Cell (6 page)

'That's the Peacock,' Buchanan said as he pulled up in
front of a large window with leaded lights.

'Well,' Paula began, her mind darting about, 'at least we know that mysterious man with the black overcoat exists.
Mrs Gobble has seen him prowling about in the night.'

'One thing I meant to ask you, Roy,' Tweed said as
Buchanan switched off the engine, 'is do you know how it
was possible for Victor Warner to buy land and build that monstrosity? Everyone else has to pay rent to that dubious
London lawyer.'

'He was smart. He had a surveyor check the area, found
that the developer, the New Age outfit, had overlooked
it. Jumped in and bought it, then had his house built by
workers imported from Milan in Italy. He's very rich. You
know why?'

'No idea.'

'He keeps this quiet. His father owned a company which
manufactured - of all things - a laxative. Victor inherited a
huge fortune when his father departed this world. He likes
to keep the source of his wealth quiet.'

'No wonder!' Paula chuckled. 'A laxative!'

They were about to enter the hotel when a Maserati sped
up the drive, parked behind Buchanan. The driver jumped out of the car. Tall and slim, agile, he wore a long dark
overcoat. Paula whispered to Tweed.

'It's him. The man you saw at the edge of the wood watching us in Carpford.'

'I don't believe it,' Tweed replied with astonishment. 'Of
all people. This is my old friend from Belgium, ex-chief of
their anti-terrorist squad. Jules Beaurain.'

As Tweed made introductions, Paula was struck by
Beaurain's powerful personality, by his good looks, by
his courtesy and command of English. He kissed her hand briefly and gave her a wonderful smile.

Six feet tall, in his late thirties or early forties, his hair was black, neatly brushed, his blue eyes piercing without
any hint of anything but friendship. His face was long and
beneath his strong nose were firm lips and a fine jaw. All
his movements were swift.

'The brilliant Paula Grey,' he said, still smiling. 'When
Tweed visited Brussels he praised your talents to the sky. So
it gives me great pleasure to meet you. I had not expected
someone quite so attractive. Don't know how you get any
work done with this lady in your office.'

'That's right, pile it on,' Tweed replied with a mock
grumble. 'We are just going in for dinner. Paula is starved.
Can you join us?'

'I also have not eaten for years, so it seems. Certainly I
should be honoured. And I trust the famous Superintendent Buchanan will be another guest.'

'How do you know he's a Superintendent?' Tweed
enquired. 'I remember he was a Chief Inspector when
we last met in Brussels.'

'I make it my business to know what is happening in so
many different parts of the world. Does your friend realize
my career, now ended, tallies not so far from his?'

'I do,' Buchanan said emphatically. 'Notorious would
describe how we regard him at the Yard. But after com
manding the anti-terrorist squad you returned to the police
in the role of Commissioner.'

'This is fascinating,' Paula interjected, 'but I'm still in great need of food.'

'My apologies.' Beaurain took her by the arm and led the way into the hotel and the restaurant. 'Let me choose
the table where we can talk openly. I am staying here at the
moment.'

They sat down at a long table perched in a corner under
the eaves of the ceiling. Before Tweed could open his mouth
Beaurain, sitting next to Paula, was suggesting different
wines from the list. He also recommended mushroom soup
and lamb chops to follow.

'I, unlike my countrymen, prefer them
bien cuit.'

'So do I,' said Paula. 'And the soup. My mouth's water
ing.'

She also ordered Chardonnay to drink and Beaurain nod
ded his approval. Everyone followed his choice and Paula
began attacking the freshly-baked rolls. There were only two other couples, seated at tables well away from them.

'You will soon feel that life is worth living again after your
grim experiences exploring Carpford. All the inhabitants
are so peculiar. I doubt after leaving Mrs Gobble you
enjoyed the encounter with Margesson. I doubt, also, that
Mrs Gobble is all that she seems.'

'You,' Tweed accused, 'are the man with the field-glasses
who watched from the edge of Black Wood.'

'The very same. I have been keeping an eye on what I suspect is a cleverly disguised base for some operation.'

'Incidentally,' Buchanan observed, 'I never once spotted
you following us in that Maserati.'

'I should hope not. During my career I have had to follow
some very dangerous villains without their knowing. It is
not so difficult once you get the hang of it.'

'You just called Carpford a base,' Tweed observed
quietly. 'A base for what? Run by whom?'

'I simply have no idea. We could discuss the notion when
we next meet.'

'You remarked outside that your career has ended,'
Tweed persisted. 'You have left Belgium for good?'

'I have. When I became Commissioner I soon realized
that politicians were trying to control me. Since there is
so much corruption over there I resigned.' He turned to
Paula. 'You see, my father was Belgian but my mother was
English. Also my wife was murdered. Before I left I tracked
the killer down. I shot him dead.' He looked at her. 'I hope
I do not shock you.'

'Not in the least. I'm sorry you had that experience.'

Paula found she was liking Beaurain. Seated alongside
her, he had not once touched her as certain Frenchmen
would have done at every opportunity. Buchanan twiddled
the stem of his glass as he looked at Beaurain.

'What is your view on the disappearance of Mrs Warner?'

'Paula, excuse me, but I must answer frankly. I think she has been murdered. I hope there is not an even grimmer option.'

4

They separated when they left the Peacock. Buchanan was
anxious to get back to the Yard. He had arranged for
the sturdy Sergeant Abbott to drive Tweed's car back to
Foxfold and it was waiting for them when they emerged into the icy night. Beaurain had said he was staying to 'continue my holiday'. He had promised to keep in touch
with everyone.

'Funny sort of holiday,' Paula remarked as Tweed drove
them down to the main road where they joined the route
they had used coming down from London.

'I've never known Jules take a holiday,' Tweed told
her. 'I think he's determined to unearth the secret of
Carpford.'

'But is there a secret?'

'He seems to think so. Never known him to be wrong yet.'

The heavy meal, the warmth of the car, soon sent Paula
to sleep. Her head sagged and she only woke as they were
approaching Park Crescent. Tweed glanced at her.

'How did you know we'd arrived?'

'I sensed you were suddenly driving slowly. And we have
a reception committee waiting for us,' she commented as
they entered the Crescent.

Two cars were parked in front of the entrance to the
SIS building. Newman was striding up and down, hands
in the pockets of his overcoat. Characteristically, the calmer
Marler was seated behind the wheel of his car, smoking.
Paula checked the time. 11.15 p.m.

'We're in good time,' she remarked.

'Doubt if Newman would agree with you.' Tweed replied as the rear door was flung open and Newman jumped inside. Paula told him to close the door since all the warmth was escaping.

'Now listen closely both of you,' Newman began, his tone
unusually grim. 'One of Marler's top informants, Eddie -
I doubt that's his real name - insists he has important
information. The trouble is he'll only talk to you, Tweed.
And we had a bit of an evening of it . . .'

He described tersely their experiences at Belles in Soho,
including his confrontation with the Afghan. Paula was frowning as he came to the end of his story. She turned
round in the car.

'Taliban? I think your imagination is running away with
you.'

'You'd have said the same thing if I could have predicted
the attack on the World Trade Center in New
York.'

'But you didn't predict it.'

'When you two have finished arguing,' Tweed interjected, 'is there a deadline for this meeting with Eddie?'

'Yes, midnight at the latest. Tweed, you can travel in
my car. Marler will follow in his own transport. Paula, I suggest you wait upstairs with Monica until we get back.
Monk's Alley off Covent Garden is a dangerous lonely place
at this hour.'

Tweed jumped out of his car, ran over to the front passenger seat in Newman's car. He waved to Marler. Before Newman could switch on the engine Paula had darted over and climbed in the rear seat behind Tweed. She didn't mince her words.

'Bob Newman, I'm a big girl now. Dangerous? What do
you think it was like in that underground mine when I found
out who was the murderer who had killed five people? So,
from now on . . .' she leaned forward and punched his
shoulder '. . . no more lectures from you, thank you very
much.'

Newman, uncertain, glanced at Tweed, who smiled.

'She's perfectly right. Let's get moving . . .'

London on a bitter night in February was deserted. There was hardly any other traffic and no pedestrians had ven
tured out. As they approached the labyrinth of small streets
near Covent Garden Paula was checking her .32 Browning
by feel. Satisfied, she unbuttoned her overcoat so she could reach the weapon swiftly.

Suddenly Marler overtook them, one hand waving
Newman down through his open window. Engines were
switched off and Marler jumped out and ran back to
them. He spoke to Newman, who had lowered his win
dow.

'You wait here while I check the situation. Eddie might
be alarmed if three of us appear. Back in a tick . . .'

It was a long tick. Paula saw Marler move silently in his
rubber-soled shoes, then disappear down to the right. Pre
sumably he had reached Monk's Alley. She felt impatient
but this was Marler's exercise.

There were no street lights at this point. Both Marler
and Newman had turned off their headlights. Paula kept
looking back, gazing out of the side windows, unable to
sit still. Tweed, though, was motionless, but she could tell
from the angle of his head that he was keeping an eye on
the rear-view mirror.