Blood Storm (32 page)

'We might have done. I'm not sure.'

'I need some names.'

'What sort of names, for Christ's sake?'

'Mutual clients' names.'

'Tweed, I've just told you I don't know. She might have
told one of them my name, hoping for a big fat
commission.'

Tweed drank some of the wine she'd poured for him. He
needed it to take the foul taste out of his mouth.

'You were sisters,' he continued grimly. 'What was she
like?'

'The oh-so-bright one,' she said sarcastically. 'Came
down from Oxford with a double first. I left Cambridge
with nothing. Except useful contacts with men which have
been profitable up to the present. All men are alike - which
is something I did learn at Cambridge . . .'

'Wrong!' Tweed snapped. 'Some men are, I agree, but
many are not fodder for your night activities. Why do you
need the money?'

'That's a damned personal question.' She reared up, then
pulled down her dress tighter over her chest, in case he
hadn't noticed her assets. 'All right,' she continued
viciously, 'we both had a rich uncle who left us each a
legacy. Enough to live a normal life but not enough to buy things at Escada. I like to buy good clothes. They make all
the difference when I entertain the occasional rich
man.'

'Occasional?'

'Viola gave me the idea.'

Tweed lost his temper. 'You filthy liar. I've a good mind
to take you down to the Yard for a proper interrogation.'

'I do have friends there.' She reached out a hand towards him. He evaded it. His normal controlled temper returned.
He spoke softly.

'You have absolutely no regrets as to how your sister
died?'

'None at all. Why should I? It eliminates some of the
competition.'

Again Tweed was stunned by the cold-bloodedness of
this woman. She was watching him, hoping to revel in his
shock. His expression remained normal, neutral. He took
out a pad and his pen. She frowned, then tucked both legs
under herself, swivelled round so she was facing him with
an inviting smile.

'I need your full name, telephone number, mobile
number. I'm waiting.'

She frowned, probably annoyed that he had not reacted
to a pose which had trapped other men. Without speaking
she reached over to a small gold box, took out a printed card
with a red rim round
it, handed it across to him. He was
careful to take hold of it by the edge. It was carrying her
fingerprints. He stood up.

'I shall probably see you again.'

'Of course you will.' She gave him a lascivious smile. 'I know you will. When you think about me.' She jumped up.
'Back in a sec. Must rush to the loo.'

As soon as she was gone Tweed poured the rest of his
wine into a large plant pot nearby. Taking out a
handkerchief, he dipped it in her glass, slipped on a latex
glove, used the handkerchief to wipe off his fingerprints. He
was very quick. When she returned she'd changed her
outfit. She was now clad in a transparent nightdress, belted
at the waist, the hem ending above her knees.

He headed for the door, concealed the latex glove with
his back to her, turned the key, slipped the glove into his
pocket after pulling open the door. Marina called out
something to him but he was outside on the landing,
heading down the first flight of stairs. He paused, looked
up.

'Be very careful who you let into your apartment. Don't
forget what happened to Viola . . .'

In looking up as she slammed the door he saw Paula and
Marler peering down from the fourth floor. They joined
him as he unlocked the car, slipped behind the wheel. He looked up at the building.

'Tart can't see us,' Paula told him. 'The only window
overlooking the street has frosted glass. I gather you didn't enjoy the interview.'

'Cold-blooded little snake.'

Tweed was crawling so as not to wake up sleeping people.
As he turned into the main street he saw an old shabbily dressed woman lifting her head out of a large rubbish bin
she had been exploring. He pulled in at the kerb, got out,
his voice friendly.

'Doubt if you'll find anything worthwhile in there.'

'Never can tell, sir. Me mate once found a real pearl
necklace. Took it to the police,' she went on in her heavy Cockney accent. 'I'd 'a done the same. Takin' stuff like that
can get you inta the police station if you tries to 'ang on an'
sell it to an 'andler. You bin up to see Lady Muck? You'se
smart, takin' a woman and a man with you. For an 'our with
a man what's loaded she wants a fortune. And 'er so high-
and-mighty.'

'You've seen men go up to see her?' Tweed enquired.

'Loads of 'em. When it comes to those not so well off
she's mean as muck. So, Lady Muck.'

'Sounds as though you've met her.'

'I 'ave. She comes out one evenin' and I'm skint. Asks her for something to buy meself a meal. Know what she says?'

'Tell me, please.'

'"You should do an honest day's work like other people."
I nearly laughed in her face. Honest? When you knows 'ow
she makes 'er livin'? Make you want to spit.'

'So you see who goes in there sometimes?'

'If I's workin' this big bin, I do. One man came out
pulling up his trousers. Couldn't get 'em round 'is waist. I
heard something plop. Called out to 'im., "Think you'se just
dropped something, sir." He
just rushes off to 'is car 'idden up an alley. So I walks over and you'll not believe what I
found on pavement.'

'What was that?' Tweed asked with a smile.

'A wallet. Kind a man keeps in his back trouser pocket.
Inside was three hundred nicker. I belt down the street,
waved it at him as he drives towards me. Bastard never
stops, damn near drives over me. I thought, right, mate. So
I keeps the three hundred nicker. Was I wrong, sir?'

'I think you were very sensible. Do you often see the men
who visit the lady?'

'Lady? Got that wrong, didn' you? Yes, if it's this time o'
night I've seen a few. Chap who dropped his wallet was a
short, fat little man.'

'I'd like to ask you a question, if I may.' Tweed took out
the photos of the Cabal that Marler had taken in Whitehall.
'Recognize any of these men?'

She produced an ancient pair of spectacles. One of the
arms was bent. To see the photos she had to cock her head sideways. She took her time with each photo.

'No, not 'im. Not 'im either.' She paused. 'Bingo. I know
this one 'as visited 'er. Sure as I'm standing 'ere.'

She handed the photos back to Tweed. He turned round,
stared down the street they had just left. Black hole of
Calcutta except for the street lamp opposite Marina's
entrance. He turned back to the Cockney woman who had
put away her glasses.

'Are you sure you could see clearly at this distance? I do
want you to be sure, please.'

'Got long sight without me specs, ain't I? Street lamp down there 'elps a lot. It was 'im.'

'I'm very much obliged for you talking to us.' Tweed took out his wallet, handed her a ten-pound note. 'Get yourself a decent meal. Not your usual places.'

'Gawd bless you, sir. I'm skint. Honest I am. Don't know
what to say.'

'Don't say anything. May I ask you your name, in case I'm in the area and want to ask you something?'

'Why not? Annie 'Iggins. That's me. You take care, sir.'

Tweed was silent as he drove them back to Paula's flat.
He waited while Marler, with Paula's key, checked the
place out. He returned in a few minutes.

'All clear. That sofa in the living room looks inviting. So
I'll park myself on it while Paula gets a good sleep.'

Paula got out of the car. She did not close the door. She
leant in and stared at Tweed.

'That's right. Keep us all in suspense. Who did Annie
Higgins identify as the visitor to Marina?'

'Noel Macomber.'

27

Tweed was driving back to Park Crescent when the mobile
phone Paula had left on the seat beside him. started buzzing.
He cursed, and pulled in. Paula must have been very tired to forget it. He
answered.

'Yes?'

'You have a visitor. She's very anxious to talk to you . . .'

The line went dead. Tweed was puzzled. She? He
couldn't imagine which woman it might be. So many were
cluttering up his investigation. Coral Flenton, Marina
Vander-Browne, the Parrot. He sat still for a moment,
switched off the mobile. At this hour? He checked his
watch: 2 a.m. Only one way to find out.

His mind churned as he completed his journey. This was
the most difficult case he'd ever tackled, even including
those when he was at the Yard. He just had no idea who was
the chief suspect.

Parking his car outside the Crescent, he pressed the bell
in the agreed sequence, walked inside when George
unlocked and opened the door. He took off his coat as he
darted up the stairs. He felt very alert. Opening his office
door he found two people inside.

Monica working her word-processor. The Parrot seated
in a chair facing his desk, a cup of coffee close to her. She
swung round, gave him a warm smile. He could still see she
was worried, even frightened. As she had been on her first
visit to him which seemed ages ago.

'I do hope you'll excuse my calling at this barbaric hour,'
she began in a soft husky voice, 'but I needed a safe refuge.
Someone in a car was stalking me on my way home to
Hammersmith. No one else was about . . .'

She trailed off as Tweed nodded, settled behind his desk
which meant he was facing her directly.

'Whereabouts were you, and what was the make of the
car?' he asked, his manner businesslike.

'It was in Whitehall that I first saw it. I didn't think a lot
of it until it kept following my route, so I veered off here
hoping someone would still be in the office. As to make, I'm
hopeless on car makes.'

'What made you sure he was stalking you?'

'He had his headlights on full beam and drove close
behind me. At times I was almost blinded by
the lights in
my rear-view mirror.'