The Greek Key (49 page)

'My pleasure . . .'

Arriving at the airport, Newman parked two vehicles behind the taxi Seton-Charles was travelling in. He stood behind him in the queue for checking in, heard the Professor being booked aboard Swissair flight 303 to Zurich, left the queue. Tweed must be informed at once.

Leaning against a wall, Kalos watched, took a quick picture of Newman. Earlier he had done the same thing when Anton arrived. Anton was flying to Zurich. Why? He waited until the queue had evaporated, approached the check-in girl.

'That Englishman with the thinning brown hair, rimless glasses. Where is he flying to?'

"I'm afraid we can't give out information . . .'

Kalos placed his police identity card in front of her, waited.

'Oh, I suppose that's different.' She hesitated, Kalos waited.

'He's a Professor Seton-Charles,' she said. 'First-class seat on Swissair flight 303. Departs 5 p.m., arrives Zurich 6.45 p.m.'

Thank you,' said Kalos.

He thought about what he had learned as he drove back to police headquarters. Anton had arrived three-quarters of an hour ahead of Seton-Charles. A trick. Kalos was certain the two men were collaborators: they had taken the precaution of not appearing to know each other. They'd sit in different sections of the plane to keep up the masquerade. But Anton had attended the Professor's seminar.

He tapped his fingers or, the wheel as he waited at a red traffic light. What the hell could he do now to find out where they had gone? Then he had an idea. Switzerland . . .

Arriving in his office, Kalos locked the door before he made the call to Berne, capital of Switzerland - and headquarters of the Federal Police. He was lucky. Arthur Beck, chief of the organization, was in his office.

Kalos spoke tersely, explained what had happened, gave details of the flight. He described both Anton and Seton-Charles. Could Beck help?

'Something to do with drugs?' Beck enquired, still speaking in English.

'Could be,' Kalos replied non-committally.

'I'll go myself,' Beck decided. 'Anything to help Peter Sarris. I have time to get a chopper from the local airport, Belp, fly to Kloten Airport outside Zurich. I'll be there to watch the passengers disembarking. Which is most important?'

'Anton,' Kalos said after a moment's thought. 'Maybe you will call me back. Sarris is up to his ears.'

'Consider it done,' Beck replied and broke the connection.

Kalos put down the phone. Sarris had no idea what he'd started, and Kalos had no intention of letting him know. If it all blew up in his face, Sarris could disclaim all knowledge of what his assistant had been up to. As he began to record the latest details in his secret file Kalos was worried. Had he been right to give Beck priority in watching Anton?

34

'Newman here, speaking on the Embassy phone. Can you hear me?'

'Very clearly, Bob,' Tweed assured him. 'What's happened?'

'Seton-Charles is on his way back to England. At least, I assume he is . . .' He gave an account of his recent discoveries, including the appearance of Anton.

'You're probably right,' Tweed agreed. 'He's a devious so-and-so. Remember how he tried to make sure he wasn't followed to London Airport on his way out. My guess is he'll catch another flight back here tomorrow. At least that means you only have to guard Christina. One of you can start poking around again. How are you and Marler getting on?'

'Like two long-lost brothers.' He nearly added, 'who hate the sight of each other,' but kept his mouth shut. 'First I'm going to have another talk with Christina about Anton. Do you really need both of us to stay on in this inferno?'

'Yes. If you can stand the heat.' Tweed paused. 'You see, when the right moment arrives I'm flying out there. I may need back-up. I must grill that scoundrel, Petros.'

'Be it on your own head. He's got armed shepherds patrolling the whole area.'

'We'll cope. Keep in touch . . .'

Tweed sat back and looked at Monica and Paula. 'One bit of good news. Anton still seems to be floating round Athens. I didn't like the idea of that Greek on the prowl over here. And Seton-Charles is probably on his way back to Exmoor. I sense things are hotting up. Monica, warn Butler at Porlock Weir about the Professor possibly returning. Maybe at long last we're getting somewhere.'

The grim news reached them the following day.

In her room at the Stafford Hotel Jill Kearns checked herself in the mirror. Her bedside clock registered 6.25 a.m. She eyed herself critically, fiddled with her single golden plait. That would have to do. And how many people would be about at this hour? Not the point, she thought: never appear in public except at your best.

She was wearing a form-fitting pale green sweater, a white pleated skirt and flat-heeled shoes. Just the outfit for her early morning walk before breakfast.

A girl of firm routines, she always walked on the moor every morning before breakfast. Always left the house at precisely 6.30 a.m. Stuart, for some unknown reason, found her routine irritating. 'Should be in the bloody Army,' he'd told her. He never accompanied her; at least he hadn't for the last few years.

She said 'Good morning' to the hall porter and went out of the hotel, turning left into St James's Place. No one else about, thank God. It was a fresh morning, was going to be one of those rare fine days with the sun shining and the warmth on your face.

Reaching the end of the deserted street, she came out into St James's Street. Again no one in sight. Only a Jaguar parked by the kerb a score of yards further down the street, facing her way, the engine ticking over. She took a deep breath and made for the pedestrian crossing.

She was half-way across it when she heard the Jag coming. It had started moving the moment she stepped off the pavement. She glanced to her right, then froze in horror. The car was driving straight at her.

She began to run, taking a diagonal course to cross the whole street. Glancing again over her shoulder as she reached a point just midway across where a side street opposite entered from St James's Square, she had a glimpse of the driver behind the tinted glass.

He wore a chauffeur's cap pulled well down over his head and a pair of tinted goggles like motorbike riders affected. She ran faster, thanking her lucky stars she was wearing her flat-heeled shoes. The Jag was turning now. corning at tremendous speed.

The radiator slammed into her, lifted her whole body and threw it against the railings of a basement area on the far side of the street. She twisted under the immense impact. Then her lifeless body lay sagged against the railings. Blood from her smashed jaw flowed down over her green sweater, spreading like a lake.

The Jaguar picked up more speed, vanished in the distance as it turned into St James's Square. Suddenly it was very quiet.

35

'You're not going to like this,' Monica, who had rushed into Tweed's office, paused for breath. In her hands she clutched a copy of the
Evening Standard
.

'You're back early from lunch,' said Tweed as Paula jerked her head up from the file she was studying.

'It's awful,' Monica went on, sinking into her seat. 'I know how you liked her.'

'What is it?' Tweed asked, very alert.

'It's in the stop press. A Mrs Stuart Kearns, staying at the Stafford Hotel, was killed by a hit-and-run driver early this morning.'

'Show me.' Tweed's tone was Weak. He read the item, looked at Monica. 'Let's get this in the right sequence. Which hotel did you track those three down to? Something like a theatre.'

'Barrymore, Kearns and Robson are staying at the Lyceum Hotel. A modest place just off the Strand, close to Trafalgar Square.'

'And it says here the so-called accident occurred in St James's Street. Not very far from the Lyceum. Phone up the place. I want to know if they're still there.'

He stood up, shoved his hands inside his jacket pockets, began pacing up and down close to the window, his brow furrowed.

'They've checked out,' Monica told him as she put down the phone. 'All three left mid-morning. No forwarding address.'

'Get Chief Superintendent Walton of Special Branch. Urgently.'

'Why did you say "so-called accident"?' enquired Paula.

'Because I don't believe it. Jill Kearns had all her marbles. That newspaper item says it happened before seven in the morning. How much traffic is about at that hour?'

He broke off to take the call. That you, Bill? Tweed here.'

'You on scrambler? Good.' Walton's voice was its normal buoyant tone. 'Are you still forging my Special Branch identity cards in that Engine Room? I don't know why I let you get away with it.'

'You supplied the original model for copying,' Tweed reminded him. 'We agreed total secrecy could only be maintained if we did the job. And if anyone queries one they'll be put through to you.'

'Someone has queried one,' Walton warned him. 'Recently. A Colonel Barrymore. I told him you belonged to my department, that he'd better answer any questions you put to him. Very supercilious, he was. Plummy-voiced type. Now, what can I do for you?'

'Early this morning a Mrs Stuart Kearns, staying at the Stafford Hotel, was killed by an alleged hit-and-run driver. There's a stop press in the
Standard
. I think it was murder. I'm going to give you details of three possible suspects. They were staying last night at the Lyceum Hotel off the Strand. I'd like you to phone Chief Inspector Jarvis of Homicide at the Yard. Warn him, but don't mention me.'

'Why not?' Walton enquired. 'You and Bernard were pals during your old days at the Yard.'

'Because I need to maintain a low profile. Here are the details, including the addresses of the three men. Incidentally, they've left the Lyceum . . .'

He read out where Barrymore, Robson and Kearns lived on Exmoor. Walton said OK, he'd call the Yard. Say he'd had a tip from a very reliable source. And they must have lunch one day.

'What are you up to?' asked Paula when Tweed had finished the call.

'Pressure. I want maximum pressure put on those three. It's possible one - or all - of them will break. Though I doubt it.'

'You really think they ran down poor Jill?'

Tweed began cleaning his glasses with his handkerchief. 'It's a long coincidence. The morning Jill is killed the three of them are staying at a hotel about half a mile away.'

'But you moved her to the Stafford for safety - and they only knew she always stayed at Brown's. How could any of them have found her?'

'I'm afraid I blundered. I may even be responsible for her death. By mistake, anyway. I think she was being watched during that afternoon I went to Brown's for tea. Someone got frightened of what she might have told me. I suspect I was followed when I walked up Albemarle Street and didn't notice.'

That's ridiculous,' burst out Monica. 'You always check . . .'

'On the other hand,' Paula said quietly, 'I was following her for three days. I could have been spotted. And I was with Tweed when he visited all three men on Exmoor.'

'Pure surmise.'

Tweed dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. Secretly he was pretty sure she was right. But it was not something he wanted on Paula's conscience.

'Then,' Paula continued, 'they would have seen her change her hotel to the Stafford. And I bet that was a morning habit of hers on Exmoor. To stroll over the moor. Always at the same time.'

'Forget it!' Tweed snapped. 'We have to decide what to do next.'

'What do you suggest?' asked Monica.

She sensed an atmosphere of depression in the room. Worse, a mood of guilt that one - or both - of her colleagues had caused the killing of Jill Kearns. Paula had sunk into

a brooding silence, so unlike her normal buoyancy. It was Tweed who changed the mood.

'We take action. Monica, call The .Anchor at Porlock Weir. Tell Butler - or Nield - to call me back urgently. Hell know what that means - use a public phone box. I want to find out if Barrymore and Co. have returned to Exmoor, Then we'll move.*

'How?' asked Paula, lifting her head.

'You and I will drive down there at once. Partridge was murdered on Exmoor while those three were there. Jill was murdered in London - while they were here. I'm going to ask each of them a lot of tough questions.'

Monica was already dialling The Anchor. She spoke for a short time, then put down the phone. 'Both of them are out,' she told Tweed.