No Mercy (20 page)

'Looks like it,' Tweed agreed.

'And both Christine and Jackson are closely linked with
Anne Barton,' she mused. 'Can't possibly be her. Not strong
enough.'

'You can't assume that,' Tweed warned. 'While we were in her flat I watched her lifting a very heavy hard-backed chair to sit in. She whisked it up as though it weighed nothing.'

He stopped speaking as their hostess returned. He asked
her the question as he paid the modest bill, leaving a
generous tip.

'We came to see the chap who owns the houseboat on the
river on the far side of the bridge. Did you ever see him?'

'No, we didn't. That's me and my husband. He used to
leave his car in the car park in the village, then must have walked here. My husband saw lights on in the boat late at
night. Haven't seen them for quite a long time.'

'Any idea how long since you last saw the lights?'

'Must be about three to four months ago . . . Excuse me,
there's the doorbell.'

'I think the police have arrived,' Paula commented.

'I think you're right. I heard vehicles pulling up.'

He stopped talking as the door opened and their hostess
ushered Chief Superintendent Buchanan into the room. Hauling up a chair, he sat with them.

'I've brought a complete technical team. And an
ambulance. We've had orders not to touch the body.
Professor Saafeld's on his way here. You know what a stickler
he is.'

'Someone should sweep the river on the starboard side,'
Paula suggested. 'I saw something floating in the water, could be half an identification card.'

'The skeletal corpse may be a John Jackson, private
investigator,' said Tweed.

'Jackson!' Buchanan looked appalled. 'He was a brilliant inspector at the Yard. I liked him. He would have gone far.
He resigned against all protests from me. Fed up with the
paperwork the government has showered us with. Said he'd sooner work on his own, helping people. I'd better get over there now.'

'We're just leaving. I've sent you a report on most of what
we've discovered so far.'

'Thanks. I must go now.'

Tweed had driven Paula back only a short distance along the
M3 back to London when a Rolls-Royce passed them going
the other way. Saafeld tooted them twice.

'Buchanan and his team got there quickly,' Paula
commented.

'Probably came down the motorway with sirens blaring
and lights flashing at ninety miles an hour. Good job it wasn't rush hour.'

'Where to now?'

'Straight back to Park Crescent. Could be news, but I very
much doubt that.'

In this assumption Tweed was wrong.

'I've checked up on Abel Gallagher's tough history,'
Newman greeted him.

'Tough?'

Monica sat at her computer, burning the keyboard. Butler
was on the floor playing with a hand grenade. Paula pulled
a face. 'I hope that thing isn't live?'

'Of course it is,' he chaffed her.

Nield sat in the other chair, studying a map of London. He looked up as Tweed asked the question.

'I see you're back from Champton Place, Pete. How is
Anne?'

'She's recovered surprisingly quickly. I got the impression
she wasn't all that close to her sister, even felt she'd been a
dominating influence. That slipped out while we were
chatting, and she covered it up quickly.'

'I didn't get that impression myself.' Tweed sat behind
his desk looking thoughtful. 'You were there much longer
and she was probably glad of your company, so less
guarded.'

'We did seem to get on well together,' Nield remarked.

'According to Pete,' mocked Butler, 'he only has to look at
a woman and she swoons.'

'Remind me to punch your silly face,' Nield rapped back.

'If you've all finished.' Newman protested, 'I was going to
tell you what I found out about Abel Gallagher. Not a nice
person. At school he led a gang which beat up other pupils.
Later he joined the worst section of the army - he applied to
become a military policeman, they accepted him. He had a
very tough reputation when he became a quartermaster
sergeant. Any squaddie he didn't like he'd find an excuse to
put him in the stockade.'

'What's the stockade?' Paula asked.

'A fenced-off guarded area where the bad boys are sent.
The training's tough, very. They're made to run back and
forth for ages with heavy packs on their backs. Gallagher
made his special choices keep running until they dropped.
Some had to be put into hospital.'

'A sadist,' Paula commented.

'A notorious one. When he left the army he applied for a
job at Medford's, the big security agency. He can grovel
when it suits him. He joined Medford's, worked his way up
by stabbing colleagues in the back. He can be cunning and
play the gentleman when it suits him. Result? He gets the
top job when his predecessor retires. Rumour has it he had
political influence. That's our Abel. Oh, when he plays darts he uses knives to aim at the board instead of darts. I thought
that said a lot about him.'

'A real charmer,' remarked Paula.

'He's also reputed to be dangerous to the ladies,' Newman
concluded.

'Sounds as though he could be capable of anything,'
Tweed decided. 'And he'd revel in cruelty.'

'So a suspect in our murder investigation,' Paula
suggested. 'But what could be the motive?'

'Whether it's him or someone else,' Tweed reflected, 'I
have an idea money is the motive.'

'There you go,' said Butler. 'We all know now he's up to
his neck in
a
huge debt to a racing bookie.'

'The real problem,' Tweed warned, 'is to link up all the
victims. Buchanan insists they're random killings by a
psychotic. I think there's more to it. Maybe something very
dangerous indeed.'

He looked at Monica, who had answered the phone and was waving madly. Tweed asked who it was without
enthusiasm.

'A PA who says Drago Volkanian wants to speak to you
now.'

The voice responding to Tweed's was booming without
being domineering. A voice with a lot of character.

'Mr Tweed, we must meet urgently. At your
convenience - would tomorrow afternoon suit you? In
Jermyn Street.'

'I'd like a hint as to the subject.'

'Aha!' A rumbling laugh. 'I regard you, sir, as a man of
rare and exceptional intelligence and insight. Also I never
employ flattery, which I regard as hypocrisy. Heaven knows
I have been subjected to a flood of that nonsense.' Another of his rumbling laughs. 'I heard your assistant call out my
name. Could you please correct that, sir? I do not wish
anyone to know I have called, that you are coming to see
me.'

'I can deal with that easily,' Tweed said quickly.

'I am sure you can, sir. With your usual finesse. I would greatly appreciate it if you ensured that no one knows you
are coming to visit me. The address is 490 Jermyn Street,
well past Floris, the ancient perfumier. So, would four p.m. tomorrow be convenient to you? If not we can—.'

'That will be quite convenient,' Tweed interjected.

'My dear sir, your instant cooperation is a response
which puts me in your debt. One more point
-
you can
bring the rare Paula Grey with you. Indeed, you are
fortunate to have the services of such a remarkable lady.'
Another bellowing laugh. 'So, four p.m. tomorrow. I wish
you my warmest regards. Guard your back, sir. We live in a dangerous world.'

The phone went dead before Tweed could reply. He sat gazing into space. It was a long time since he had heard a voice that radiated such power and courtesy.

Tweed had been pacing slowly round his office for over ten
minutes by Paula's reckoning. Sometimes he paused to stare through the windows towards Regent's Park. Night
had fallen, a gloomy evening with drizzle gleaming on the
pavements. Commuters were hurrying, crouched under
umbrellas as they prepared to face the ordeal of the
journey home with few trains running, the street a solid
mass of stationary buses and cars. Misery. Only Paula
realized what was happening. Tweed was coming to a
major decision.

The door opened and Marler strolled in, wearing a smart beige suit Paula had never seen before. 'Ummm,' she said
aloud as he came and stood close to her.

'For that,' he told her, 'I'll be taking you for dinner to the
Savoy Grill.'

'Not yet you won't,' barked Tweed. 'You're the fifth
interrogator I need.'

He walked swiftly to the front of his desk, leaned against
it, surveyed his team. This is it, Paula thought. Tweed's voice
was brisk, commanding.

'We are running out of time. As you know, the likelihood
of locating this vicious killer fades with each day that passes.
And Saafeld has confirmed the bodies discovered so far were
murdered three to four months ago. Action this day is the
order. Each of you will be given a key character to visit, to interrogate harshly. Use your SIS folders to gain entrance if
anyone tries to keep you out. No pussyfooting this time. Newman, your target is Larry Voles, managing director of
Gantia.'

'Have you already questioned him?' Newman wanted to
know.

'No. You can be tough - whatever it takes. Monica's given
each of you a copy of my report to Buchanan. You're well
armed with data.'

'Can't wait to hear who I'm paying a visit to,' Paula said.

'You'll have to wait. I'm taking the targets in a certain
sequence. Nield, you visit Lucinda Voles, put her under a lot
of pressure.'

'If you don't mind,' Nield said quietly, 'I'll handle her in my own way when I meet her.'

'Anything, but get results,' Tweed snapped. 'Butler, you
take on Anne Barton. I know you've met her but only briefly.
Don't let her apparently demure temperament fool you.'

'I'll catch her out on some detail, you'll see.'

'Marler, your target is Abel Gallagher. He'll try to fend
you off with his Special Branch position.'

'I'm rather afraid that won't impress me,' Marler drawled.