Vorpal Blade (18 page)

'I was looking for something like that,' Paula commented.
'Someone was anxious those records were destroyed. The
cellar is knee-deep in burnt debris.' She opened her glove
and showed Jed a fragment of paper curled at its edges. 'Any idea what this is?'

'A bit of the bottom of a medical record,' he said,
examining it by the light of her flashlight. 'I can just
make out Bryan's signature. Millie, the asylum's cleaning
woman, showed me one of these - although she shouldn't
have done.'

'What kind of medical record? And who is Bryan?'

'A confidential summary of a patient's problems, why they were admitted, treatment, name -' Jed was staring at
the sky, trying to remember what he'd seen when secretly
he'd been shown one of the documents - 'address, sex,
age . . .' He grinned. 'And who was paying the enormous bill. As for Bryan, that was Dr Bryan, who ran the place
with his wife and a staff. Since the fire the Bryans have
disappeared. They couldn't be located and we gave up the
search.'

'Were there casualties? Patients? Staff?' Paula asked.

'No. A few days before the fire all the patients were sent
elsewhere. Staff were all laid
off with a bonus. They've scattered all over the country. One, I know, went to Ohio.'

'Curious,' Tweed remarked. 'The timing.'

'The rumour was the Bryans had made their pile and
left. They were going to sell the place - but after the
fire . . .' Jed waved his hands in a gesture of resignation.

Tweed persisted. 'Is there no member of the staff left in Pinedale?'

'There's Millie. Lives just down the highway. A two-
minute drive.'

'Have we time for you to take us to see her? I'd like to
ask her a few questions.'

'Sure. Fat Boy Parrish would bust his gut. He's declared
the case closed. Maybe money changed hands. Let's
move.'

* * *

They drove down the highway a short distance beyond the ruined asylum. There were more trees, and inland it was hilly, small rolling slopes climbing up to forest. Jed stopped outside a small clapboard house on their right near the highway. Two storeys high, several shutters drawn over windows hung at bizarre angles, presumably supported only by the top hinges. There was no porch, only a wooden rail with a gap leading to the front door. There were lights on behind the windows.

'Millie's in,' Jed remarked. 'But then she would be.
Doesn't go out after dark since the murder. Best if I let
her know I'm here.'

He knocked twice, loudly, on the wooden door, then
called out, 'It's Jed, Millie. Jed.'

They waited in the bitter cold while Paula stared round
at the wilderness. Once again she wondered how people
lived here all their lives. They heard two locks turning, the
removal of a chain. The door was opened a crack and Jed
spoke again, then he shoved his face closer and the door opened wide.

They walked straight into a living room, out of the Arctic
into overpowering heat from a stove crackling cheerfully.
Millie attended to relocking, putting the chain back into position. Paula noticed a shotgun on a sideboard. Millie was taking no chances.

Millie was quite small, in her late thirties, and her
brown hair was neat, well-brushed. She wore a spotless
white dress rather like a nurse's and peered curiously at
her visitors.

'These are Brits,' Jed explained, 'sent down from Port
land by Andersen.'

Tweed was grateful for his phrasing. It gave them an air
of authority. Standing against one wall was a huge new-
looking TV, turned off. On a table stood a set of fine cut
glasses and four bottles of expensive Scotch. Their hostess
was sharp-featured but had kind eyes. Paula noticed there
wasn't a speck of dust on the furniture surfaces, despite their cheapness. Jed made introductions. Millie ushered
them to sit in sturdy wooden chairs,
settled herself into an ancient armchair close to the whiskey on the table, picked
up a glass and sipped from it.

'Your friends can be trusted,' she told Jed. 'I've checked
them out.'

'Saw you doing it,' Newman told her with a broad
grin.

'We haven't much time,' Tweed began quietly. 'We have
to get back to Portland. I'm investigating that horrible
murder. Hank Foley.'

'Thank 'Eaven someone is doin' that. They tried to
cover it up. I feel guilty. They bribed me to keep my
mouth shut.' She pointed at the TV. 'That arrived with the
bottles of whiskey. Don't normally drink but it's a comfort
after what 'appened.'

'I can understand that,' interjected Paula with a smile. 'I drink a glass of wine when I'm rattled.'

'Who is they?' Tweed asked. 'Who gave you the pres
ents?'

'Bribes,' she snapped. 'No idea where the stuff came
from. Delivered by a truck with no note. They keep well
'idden.'

'Did you notice anything strange at the nursing home
while you worked there?'

'They 'ad six to ten patients. No room for more. And
that included the prison room.'

'Prison room?'
Tweed queried.

'The one only Dr Bryan could enter. 'Eavy door with
two locks, special windows with extra bars. A Mr Mannix
was kept in there. Never saw 'im. Bryan even took 'is food in. Told us all the patient was dangerous. Once saw inside
the prison room when it was empty. Furnished like a top
'otel in Boston, it was.' Now she had started Millie was
voluble. Paula guessed she was glad of someone to talk to.

'Whoever was payin' for 'im must have 'ad a fortune. The
last patient to leave on the night of the fire. The others
went days earlier.'

'How do you know he was Mr Mannix?' Tweed asked.

'He 'ad his name on the outside of that prison door.
I only saw 'is back when he left to get into the limo.
A queer business. Wore a black coat and was tall. On
'is 'ead he wore a funny wide-brim 'at. Couldn't see
'is face.'

'The hat,' Paula interjected again, concealing her excite
ment. 'Was it a Spanish hat? Sorry, you probably don't
know what I mean.'

'I do,' Millie told her. 'On a rare trip into Portland I
saw a man with same kinda 'at. Bumped into Jed, asked 'im who this queer-looking guy was. He said Spanish.'

'That's right,' Jed confirmed. 'He was behaving suspi
ciously so I questioned him. Turned out he was a tourist.
Guy called Rodriguez. He was OK. Not the same guy
Millie saw leavin' the asylum. He was short and fat, not
tall. Rodriguez, I mean.'

Paula's mind had flashed back to the night in London
when a second shadow had appeared behind hers. Shadow
had worn a wide-brimmed Spanish-style hat. Millie was
talking again.

'Like I said, Mr Mannix was the last patient to leave.
I was down in the cellar where the records were stored.
Hank Foley was in the far section of the cellar with a
locked door. Somewhere he shouldn't 'ave been. Didn't
know I was there. Don't know 'ow he got a key, but 'e
always was a snoop. I kept quiet by a window at the
front, squeezed in an alcove. Hank was pullin' out a
patient's file. It must 'ave been one of the new patients.
I cleaned in there once and noticed the dates. New ones
were in this cabinet nearest the door, which was where
Hank was.'

'What happened next?' Tweed enquired while she sipped more whiskey. She spoke without a slur, as though quite sober.

'Peerin' through the window I saw Mr Mannix leavin'
and get inside the limo, which drove off towards Boston.
But that wasn't the end of it. A minute or two later limo
returns, rear door opens. I didn't like it. I left the cellar
real quiet, got my coat, slipped out of the back door and
walked 'ome.'

'Did you see Mannix's face then?' Tweed probed.

'Didn't wait to. I was frightened. Something queer was
goin' to 'appen. Felt it in my bones. A couple of hours
later I saw the flames when the asylum started to burn.'

'Where was Dr Bryan while all this was going on?'

'Dr Bryan and his wife 'ad driven off towards Boston
about two hours before what I've just told you 'appened. In the cellar.'

'Leaving you and Foley to clean up the place? He must
have been in a hurry to get away. And it's odd that Mannix,
a dangerous patient, was left to depart on his own.'

'I didn't like it.' Millie looked frightened. 'Thought it
was queer.'

Jed stood up. 'We'd better get going if you're to reach
Portland in time.'

They thanked Millie for all her help. She had obviously
hoped they'd stay longer. Outside the arctic atmosphere hit them badly after their time in the warmth. Jed spoke to Tweed as they headed for the car.

'Something I should have told you earlier. When I went
in the back way to collect my bag from headquarters I
heard Parrish on the phone in the office. He was phoning Washington. I heard him swearing at the operator. "Three
or four more hours to get through? Bloody ridiculous."
Slammed down the phone and I came out, closing the back
door quietly. He'd be phonin' his brother, who has done better than 'im. Brother is with the Justice Department.'

Paula glanced at Tweed. His expression had become grim. Would they get clear in time? Before climbing inside the car she pointed across the highway to a large mansion perched on top of a hill, Mock-Tudor style with wooden beams criss-crossing the gables. A long drive led up to it and there were no lights visible.

'Who does that place belong to?' she asked.

'Someone I don't like. Thinks he's Lord God Almighty.
The Vice-President, Russell Straub.'

1
1

The United Airlines Boeing was flying them further and
further east through the night, was close to the mid-point
over the Atlantic from Boston to Heathrow.

Jed had driven like the wind to Portland airport where
they were in time to catch the vital commuter transfer
to Boston. It had still been a rush at Boston to board
the transatlantic flight. Now, in first class, they occupied another three-seater: Paula by the window, Tweed in the
middle, Newman by the aisle. Their section was two-thirds empty. No one was talking. Tweed's grim mood seemed to
have silenced Newman.

Paula was relaxed, glad to feel they had 'escaped'. She
liked America but winter-set Maine's atmosphere had
disturbed her, especially outside Portland. Maybe it was
the grim event which had taken place there - she could see
it so vividly in her imagination now they had visited the
area. She glanced at Tweed, who appeared to be asleep,
but she knew he wasn't, sensed his grim mood reflected
in his expression. What was wrong?