casual
voice, then sipped from his glass.

Paula was taken aback. She had never known Tweed open
up a conversation so casually, so brutally. As he sipped,
Tweed looked again all round the room. Aubrey was the first
to react. He sat up erect with surprising agility.

'What the hell was that? A joke? If so, a very bad one.'

'No joke,' Tweed continued amiably. 'The killer is greedy
and a sadist who ravages the dead bodies of the victims.'

'I do like your sense of humour,' Larry responded. 'It's
really original. Cheers!'

'I think he meant it,' Aubrey protested, then swallowed a
large tot of his Scotch. Reaching for a bottle, he refilled his glass, drank some more. His bulging eyes were glaring at
Tweed.

'Yes, Aubrey,' Tweed continued genially, 'I meant every
word. It seems to bother you.'

'Well, you're a guest at our White Party and you go and—'

'Aubrey,' Larry interrupted, smiling, 'you don't know
Tweed, so you take him seriously. A great mistake when
we're about to cut the cake. A large piece for you?' he asked,
addressing his offer to Tweed.

'Yes, please. A very large piece, if I may.'

'And the same for you, Paula, I'm sure,' Larry suggested
as he stood up, picked up a knife and started slicing the cake.
'It was baked and decorated by Mrs Brogan, who may be a
rough lady at times but is also a genius in the kitchen.'

He passed a plate of cake to Paula, then another one to
Tweed. Lucinda sat up, used a hand to draw her dress over her exposed leg.

'What about me, Larry? I love cake. This looks simply
divine.'

'Coming up, darling,' Larry assured her, wielding the
knife expertly, cutting an exceptionally large piece, handing
it to her on a plate. He cut a further slice as Aubrey leaned
forward.

'That's for me, I hope. I could eat the lot.'

'What about Michael?' Paula asked.

Larry shook his head. 'Doesn't like cake. He's just eaten
a monster piece of salmon with mashed potatoes. Doubt if
he can move now. Here you are, Aubrey, don't stuff it in your mouth.'

'My table manners are impeccable. I often lunch at the
Savoy grill. The head waiter knows me, keeps my special
table. Is Tweed staying long?'

'Just as long as it takes to complete my murder
investigation,' Tweed replied with another smile.

'I deeply resent your extraordinary implications about. . .'
Aubrey had his mouth full of cake and spluttered, and half
his mouthful ended up on the table.

'Tut, tut,' Larry admonished. 'If you act like that at the
Savoy you'll find your table's no longer available,' he said
with a grin.

'So how is your investigation proceeding?' asked Lucinda,
lying back in her chair, her eyelashes fluttering as she gazed
at Tweed.

'I think I'm nearly there,' he replied, his expression
thoughtful as again he scanned the room. 'After all, it started
here near Abbey Grange when Paula and I discovered the
skeleton by the track down the moor behind me.'

Paula was suddenly aware of a vague tall figure standing
outside on the terrace, masked by the net curtains. One French window was slightly open. She spread her large
napkin over her lap, checked all the guests, then slipped her
Browning out of her shoulder bag slung from her chair back,
concealed the weapon under the napkin. She became
nervous. Who could be standing so still on the terrace?

'Why should that prove—' Aubrey began.

At that moment Lucinda shifted position. Aubrey stared at her like a hypnotized man. He didn't complete what he'd started to say.

'It proves,' Tweed rambled on amiably, 'that whoever
killed the stockbroker had to act quickly, so risked
committing the horror not far from the mansion here.
Which I find suggestive.'

'Stockbroker, did you say?' enquired Larry, putting down
the slice of cake he'd been about to eat. 'Which stock
broker would that be?'

'A man called Kenwood of Haldon Street, the broker who
dealt with the investment of four hundred million pounds
stolen from the reserves of Gantia, transferred to a shell
company, which had gone broke. This huge sum was
brought back by electronic transmission. Without the horror
which followed, it was an amusing exercise.' Tweed said genially, then sipped his champagne.

Paula at last caught on to Tweed's strange behaviour.
Instead of grilling the suspects in his normal way, he was
exploiting the surreal atmosphere of the silly party, throwing
his listeners off balance.

'This enormous sum,' he went on, 'was then invested in a
dotcom company, Orlando Xanadu, during the manic boom
not too long ago. It eventually crashed, the fate of most
dotcoms, so the stolen four hundred million was lost for
ever. So far so bad. What came afterwards was a number of
truly dreadful murders.'

'How do you know all this?' Aubrey burst out. 'Sounds
like a fairy story.'

'Really?'

Paula was aware that the party mood had evaporated. Instead, an atmosphere of tension was invading the room. Larry was no longer smiling, his expression like carved
stone. Lucinda, normally still when seated, was restless,
shifting cushions as though seeking a comfortable position.
Aubrey had become uneasy and kept crossing and recrossing
his legs. Only Michael, sitting motionless at the head of the
table to her right, was the same. His eyes were blank and
glazed.

A French window behind them burst open. Drago
Volkanian stormed in. The huge man wore a dinner suit,
which stretched across his chest, straining at the button
that fastened his jacket. Everyone looked startled, except Tweed. He had hoped his verbal references about missiles
to the billionaire would eventually bring him to Abbey Grange.

'How bloody fascinating,' Drago thundered. 'While I am abroad someone dips their huge hand into the till, steals a
fortune. I have been on the terrace awhile, have heard what
Tweed has said so far. I return to treachery - and ghastly
murder.'

Larry had stood up respectfully the moment his employer
had appeared. Aubrey had clambered to his feet. Only
Lucinda remained seated, one hand pushing back a lock of hair from her face.

'Welcome back, Drago,' she greeted him.

'Some welcome,' he snapped at her.

He walked with large strides round Tweed's side of the
long table. He sat down with difficulty in an armchair close
to Michael. Paula thought the whole chair would split open
when he attempted to stand up. Drago's mood had
dramatically changed. Clasping his huge hands in his lap, he
spoke calmly.

'I think, Mr Tweed, it would be helpful if you continued
with what Aubrey called your fairy tale.'

'Thank you,' agreed Tweed. 'And I think it important you
do hear the rest. The thief who had created a black hole in
the finances - although I think Drago is wealthy enough
for it not to affect the company's finances - thought the
existence of the shell company would cover the loss for a while. But Lee Greystoke, who I gather had a good brain,
was asked by Drago from abroad to check the balance
sheets.' He looked at Drago, who nodded. 'So Lee was a
menace and was murdered quickly, her body mutilated with
the knife which had cut her throat. Not a great loss, Aubrey,
considering your harem . . .'

'You're saying
I
killed her?' Aubrey protested, jumping to his feet.

'So far, I'm only saying you wouldn't be heartbroken by
her murder.'

'I protest at your hideous—' Aubrey began to shout.

'Sit down,' Drago ordered quietly, 'and stay seated.'

'Lee's body was dropped into a mine shaft,' Tweed went
on as Aubrey slumped down in his chair. 'Very close to
Abbey Grange,' Tweed explained, 'because, like the broker,
Kenwood, it would have been too dangerous to transport the
body elsewhere.'

'Sounds horribly plausible,' commented Lucinda, who
was smoking a cigarette she'd inserted in her black holder.

'Oddly enough,' Tweed went on, 'the murderer discovered
that Christine Barton, a forensic accountant, again
probably hired by Drago . . .' - he paused and Drago again
nodded - 'was examining all the accounts papers. Murder
her inside her own flat in London was the obvious answer,
then hide the body in her fridge.

'The murderer must have wondered when it was going
to end,' Tweed remarked. 'Next - this is
a guess - after
slaughtering Christine the murderer checks items in that
flat, finds a report and a receipt for a fee paid from a private
detective, Jackson, with his address on a houseboat at Wensford. So Jackson has to be murdered - and mutilated
for pleasure. This murderer revels in slashing up dead
bodies, gets a kick out of this appalling activity.'

'Quite gruesome,' Lucinda commented, pulling a face.