The Cauldron (51 page)

'If both accept my invitation they will arrive separately.' Tweed told her. 'One hour apart. Both, I suspect, have an avid desire for money. I offered each one ten thousand dollars.'

He folded the map quickly as someone pressed the bell outside. He nodded to Newman to let the visitor come in.

'Incidentally.' Tweed said quickly, 'you can all join in the grilling if you see an opportunity I've missed.'

Newman unlocked the door, stood aside and Maurice Prendergast walked in. So far as Paula could tell he was stone-cold sober. Wearing a smart blue chalk-striped business suit, he looked around in surprise as Newman locked the door behind him.

'I thought this meeting, Tweed, was going to be just between the two of us.'

'Do sit down, Maurice. I like my friends to be present when we are having a pleasant chat. Something to drink?'

'Sparkling water would be acceptable. Look, Tweed, before we start talking I'd like to see the colour of your money.'

Fishing behind a cushion, Tweed produced a fat envelope, opened it, showed Maurice the wad of one-hundred-dollar bills it held.

Ten thousand dollars there.' Tweed said in a grim voice. 'I know you'll take my word for it.'

He thrust the envelope back behind the cushion while Newman raided the minibar, poured a glass of water, plonked it on the table in front of Maurice, who had sat down facing Tweed.

'Too much light in here.' Tweed remarked. 'All this glaring sunshine. A bit like it was in Cornwall, don't you think, Maurice?'

Marler closed the curtains and stood in front of them with his arms folded. Maurice frowned, stared round, caught Paula's bleak expression.

'What the hell is going on?' Maurice demanded in his gentleman-like voice.

'You're about to earn ten thousand dollars. Or are you so flush with money from your secret work that a mere ten thousand doesn't interest you?'

'What secret work?'

'Here and in Cornwall. You tell me.'

Maurice lifted a finger, eased it round his collar as though it was uncomfortable. He looked back at Paula again, who continued to gaze at him bleakly.

'What the bloody hell are you on about?' he demanded.

'I'm on about the fact that Vincent Bernard Moloch built up a network of informers in that cosy little community down in Cornwall. That he's repeated the exercise here. Very odd to find you spending time here when you only have a pension to live on. Unless, of course, you have a far more lucrative source of income.'

'And where would I get that from?'

'From Moloch, of course. And it's interesting, Maurice,' Tweed hammered on, 'that most of the time, even at this hour, you appear to be drinking. Yet this morning you turn up here as sober as a judge. Thought you'd better have your wits about you? Was that it?'

'It's my business if I like the odd drink...'

"The odd drink!' Paula burst out. 'You've been sozzled up to your eyebrows every day - until today. You drink like a fish.'

'Didn't expect that from you, Paula.'

'Are you trying to kid us up you don't knock back drink like it was the water you're drinking now?'

Maurice was drinking from the glass Newman had supplied, when Paula asked the question. He spluttered, dripping water down his front. Newman took a napkin, started dabbing him dry. Maurice snatched the napkin out of his hand.

'Easy now.' Newman warned as he refilled another glass and replaced the one Maurice had been using.

'I've had enough of this.'

Maurice started to get up. Newman's hand clapped down hard on his shoulder, forcing him back into his seat.

'I'm just beginning,' Tweed told him. 'What about Forth Navas? Where were you when that poor devil Adrian Penkastle was stabbed to death?'

'How do I know?'

'If you don't, who does? And how were you able to afford the air fare here? What are you living on? Or should I ask who are you living off?'

'That's my business. You make me sound like a pimp.'

'Are you a pimp, then?' Marler asked casually.

'I'll break your friggin' neck,' Maurice raged.

'It's been tried before,' Marler replied. 'So far with little success. You haven't answered Tweed's question. Where do you get the money from?'

'I save up to come over here, to get away from winter back home. I live in that claustrophobic Forth Navas because the rent is cheap. If you must know. I'd like to go now - begging your permission, Mr Tweed,' he said sarcastically.

'Maurice, here is your fee. Of course you can go.'

Prendergast stared in disbelief at the envelope Tweed was handing to him. He took it cautiously, as though expecting it to be snatched from his grasp. Then he stood up, looked directly at Tweed.

'I didn't know you went in for this sort of interrogation.'

'It's an emergency, Maurice.' Tweed said quietly. "Thank you for coming.'

"Thank you for nothing...'

When he had gone Tweed sat back on the couch. He made a dismissive gesture with one hand.

'Now we shall see.'

'See what?' Paula queried. 'We didn't seem to get much out of him.'

'Wait. Maurice is shaken, in a furious temper. I think he'll drive off. Butler will follow him. If Maurice goes to a phone we'll know he's phoning his master. At Black Ridge.'

Butler was expert at tailing a suspect without his target knowing he was being followed. Behind the wheel of the BMW he followed Maurice Prendergast away from Spanish Bay and into Carmel. En route Prendergast passed several public call booths, stopped at none of them.

Inside Carmel he drove up a steep avenue towards the top of the town. Parking near The Pine Inn hotel, he checked his watch, then hurried along a side street. Butler cruised slowly after him, saw Prendergast enter a small restaurant. Little Swiss Cafe.

Butler drove past slowly, glanced inside, gripped the wheel in surprise. Prendergast was sitting at a window table. Facing him was Vanity Richmond. Already they seemed engaged in a lively conversation. Prendergast was smiling while Vanity laughed.

Driving back to the nearest phone booth he could remember, Butler called Tweed, reported to him.

'So it doesn't look as though Maurice is your spy inside Moloch's camp.' Newman decided.

Tweed had just told them what Butler had seen and said. There was a silence as Tweed mulled over what he had heard. Paula was the first to break the silence.

'What Butler told us doesn't prove Maurice innocent.' she protested. 'Instead of using a phone he could have passed on his information to Vanity. After all, she is still VB's personal assistant. She could drive back to Black Ridge and inform VB about Maurice's interrogation. Maurice could just have realized he was being followed.'

Tweed didn't react. He still seemed to be trying to solve a difficult problem. The phone rang about an hour later. Grenville had still not appeared for his appointment. Paula took the call.

'It's Hoarse Voice again.' she said.

Tweed took the phone, listened, asked the caller to repeat something. Then he put down the phone, looking serious.

'Have any of you heard of Moss Landing?' he enquired.

'It's not like McGee's Landing, I hope.' responded Paula.

'No. It's rather a weird place on the coast. It lies north of Monterey on the way to Santa Cruz. It's the kind of place you pass driving to San Francisco which you never notice ... I remember it well the last time I was over here.'

'So you noticed it.' Marler commented.

'It's my job to notice things other people miss. It's a bit off-side from the main highway. It's also a port for certain shipping coming in from the Pacific.'

'So what's significant about Moss Landing?' Paula wanted to know.

'I've just heard that there's another huge dredger -similar to the
Baja
- operating offshore. I think we ought to go and take a look.'

'What about Grenville?' Newman asked. 'You were going to question him when he arrives.'

'He's very late.' Tweed checked his watch. 'I don't think he's coming.'

'Isn't that in itself suspicious?' Paula suggested.

'Maybe. Now, I think we'll all go to Moss Landing. We don't know what might be waiting for us...'

After finishing her full English breakfast at the Little Swiss Cafe, saying goodbye to Maurice, Vanity drove back along the coast road to Black Ridge. At one stage she patted her stomach. She'd eaten two fried eggs, the very appetizing American streaky bacon and potatoes, all washed down with strong coffee.

Well, she thought, you may be putting on weight but this is the moment to keep up your strength.

She didn't have to use the speakphone at the entrance to announce her arrival. Brand had seen her coming, had opened the gates. He was waiting for her on the terrace as she parked.

'VB wants to see you. Now. Yesterday.'

'You mean immediately?' she asked sweetly and swept past him.

He glowered viciously, but by then she had disappeared inside the mansion. Moloch was waiting for her in his office. He invited her to sit down, asked if she'd like come coffee.

'Thank you, but I'm awash with it. I gather you wanted to see me. Brand displayed his usual good manners.'

'Brand doesn't know the meaning of the word manners. Vanity, this is very confidential.'

He had shared many confidences with her. For years he had regarded the right woman as far more trustworthy than any man. A high-ranking male always had his eye on Moloch's job, was capable of the most elaborate intrigue. There had been many abrupt sackings the moment a man close to him stepped over the line.

'Understood.' was all Vanity said.

'America is a cesspit. Society over here, as I've explained to you before, has collapsed. In private life - as in public - anything goes. I've had enough of the place -its lack of any ethics or morals. Which is why I've been transferring my assets secretly to the East.'

'Not to Russia, I hope.'

'Of course not. No, to Asia, to the Middle East. The moderate element in the Muslim world still reveres the family, can still keep to a business deal, once concluded. I'd like you to come with me - in the same capacity you have here. But with a large increase in salary.'

"That's very generous of you.' Vanity paused. 'When were you thinking of leaving for the Middle East?'

'You know me.' He smiled. 'Once I've made up my mind I get on with it. I may leave any day now. First stop, Britain.'

'May I sleep on it?' she suggested. 'I do have that new job in New York waiting for me. And I've signed the draft contract.'

'Draft?' Moloch smiled again. 'You mean you haven't yet signed the final contract?'

"That's the position.'

'If they kick up I'll buy them out. Everyone is for sale.'

'I'm not.'

'I didn't mean you.' he said hastily. 'I was referring to the potential new employer in New York. If he wants compensation because you've changed your mind I'll pay him off.'

Inwardly Vanity was amused. Nothing stopped VB when he wanted something. It was like trying to stand in the path of a tornado.

'I'd still like to sleep on it.' she insisted.

'Do that. I'll triple your present salary.'

"Thank you.' She stood up. 'Now I have a pile of work I need to get through...'

While they were talking Ethan walked into Joel Brand's office. He hadn't bothered to knock and this irritated Brand. He thought everyone - except VB - should knock before they entered his room. But he was too smart to protest. Ethan, he sneered to himself, was VB's little pet.

'What is it?' he rasped.

'Moss Landing. You still have guards on the waterfront there checking for suspicious intruders, I assume.'

'You assume wrongly. I had a team up there for weeks and no one suspect ever appeared. So I withdrew them.'

'Withdrew them!' Ethan began to get excited, his voice was shrill. 'Are you mad?'

Brand made a supreme effort to control himself. If anyone was stark raving crazy it was Ethan Benyon. Out of sight below the edge of his desk he clenched his huge fists. Ethan went on yelling at him.