Blood Storm (37 page)

'Padlock undone, doors open. Radek, you take Tweed up
over your shoulder, I'll take his bedmate,' he said coarsely.

Paula was thrown over Fitch's shoulder, was carried
behind Tweed up wide wooden steps, into a large room. Fitch paused to turn on a wall switch. Dim light flooded
every corner of the bare room, emanating from lamps
attached to the walls.

'What about the car?' Radek wanted to know.

'Forget it. Everyone round 'ere knows I drive Fords, that
I'm always changing them. Position them.'

Fitch dumped Paula's limp form on the floor. She could
feel all her senses returning suddenly. Radek dropped
Tweed without ceremony on the wooden floor. He stood
up, walked over to Paula.

'I'll check her for weapons. You do Tweed.'

'No mucking about with her,' Fitch warned, walking
nearby to Tweed. 'I know you with wimmin, so watch it.'

Paula stayed slumped as Radek began to check her. His
hands explored the upper parts of her body first, pressing
into her chest, over the rest of her body slowly, enjoying his
work. Paula had dressed quickly. The slim leg holster
holding her Beretta was, unusually, strapped to the inside of
the leg. Eventually he started running his hands slowly
down the outside of her legs from thigh to ankle. She spat
savagely in his face. He jumped.

'This one's awake,' he called out, then slapped her very
hard across the face, so hard her head jerked sideways.

He stood up, spat back at her, so furious that he didn't
continue his search any further. Fitch had found Tweed's
bolstered Walther under his arm. He threw it across the
room. It landed close to the wall.

'You won't ever be needin' that again, mate,' he told him
with a grin.

Tweed's eyes were now open, staring up at Fitch who,
despite his ruthlessness, didn't like the look.

'That's right,' he sneered. 'Keep the eyes open. So you
can watch the picture show.'

Paula, sitting up now, pretending to sway, watched as
Radek bent over the four projectors, aimed at different
angles. Looked like the sort of thing you might see in a
Hollywood studio. Then she saw four screens, one attached
to each wall. What the hell was all this?

'You can manage on your own now,' Radek said, making
it a statement. 'I am off to find some beer. Not as good as
you get in Bratislava, but good enough. OK?'

'Shove off,' Fitch said rudely.

He was bent over a handle in the floor close to Tweed.
He lifted a large round wooden lid, shoved it to one side on
the floor. Faintly Paula heard the distant sound of rushing
water a long way down in the exposed hole. She didn't like
the sound of that.

'What the hell do you want that for?' Radek demanded.

'In case one of them isn't driven barmy for good they'll go down the chute. When you knows me better, Radek,
you'll knows I thinks of everything. Now switch on the
machines, then piss off and drown yourself in beer.'

Paula saw Fitch fix in earplugs. She was more puzzled
than ever. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Radek bend
over his apparatus.

'You can stay and watch if you want to,' Fitch bawled
out.

'Seen them often enough. Get this lot started and I'm off looking for beer.'

He pressed levers on the projectors, adjusted the focus as
pictures began to appear on all four screens. Vile pictures,
Paula thought. Tweed had managed to sit up on the floor, his handcuffs behind his back, making him a prisoner.

Radek turned to the other machine, pulled a switch
halfway down. A terrible ear-splitting screech filled the
warehouse. Nerves on edge, Paula stretched her hands as wide as she could inside her lap. The pictures turned her
stomach. A cow tethered in a field. A man with a huge axe
appeared, raised it, chopped off the cow's head. Blood
welled out, the poor creature's legs jumped madly, even
though headless. Then it flopped. A fresh picture on
another screen. A peasant woman, tied to a block of stone.
A short fat man appeared, also carrying a huge axe. He
rested it gently on the woman's exposed neck. Her mouth
was wide open, presumably screaming. The fat man raised the axe, brought it down with a tremendous swipe, took her
head right off the neck. It rolled on the ground. He kicked
it towards the screen. It vanished. Paula glanced at all the
screens. On each some hideous massacre was taking place. She forced down a feeling of sickness. Three women tied to
a huge rock were approached by three men carrying axes.
Execution was going to be synchronized.

Paula sucked in her breath as she saw their stomachs
were bare. The target for the axes. Fitch walked past her,
then bent down to be close to her ear.

'Not loud enough. I'se turning up the sound.'

Still close to her ear he giggled. Giggled again. That was
what did it.

He pressed the switch lower and the walls seemed to
tremble under the diabolical blast of sound. The assault
on her ear drums. He bent down again, giggled in her ear. He walked away from her to sit on the cheap wooden chair
he'd sat on near Tweed, his back to her. She turned sideways, forced her right hand down inside her leg
despite the pain of the cuffs, grabbed the Beretta out of its holster.

She aimed at Fitch's back. First bullet in his shoulder.
Fired again. Second bullet in the centre of the back, close to the spine. Swinging round she emptied her gun at the
projector, the sound system. The pictures died. An
uncanny silence.

It all happened so quickly. She swung round. Tweed had heaved his whole body against the chair, toppling chair and Fitch over sideways. The thug slid to the edge of the chute,
legs vanishing inside it, hands desperately clinging to the lip
of the hole.

Tweed forced himself upright. Stiffening his legs, he
stood above Fitch's terrified face as Paula staggered along
side him. Fitch was screaming. Nothing like the screams
the poor women in the film must have uttered, Paula
thought.

'Help me! Please! Help me,' Fitch gasped.

Tweed raised one foot. Stamped it down hard on one of the hands supporting him. The other hand let go. Fitch was
plunging down the circular metallic chute, both hands flat
against the metal, desperately hoping for support. There
was none. They heard a faint gurgle as he sank below the
torrent of water surging towards the Thames. Then only
rushing water.

31

Tweed drove back with Paula to her apartment. He had
told her he would sleep on her sofa in her living room and,
relieved, she had thanked him. Both were suffering a
reaction but there was something else that had to be done.
To safeguard her, Tweed took Paula with him.

Arriving back at her place, they both wore gloves before
climbing into the Ford that Fitch had left parked behind the
house. Luckily Fitch had left the ignition key on the front
seat, ready to come back and make a quick getaway. Again,
luckily, on first leaving the warehouse, they had found the
ignition key to Tweed's car left in the same place. Fitch had
not wanted to waste any time at either end.

Tweed drove Fitch's car while Paula drove his, keeping
close behind him. Tweed found a deserted side street in
the East End, left the Ford there, moved behind the wheel
of his own car and drove it back to the concealed area
behind her flat. Earlier they had freed each other from the
handcuffs.

After all this they were very tired. Tweed had a brief
snack Paula prepared him before she went to her bedroom.
She should sleep like a babe, he felt sure as he perched on
the sofa with coffee, his Walther on the cushion by his side.

Any fear that he might drop off to sleep disappeared as he took out his cartridge-paper notebook. In it he listed every single person connected with the murder case - and anyone else who had been involved in their enquiries.

It was a murky dawn when Paula, to his surprise, came in fully dressed.

'Didn't expect you for ages,' he greeted her.

'Had a strange dream. Don't know why. I was alone in
the office when the door opened. A man came in, gripped
a meat cleaver. As he came towards me I was scared
stiff. His weird eyes staring at me through those weird
glasses. I tried to scream and nothing came out. Then I
woke up.'

'Who was it?'

'Benton Macomber. In those funny glasses.'

Tweed did not have to check his list to know that among
his long list of suspects was Benton Macomber. He told her dreams were a poor substitute for fact and she agreed. Then
she said she'd made breakfast because afterwards she was
going off to see someone.

'Who might that be? It will be very early.'

'Coral Flenton. I know she gets up at unearthly early
hours. I'll probably be just in time to share a cup of coffee
with her.'

Later Tweed drove Paula down to Covent Garden so she
could see Coral. He was careful to park in a slot before he reached her flat entrance, but at a point where he could see
it. Paula had entered the place a few minutes before Tweed
saw someone.

The Parrot, wearing a long coat with her hair obscured by
a wide-brimmed hat, suddenly appeared and stopped on
the other side of the street opposite the entrance. She
opened a newspaper, pretended to read it. It was obvious to
Tweed she was watching Coral's entrance. Why?

Inside, when Coral, fully dressed, had let Paula in, she
had showed pleasure at the arrival of her visitor. In the
living room she had offered coffee, which Paula had
accepted.

'What about breakfast?' Coral asked.

'I've had some. What about yourself?'

'Finished it half an hour ago. It really is lovely to see you.
Did you get my note?'

'I was just going to thank you for it,' Paula replied, seated
in an armchair opposite her hostess. 'You sounded so
excited. A new boyfriend? Or shouldn't I ask?'

'It's a secret. I've changed my mind about telling you. I'm
sorry, but I'll let you know if it works out. Now I'll show you
the rest of my safe harbour.'

Across the hall was a door leading into a fairly large
bedroom. A double bed with a headboard occupied the
bulk of the space. The floor was polished wood with a rug on each side where you would step out in the morning. A tasteful dressing table was perched against the far wall.