The Cauldron (30 page)

After glancing at it, she handed the sheet to Tweed. Anderson peered over his shoulder at the names.

Vincent Bernard Moloch. Joel Brand. Luis Martinez. Byron Landis. Vanity Richmond
.

'You men didn't find this,' Tweed said, handing the sheet to Anderson.

'No, they damned well didn't.' He looked at Paula. 'Sorry if I was a bit rough with you.'

"Think nothing of it.'

'I'm pretty sure the killer is on that list.' Tweed observed. 'I gathered from Linda Standish in London that she'd been on the case for a while.'

He stopped speaking as the uniformed policeman from the alley came into the room. He spoke respectfully to Anderson.

'Sorry to interrupt you, but there's a guy who tried to get under the tape and come up the staircase. He's waiting in the courtyard. Wouldn't give me a name.'

'Send him up - after you've checked him for weapons.'

A minute later a bald man with steel-rimmed glasses entered the room. He stared at the three people who were looking back at him.

'I'm Byron Landis..'.' he said. 'What the hell goes on here?'

'Please sit down, Mr Landis.' Anderson said with exaggerated politeness. 'I'm Detective Anderson.'

'Detective? Where is Ms Standish?' he asked as he sat down.

'In the morgue.' Anderson threw at him.

Watching him, Paula saw no change of expression on Landis's face at the news. But that could be put down to shock.

'What do you mean?' he said eventually.

'I mean.' Anderson said, leaning over him, 'that someone came to her office in the evening and damned near sliced her head off with a garrotte. You knew her?'

'Slightly.'

'So slightly you called on her now? She was your girl friend.' he hammered away, making it a statement.

'She was not.' Landis protested, his manner tougher now. "That's an outrageous suggestion. I resent it.'

'He resents it,' Anderson sneered, addressing Tweed. 'So maybe I ought to apologize to him.' He put his face close to Landis's. 'And yet you were both seen two nights ago at a nearby discotheque. We have witnesses. You're lying.'

'I was at a disco.' Landis admitted, 'two nights ago. But I was not with Linda ...'

'So, it's Linda now, is it? On intimate terms with Linda, were we?'

'I've just told you I wasn't.' snapped Landis, who had now recovered his poise. 'And I'd appreciate your moving your face away from mine...'

'It will be a pleasure. You've got bad breath. Oh, by the way, where were you two days ago? In the early evening?'

'Doing my job at Black Ridge.'

At the mention of Black Ridge, Anderson's attitude changed. He became quieter, stood well away from Landis, staring down at him.

'Have you some identification?'

'Driving licence.'

Landis slapped it down on the desk. He saw the red stains. His manner had become aggressive.

'What are those red marks?'

'Bloodstains.'

Landis hastily removed his licence, which was resting on one of them, and placed it on a part of the desk without any stains. Anderson examined it, handed it back.

'I may want to interview you again, Mr Landis.'

'You know where to find me.' He looked at Tweed

and Paula as he stood up. 'I don't know who you are but you saw what I was put through. I'm leaving now. Anderson, you said your name was.' he ended, looking at the detective before leaving.

When they were alone Paula stared round again at the cheap furnishings. She supposed private investigators didn't have the money to make the room more comfortable.

'What a place to die in,' she said. 'And so horribly. The poor woman.'

'It happens.' Anderson was all business. 'Mr Tweed, normally I'd have had an assistant to witness what was said. I hope you're not thinking of leaving the States for a while - I might need both of you for back-up. Where are you staying?'

'The Spanish Bay Hotel,' Tweed answered promptly. 'Give me your particulars in case I want to get in touch with you.'

He took the card Anderson produced from his wallet, slipped it inside his own.

'We have to go now,' he said firmly. 'Another appointment.'

Saying which, he departed with Paula. They were approaching the car when Paula made her remarks.

'Anderson never thanked me for finding that list, which could be vital in his investigation. And did you notice how Byron Landis walks? He has a duck-waddle.'

'Yes, I did notice ...' Tweed seemed sunk in thought. Then he stopped. Paula glanced at him, saw a certain expression on his face.

'What's the matter?' she asked as Newman got out of the nearby Merc.

'Quack. Quack. Those were the words the Standish sister who was dragged from the sea in Cornwall used. I know now what she meant. I was right, Heaven help us. A cauldron of monstrous magnitude is about to explode.

We must hurry and interview Mrs Benyon. She might be able to tell us something...'

With the BMW behind them, Newman drove beyond Carmel along the most magnificent coastal road in the world. Highway One followed the very brink of the Pacific, perched about a hundred or two feet above it. Paula gazed, fascinated by the serene ocean on their right, the high near mountain-like hills climbing steeply to her left.

As they proceeded south the highway swung round curving bends, some of them right-angled, some with steel barriers to protect motorists from going over the edge, some without any barriers at all. Newman estimated they were now about five hundred feet above the ocean. Some drop if they went over.

'This is spectacular.' Paula enthused. 'I've never seen anything like it.'

'I remember it from a visit a few years ago,' said Tweed. 'I agree it's unique. And we have it all to ourselves.'

Which was true. To Paula's surprise they had encountered hardly any other traffic in either direction. Ahead and below them a series of deserted coves with beaches were tucked under the cliffs. No sign of anyone.

She switched her gaze from the ocean sparkling in the sun out of a clear sky to the hills dropping almost precipitously above the highway. Rounded hill after rounded hill rolled away into the distance. Bleached by the sun, they had a piebald appearance.

Here and there she caught sight of a strange isolated house clinging to the hillside high up. She found the architecture weird. Every form of contorted shape seemed to have been used to make an expensive-looking dwelling unique. Roofs dropped at a sheer angle above spacious terraces built of stone. Tweed saw her looking up.

'Millionaire stuff.' he remarked. 'Each one trying to outdo the other. An American characteristic. If you've got the dollars, then show them. Look at that one near the summit - it has copper-sheathed chimneys.'

'And a huge swimming pool.'

'Oh, yes. Always a swimming pool, often of marble and with a fantastic shape. I've been phoned by people out here who start with, "I'm calling from poolside." Just like Hollywood. Money doesn't roar out here - it bellows at the top of its voice ...'

They drove on and Tweed suddenly leaned forward in his seat. Swinging round yet another curve, the highway began to descend. Below them in the distance was a giant bridge with an immense rainbow-shaped arch just below the highway which crossed it. He called out to Paula, sitting in the back next to Marler.

"There's the famous Bixby Bridge. If I remember correctly it's over two hundred and fifty feet above the creek which flows out under it into the ocean.'

'I've seen lots of photos of it,' Paula replied. 'Exciting to actually cross it...'

The highway dropped and dropped, Newman skilfully swung the car round more curves, then the road was level. As they crossed the vast structure the wheels were thumping.

"They've put struts of some material across the road over this bridge,' Newman explained, 'to slow down motorists...'

They drove on and the scenery grew more hypnotic. Paula kept turning her gaze from the ranges of hills sweeping down to the Pacific to the coast of rugged capes, the sea throwing up surf as it hit great rocks. She checked the map, remembering she was supposed to be navigator.

'We're approaching Big Sur,' Tweed warned.

'Mrs Benyon's house, The Apex, is marked as being close to it. What's that old house perched above the ocean on our right? Looks triangular. Could that be it? Alvarez has marked it as somewhere near here.' said Paula.

'And what's that huge crazy mansion of black stone near the top of the mountain on the other side?' Newman asked.

'I'd say that's Black Ridge.' Tweed said grimly.

"That's really weird.' commented Paula. 'All on its own and with a black stone wall which appears to run all the way round it.'

'Mullion Towers in California.' Newman commented.

'And look at the Gothic chimneys and then that enormous picture window on the first floor. It's a caricature of architecture.' Paula exclaimed.

'What isn't round here?' Marler drawled.

'I think this is The Apex, Bob.' Paula called out quickly. 'Yes, it is. Rather a crude wooden sign at the entrance to the drive.'

Take us up that mountain slope.' Tweed ordered. 'I wonder what Mrs Benyon will have to tell me?'

20

Tweed pressed the bell beside the strange front door, pointed out to Paula the peculiar cabbalistic signs on the paving stones which formed the terrace. 'We've got a real nutter here.' he said to himself. He had decided to bring Paula, who might help to reassure the occupant.

Pressing the doorbell caused cathedral-like bells to peal continuously inside the house. While he waited Paula took a pair of small field glasses from her shoulder bag. She focused them on a large ship motionless about half a mile off the coast.

Take a look,' she invited.

"
The Baja California V
,' said Tweed, reading the name of the vessel. 'Looks like some sort of large dredger.'

From the far side of the door he heard three locks being opened, followed by the removal of two chains. He lifted his eyebrows at Paula and the door swung inwards. Framed in it was the grossest woman he had ever met.

Small, her grey hair tied back in an old-fashioned bun, she was immensely fat, in her early seventies he guessed, and wore a purple dress which had a high collar and draped to her ankles. A jewelled brooch with a strange sign held her collar together.

She had heavy jowls and above a strong nose two dark eyes peered at him. He detected intelligence in them. In each hand she was carrying a walking stick.

'My name is Tweed. I'm English.' He took a chance. 'I've reason to believe your son, Ethan, is in danger.'

'Come in, both of you. I've just made some lemon tea. And I am British. You look like a high-ranking policeman.'

"This is Paula.' Tweed introduced her. 'My assistant.'

He ignored her reference to his being a policeman. The idea seemed to please her. They waited in a curving hall while she relocked the door and refastened the chains.

'My stepson, Vincent Moloch, has somehow obtained a key to my door,' she explained. 'I had a locksmith come from Carmel to secure the door against him. Follow me.' she commanded.

They walked behind her as she proceeded, tapping her sticks. In a large sitting room she sagged into a thronelike chair. With her sticks she indicated two chairs which Tweed and Paula occupied. On a table by her side was a silver pot and one Meissen cup.

'If you would like tea.' she suggested to Paula, 'perhaps you would fetch cups from the kitchen...'

'Thank you, but not for me,' Tweed said hastily.

'And I'm not thirsty.' Paula added.

'While I remember.' Tweed said easily, 'that big ship out at sea, the
Baja California
...'

'Never been near Baja.' Mrs Benyon snapped. 'It belongs to Vincent. One of his evil schemes.'

'Evil, Mrs Benyon?'

'All his schemes are evil. The ship is supposed to be bringing up core samples from the ocean bed. Something to do with testing the age of California. Fiddlesticks! I don't know what it's doing but it won't be what he says it's there for.'