The Power (31 page)

Thank you, but I prefer my own,' Newman said, pro
ducing his pack. 'My friends don't smoke. This is a
lovely room you have.'

He stood up and lit Helen's cigarette. She was concen
trating on Tweed as Newman then wandered round,
looked at a portrait of Helen, moved a few paces
apparently to look at a framed landscape above the
desk. A diary lay open at the day's date, reminding him
that they were at the beginning of March. What caught
his attention was Helen's next appointment.

4.30p.m. Emit Voser.

'Was Julius expecting to make a great deal of money
in the near future?' Helen said, repeating Tweed's ques
tion after she'd taken several deep drags on the cigar
ette, blown smoke rings into the air. 'Yes, he was.'

'May I ask how you know that?' Tweed asked gently.

'You may.' She gave him a bewitching smile. 'It was
on the day before he left for Cornwall.' She phrased her
next remark delicately. 'He was here with me. He'd lost
a big sum investing in foreign currencies. But he said he
would more than make up the loss and end up with a
fortune.'

'Did he give you any idea where this fortune was coming
from?'

'He said fate had handed him a gigantic royal flush. I remember his exact words - they were so graphic. Julius was an enthusiastic card player.'

'May I also ask what his mood was like when he was here
for
...
Tweed trailed off.

She smiled wanly, took another drag on the cigarette, blew another perfect smoke ring.

'You were going to say when he was here for the last time. And you are right, Tweed. That
was
the last time I
saw him alive. His mood? It was rather strange - a mixture
of excitement and ...'

'Fear?' Paula suggested.

'Yes! That was it. He was very nervy as though what he
had in mind was dangerous. I even told him not to take too
great a risk.'

'And how did he react to that?' Tweed enquired.

'He said that making a lot of money always involved taking a risk. He added that also it was too late for him to
change his mind, so he was going ahead to push the deal.'

'Thank you for being so frank, Helen. Now, I owe you a
fee for your time, Business is business.'

'I normally charge one thousand Swiss francs.'

Tweed was reaching for his wallet when Helen thrust out
a hand to stop him. Her tone of voice had an appealing
quality which touched Paula.

'I don't want your money, Tweed. I'm convinced you are
telling the truth - that you are determined to track down
the monster who murdered Julius. A woman in my profes
sion becomes an expert in knowing when men are lying. Regard it as my contribution to bringing the swine who killed him to justice.'

'If you insist...'

'But I do.' She stood up to unfasten the two deadlocks on
her door. 'By the way, as you leave the opposite door on
the landing may open. It will be Klara. We are in the same business but good friends. She is often curious
about my clients.'

Tentatively, she held out her hand to Paula. Without one moment's hesitation Paula grasped it warmly and stared into Helen's steady blue eyes. She felt that they
were, when all was said and done, sisters under the skin.

Newman walked out on to the landing first to make sure it was safe. The door opposite opened and a tall brunette
peered out. She wore a housecoat loosely tied and
grinned wickedly at Newman.

'I'm Klara,' she said as Helen closed her door. 'Have
you the energy left to come and play with me?'

'A tempting proposal.' Newman smiled at her. 'There
are two things against the idea. I've just had a very large lunch recently. And I'm late for an appointment which
could be profitable.'

'Come back later, then. Spend a little of the profits on
me. You and I could make music together.'

'I'm sure of it,' Newman agreed. 'I may see you later,'
he lied.

'You should have accepted her invitation,' Paula teased him as they got to the bottom of the stairs. 'I
liked Helen, but I think Klara could be great fun too ...'

Rennweg was quiet as they stepped back into the street. Opposite Helen Prey's doorway was a small café. Inside,
close to the window, Cardon sat with a soft drink in
front of him. He stroked a hand across his forehead to
signal he had seen them.

'I want to call Eve Amberg,' Tweed said. 'I need a
public phone box.'

'There's one near Bahnhofstrasse,' Paula told him. 'I
remember seeing it on our way here ...'

As the three of them walked off Cardon waited for a few
minutes inside the café. He had seen the cripple in the
wheelchair taking an unusual interest in shop windows
near Prey's doorway. The invalid man wore a peaked
shabby cap like those once sported by German students.
His face was muffled in a woollen scarf, but it had slipped
for a moment and Cardon had a good look at his face.

The nose curved downwards over his upper lip, remind
ing Cardon of an evil parrot. In his forties, Cardon had
estimated. A worn rug covered his lap and his hands, on
the controls, remained concealed underneath it. The
wheelchair now began to follow Tweed and his com
panions. Cardon walked slowly after it.

Tweed entered the phone cubicle, looked up Eve
Amberg's number in the directory. He inserted coins,
dialled and she answered quickly.

'Amberg. Who is calling?'

Tweed here, Eve. Sorry to bother you again but there are one or two personal questions I didn't ask
when we
met.'

'Ask away. It's a relief to talk to someone English. I
come from Cornwall. I'm reverting to my maiden name -
Eve Royston. Now, the stage is yours.'

'Would you mind confirming how close it was to Julius's
departure for England that you separated?'

'Two days before,' she said crisply. 'I'd challenged him
earlier about his visits to Helen Frey. She may be a call-girl
but I sensed their relationship was close. He then phoned me, as I said, two days before he flew to Britain. Said he
wanted a separation and a divorce in good time. We had a helluva row over the phone. I told him I'd already decided to walk, so his suggestion was a bit late in the day.'

'You mean you never saw him again before he left? All
this was over the phone?'

'It was,' she said emphatically. 'Something else I did not
appreciate. He might have come to see me.'
'May I also ask how you first knew about Helen Frey?'
'Like something out of a cheap play. He was careless.
Came home with traces of lipstick on his collar and he
smelt of the wrong perfume. Despite smoking, I have a good sense of smell. I didn't say anything. I phoned the
best private detective in Zurich to follow him. A bit sordid,
but I was desperate to know the truth. He - the detective -
followed him three times to Prey's place in Rennweg. That
was it.'

'Would you be willing to give me this detective's name,
address and phone number?'

'Of course. Name is Theo Strebel. He has a small apartment in the Altstadt - on this side of the Limmat.
Here are the details
...

Tweed had his notebook and pen ready, scribbled down
the information. Outside the phone cubicle Newman was
leaning against a wall as though waiting to use the phone. Paula appeared to be window-shopping.
'Thank you, Eve,' Tweed said. 'I'm most grateful.'
'Did you want to interview Strebel? If so, ten in the
morning is the best time. He's going through his post.
Would you like me to call him, introduce you, arrange a
time?'

'That would be helpful. Ten in the morning tomorrow
would be fine. And thank you again
...

Tweed emerged and continued walking with Newman and Paula into Bahnhofstrasse. Behind them the wheel
chair began moving again.

Tweed told them about his conversation with Eve. Paula
guessed why he wanted to talk to Strebel, but asked him, to
see if she'd guessed right.

'He's a detective - a good one, Eve said. I want to see
whether he took any photos of Julius entering Helen's place.'

'Why?'Paula persisted.

'Just an idea I have. Helen said Julius was in a strange
mood.'

'But she explained that,'Paula recalled.

'So she did,' Tweed agreed, and Paula knew he wasn't going to tell her any more. In Bahnhofstrasse commuters
on their way home were clustered in a crowd round a tram
stop twenty yards or so away. Cardon came up behind
them.

'Freeze. Don't move ...'

They obeyed his instruction instantly. Newman saw out
of the corner of his eye that Cardon was gazing at
something. He looked in that direction. A man in a
wheelchair was backing it inside a side-street where there
was a small modern white church Paula admired. When the
wheelchair was alongside the street's far wall it stopped
moving.

The man huddled inside the chair whipped back his lap
rug. He showed startling agility. His right hand, holding something, was hoisted high, like a bowler in a cricket match about to throw the ball. A cylindrical object sailed
through the air in an arc, descending to land at Tweed's
feet. Garden's left hand, clawed, caught the object before
it landed on the pavement. In a blur of movement he
lobbed it back. It landed in the lap of the man in the
wheelchair. The 'cripple' jerked upright, had
one foot on the street, when there was a loud explosion.

The man who had hurled the grenade disintegrated. The
relics of his body were smashed against the white wall
where a red lake appeared. The wheelchair became a
shambles. One wheel rolled up Bahnhofstrasse, leaving a trail of dark red blood in its wake. Paula saw a severed
hand lying in the street.

As the commuters jerked their heads round Newman
suddenly dropped into a crouch, his Smith & Wesson
gripped in both hands. Behind them, five feet or so away, a
man in a belted raincoat had opened a violin case, extrac
ted a snub-nosed Uzi machine-pistol. The muzzle was
aimed at Tweed as Newman fired three times in rapid succession. The sound of the shots was masked by the screeching stop of an approaching tram - the driver had seen the lake of blood spilling into the road. The man holding the Uzi was hurled back against a plate-glass window with such force it fractured as he sagged to the ground.
'Scatter!' Tweed ordered. 'Meet up at the Gotthard ...'