The Cauldron (23 page)

'I suppose you could be right.'

'You do sound dubious, Bob.'

'That cricketer chap I met in a pub near Constantine told me Grenville spends his winters in Monterey.'

'Probably a lot of people would like to spend their winters in California - if they could afford it.'

'Now you've hit the nail on the head. His home, The Grange, shows all the signs of a man hard put to keep up the place. Neglected garden. The outside hasn't seen a coat of paint in years. The furniture inside is old and shabby. What did you think of Maurice Prendergast?' he asked suddenly.

'Different kettle of fish. Seemed decent enough when I met him at his house. But after the dance he turned very nasty. You heard what he said about us - implying that we were having an affair.'

'He'd had a lot to drink. Maybe he just fancies you.'

'Like Vanity seems to fancy you?' she asked quietly. 'I would be interested to hear what you think about her.'

'She thinks a lot of herself, no doubt about that. But she's very controlled. Despite her swift changes of mood she's never shown any sign of losing her temper. Vanity Richmond is very cool.'

'I'd agree with you there. Extremely cool. But my woman's instinct tells me she's up to something, that she isn't all that she seems. Something's just struck me about Grenville. If he's short of money how could he afford to throw that party? Must have cost him a packet.'

'Maybe someone else paid for it...'

'I'm going to see that detective, the private investigator, Linda Standish, after dinner,' Tweed told Monica. 'At Brown's Hotel again.'

'Has something happened?' she asked.

'I don't think she told me this morning everything she knew. Something a bit mysterious about her. A gut feeling.'

'Your gut feelings have always been right so far...'

Tweed carried his jacket. The heat in the London streets was making them feel like airless canyons. He wondered when the heatwave would break as he hailed a taxi.

Linda Standish was already on her way to Brown's inside another cab. She liked to arrive earlier than an appointment - it was part of her technique to catch people off guard.

She was wondering whether to tell Tweed that VB had hired her to find her missing twins. But he had promised her the sum of a hundred thousand dollars. Better keep quiet, she thought to herself. Tweed, the insurance man, might provide information which would help her to earn the huge bonus - a sum she had never seen in her life.

She was seated in the same chair in the lounge at Brown's, drinking coffee, when Tweed came over to her. He shook her hand, sat down facing her, ordered coffee for himself. He kept quiet until the coffee had been served. He had often found that people couldn't stand silence, that they felt they had to say something. Standish was no exception.

'Have you found out who killed my sisters? And I meant to ask you, is there an insurance angle? By which I mean were they heavily insured in case of death?'

'No to the first question. As to the other two I can't be sure yet.'

He was smiling ironically to himself. He had no doubt the murder of Cheryl and Julie Standish had come as a shock to Linda. But it was intriguing that she had asked if they were insured. Had they been, she was obviously hoping, she would be the beneficiary. What a strange mixture human nature was - and how often under the surface there was greed. Money roared, as he had said himself not so long ago.

Tell me ...' he began. 'I have found out that VB, as he's so often known, has a right-hand man, a deputy if you like. A man called Joel Brand.' Tweed was watching Linda closely and saw her eyes flicker. She was not immune to his casual manner. 'You've heard of him?'

'Yes. Both Cheryl and Julie mentioned him.'

'In what way? Did they dislike him?'

'Not so far as I could tell. Both said he was polite and courteous to them.'

'Did he ever come on to either of them - make a play for them?'

'Oh, no. Nothing like that.'

'Did either of them talk to you about what VB was doing?'

'No.' Linda was emphatic. 'Both were very tight-lipped when I brought up that subject. I think that was part of their contract - that they revealed nothing of what they heard or saw at Black Ridge. And he paid them very well. I don't know how much, but they started appearing in more expensive clothes.'

'Surely they must have said something. After all, you were their sister.'

'Not a thing.'

'And did you get any impression of the relationship between VB and Joel Brand from them? I mean who wielded the power?'

'Brand was in charge of most operations, I gathered. But it was VB who took all the decisions. Brand carried them out. To that extent I suppose, he had power.'

'Was there any member of VB's staff either Cheryl or Julie disliked?' Tweed enquired.

'Yes. They both detested his accountant, Byron Landis.'

'May I ask why they detested this man?'

'Of course you may. He treated them as intruders. VB would send one of them to fetch certain documents from Landis. He always insisted on taking the documents to VB himself as though they were spies.'

'Curious.' Tweed drank more coffee, sat back in the chair in his most relaxed manner. 'I appreciate your answering my questions so frankly. Oh, surely VB hired a private investigator to try and trace your sisters?'

Linda Standish had responded to all his previous questions immediately but now she paused. What had been a gentle interrogation stalled. She lifted a hand, smoothed down her straight brown hair.

'Why would he do that?' she eventually asked.

Wrong reply. She should have said she certainly hoped he had - or something like that.

'An obvious move, I'd have thought,' Tweed remarked.

'Well, if he did ...' Linda had recovered her poise, 'I certainly never heard about it.'

Tweed ended the interview, making a sympathetic remark. He offered to get her a taxi but she said she preferred a walk in the glorious weather.

In his taxi on the way back to Park Crescent Tweed felt he had accomplished something. Standish had lied. Why? Had VB hired her? And if she would lie about that had she lied to him about something else?

15

Returning to Park Crescent, the front door was opened by George, the security guard and one-time police sergeant employed by Tweed for years. A short, nimble man with a strong jaw, he put a finger to his lips, whispered.

'You have a visitor in the waiting room. Chief Inspector Buchanan. Monica said to warn you, Mr Tweed.'

"Thank you, George

Tweed opened the door, peered inside where Buchanan was glancing at the latest newspapers. Tweed greeted him, invited him upstairs.

'I know now what it's like,' Buchanan joked as he entered Tweed's office, 'to be held in a prison cell. The door to that room is self-locking.'

'We have to take precautions. Something to drink, Roy? Tea? Coffee?'

'Not this time.' He looked across at Monica as he sat down. 'Although I know Monica makes excellent coffee. Where have you been, Tweed?'

'Out to have my hair cut, if you must know.'

"They did a good job. Makes you look younger.'

"Thank Heaven for small mercies. What brings you here, Roy?'

'Colorado Junction, that American electronics plant in the Thames Valley which was destroyed by a bomb. No casualties. A businessman who lives opposite it has been away for a few days. He called me, said someone was watching the plant twenty-four hours a day before the bomb went off. He thinks the watcher was checking the routine of everyone who worked there.'

'So?'

'No casualties,' Buchanan repeated. "The workforce was mostly British. Our technical people with the Bomb Squad report it was detonated by radio from a distance.'

'So?' Tweed said again.

'It looks as though whoever blew it up was anxious there should be no casualties. Not often that a bomber takes all that trouble.'

'Or the man who ordered the plant's destruction, you're thinking?'

'Now you're ahead of me. Have you any idea who is responsible?' Buchanan asked.

'Could be anyone.'

'Could it be Vincent Bernard Moloch?' Buchanan suggested.

'Your guess is as good as mine.'

'When you get that poker-faced look I know you're concealing something.'

"That comes from staring at myself in the hairdresser's mirror. I dislike getting a haircut. It's a bore.'

'A clever reply.' Buchanan responded. 'And I suppose you personally never knew of Adrian Penkastle? A drunk stabbed to death in Cornwall. Place called Forth Navas.'

'Yes, I know about that.' Tweed said promptly, to Buchanan's surprise.

'He's admitted he knows something.' Buchanan said with mock severity, glancing at Monica.

'If he knows he'll tell you.' Monica said pertly.

'If it suits him. Mind telling me, Tweed, how do you know about him? There's been nothing in the papers. We've kept it quiet.'

'Newman told me. He was down in that area. All the locals were chattering about it in the pubs. It isn't all that often they have a murder to gossip about, I imagine.'

'An interesting fact has emerged.'

Buchanan had produced a map, spread it out over Tweed's empty desk. As he did so Paula walked in with a suitcase. She smiled at Buchanan.

'You were there.' Buchanan accused her. 'So was Tweed.'

'Find Tweed, you sometimes find me there too.' Dumping her suitcase in a cupboard, she ran her fingers through her dark hair. 'Where is there?' she asked.

'Here.' Buchanan pointed to the map and Paula came over to look. 'At Forth Navas. You know the place, Miss Grey?'

'Yes.' She smiled inwardly at Buchanan's frowning reaction to her instant cooperation. 'I went to a dance with Bob Newman. Organized by the local squire, Colonel Grenville.'

'I see.' Buchanan sighed. 'We're talking about Adrian Penkastle.'

"The man who was murdered. So was everyone at the dance. Talking about Penkastle.'

'Well.' Buchanan turned to Tweed while Paula studied the map, 'we find out Penkastle often took a walk along this road by the side of the creek'. Then he vanished. My bet is he was visiting someone. The question is who?'

'Got an answer?' Paula asked him cheerily.

1 hoped either you or Tweed might know the answer.'

"There are a number of houses along that road.' Paula told him. 'Why not send someone down to check each one.'

'I have done just that,' Buchanan said grimly. "Thought I might get a short cut by coming to see you.'

'Don't look at me,' replied Paula.

'And don't look at me,' Tweed added.

'Now you've gone dumb on me.'

'No, we haven't,' Paula told him. 'We've been chattering away to you. Don't frown so often - gives you wrinkles in your forehead.'

'You have no information to give me at all, then?'

'Yes, I have. I've just returned from a holiday in Cornwall. The weather was wonderful. But you know that, Chief Inspector. You were down there yourself.'

'I've never heard of anyone here taking a holiday.' Buchanan grumbled as he folded up the map.

'Oh, I have a good boss,' Paula informed him merrily. 'He thinks we all need a refresher now and again.'

'Which is why the lot of you trooped off down there.' He stood up. 'Pull the other leg, it's got bells on.'

'Don't see any bells,' Paula replied.

'And Tweed hasn't said a word.'

Buchanan prepared to leave. He stared round the office with a dissatisfied expression. "This place is like a bank vault.'

'Have to keep the money somewhere.'

Tweed still hasn't said a word.'

'Don't know how I'd have got in a word edgeways with all of you chirping away like magpies. I'll see you down, Roy,' Tweed offered.

'Don't bother. I should know the way by now.' His tone became ironic. 'Thank you all for your cooperation.'