The Greek Key (53 page)

'I'll give you one. You were all members of the commando raid on Siros. Andreas Gavalas was murdered. A fortune in diamonds he was carrying for the Greek Resistance was stolen. You were all based at the Antikhana Building in Cairo. You had returned from the raid, Ionides was murdered. You were all here on Exmoor a good few weeks ago. Partridge was murdered. You were all staying in London at the Lyceum Hotel - only a short distance from St James's Street. Jill Kearns was murdered. How much more coincidence do you think I can swallow?'

Robson laid a restraining hand on Barrymore's arm. He asked the question in the manner of a doctor enquiring about a patient's symptoms.

'Why do you think that Jill was murdered?'

'Because someone who knew she always stayed at Brown's saw me having tea with her. Whoever it was became worried she might tell me too much.'

'Stretching it a bit, aren't you?'

'Possibly. Until I link it up with the fact you must all have known she made a habit of staying at Brown's, that she made a habit of going out for a walk at that time every single day of her life. The killer followed her to the Stafford where I asked her to go, hoping to ensure her safety. Where were you all at 6.30 a.m. that fatal morning?'

Barrymore opened his mouth to protest. 'What damned impudence. I'll see you in hell before . . .'

'Best to reply,' Robson intervened. 'We all got up early - the habit of a lifetime. Goes back to Army days. By early I mean about 5.30 a.m. None of us have breakfast. There were tea-making facilities in the bedrooms. I spent my time packing, then studied some medical journals. No one to verify that.' His smile was wintry. 'Barrymore had gone for a walk - I know that because I went to his room and there was no reply. Kearns was also out walking. It was a fine day. Doesn't help a lot, does it?'

'Not a lot,' Tweed agreed. 'You were out for a walk, Barrymore?'

'You heard what Captain Robson said. I'm getting a trifle fed up with you . . .'

'And I'm fed up with the fact that my old friend, Sam Partridge, was foully murdered,' blazed Tweed. 'I'll move heaven and earth to find out who did that.'

Paula glanced at Tweed in surprise. She'd never known such an outburst during an interrogation. Then she saw the supercilious smile of satisfaction on Barrymore's face. He'd needled Tweed. She glanced back as Tweed began cleaning his glasses on his handkerchief and nearly sucked in her breath. Tweed had put on an act. She tensed: she was witnessing a duel between Tweed and the three men. Kearns spoke for the first time.

'That cleaning woman. Did she get a description of the driver? And what about tracing the owner of the Jaguar?'

'Stolen from outside a night club near the Lyceum Hotel where you stayed. Some fool of a yuppie got drunk, left the keys in the ignition, was persuaded to walk back to his flat in case he was stopped by the police.'

Tweed stood up and Paula closed her notebook, which carried a complete record of the conversation. Barrymore remained seated, his voice sardonic.

'You know your own way out. Mrs Atyeo will be waiting to lock up after you leave the premises. Don't come back.'

Tweed sat behind the wheel of the Mercedes where he had parked it in a lay-by twenty yards or so away before arriving at Quarme Manor. Butler, who had followed them from Porlock Weir, then waited, parked behind the Mercedes, appeared at Tweed's window.

'Next move?' he enquired.

'I want to ask Robson something on his own. His Saab is in the courtyard. Let's hope he comes out soon. You wait here. Then if Barrymore appears, follow him.'

'There's a better place for me to wait. I can back my car just a short distance and into a field. That way I won't be conspicuous if he comes this way.' Butler paused. 'Is it a good idea my leaving you? I'm the one with the gun.'

'It's broad daylight still. Not to worry. You back your car - and where is Nield?'

'No idea. We'll see him sometime at The Anchor when he's good and ready. Does Barrymore know where you're staying?'

'No. I said I'd phone him back when he wanted to call me.'

Paula stretched her arms to ease the tension out of herself as Butler left them. 'Did you get anything out of that interview? It was a bit fraught at times.'

'Two things you might have noticed. The absence of one of them asking a question. And someone else did say something.'

'And now you're going to leave me dangling. I'll ask you again. You think they're all in it together? Or just one of them?'

'Just one.'

'I'm too smart to ask which. Lord, it's getting darker.'

Earlier there had been hazy sunshine during their drive to the Manor. Now low heavy clouds were rolling in, obscuring the crests and higher slopes of the moor. It began to spot with rain on the windscreen. Then the Saab came out, turned in the other direction and drove off.

'We've got him,' said Tweed and followed as the Saab vanished round a bend. He drove slowly and when they reached Endpoint Robson had disappeared. The Saab was parked just below the terrace and Tweed gazed towards the Doone Valley. When he got out he stretched his legs, pacing up and down.

'Time to beard the lion in his den,' he remarked and they walked up the steep drive. It was very quiet, a silence Tweed felt pressing down on him. Then he stopped. The drive continued round the right-hand side of the bungalow. Parked next to the end of the building was a canvas-covered four-wheel-drive vehicle. Dark-coloured.

Robson's sister, May, opened the door, welcomed them inside and showed them into the sitting room. She asked them to sit down.

'Oliver is writing out his medical records in the conning tower. I'll just fetch him.'

'Conning tower?' Tweed asked.

'Well, I think it looks more like a lighthouse - the tower at the end. But Oliver calls it the conning tower. Back in just a minute.'

Her thick hair seemed even greyer in the daylight. She wore a flowered print dress over her ample form. On this second visit Tweed noticed she had the same pale blue eyes as her brother, eyes which had a remoteness about them.

Robson appeared quickly, gave his shy smile. He took out his pipe as he sat down and began to fill it with tobacco from an old leather pouch.

'Something else?' he enquired.

'Yes. Sorry to trouble you again - but it was Barrymore's idea I met all three of you at his place. Going back to that morning at the Lyceum Hotel, you said you went along to the colonel's room and he was out for a walk. How did you know he was out?'

'First there was a
Do Not Disturb
notice hanging from the handle of his door. He always does that when he goes out - very security conscious, our CO. That way any burglar will assume someone is sleeping inside. Don't bother myself.'

'You said "first". What else was there?' Tweed persisted.

'I wanted to ask him something. So I banged on his door to make sure. He's a light sleeper, like most Army types. He was definitely not there. You sound like a detective.' He smiled to take any sting out of his remark.

'I used to be one.' Tweed paused. 'With Homicide at the Yard.' Robson nodded and puffed at his pipe as Tweed continued. 'What did the three of you do the night before in the evening - after you'd arrived at the Lyceum?'

'Barrymore had some business to transact. Kearns and I went to Rules for dinner. The colonel joined us later.'

'And after your meal you did what?'

'Kearns and I went back to the hotel. Barrymore went for a walk. Said he felt like a breath of fresh air. He's a keep fit sort of chap.'

Tweed stood up. 'Well, thank you. Sorry to disturb your work.'

That's all right. Do you mind if May shows you out? I've quite a workload to get through. There's a bug going round and I've been rushed off my feet. I make quick notes after seeing a patient. Then when I get the time I make a proper record. Ah, here is May.'

'I was going to ask if anyone would like coffee?' she said.

'They're just leaving. Perhaps you'd show them out . . .'

She accompanied them to the front door, Tweed said 'Goodbye,' and she closed the door.

Tweed walked down the steps off the terrace and strolled round to the end of the bungalow. Paula followed as he stood looking at the four-wheel-drive vehicle. Along the bodywork of the passenger seat side at the front was painted a word. Renegade.

'Can't be the same one,' Paula whispered. 'Mrs Larcombe would have noticed that word. It's in huge letters and painted white.'

'No, she wouldn't have done,' he observed, 'it's painted on the far side - the wrong side when she looked out of her window.'

'Can I help you?'

It was May who stood just behind them. Neither had heard her approach on the tarred drive. Tweed smiled and indicated the vehicle. 'We were just admiring it. In bad weather it must be a godsend.'

'Oh, that isn't Oliver's. He borrows it from Mr Kearns.'

39

Inside the isolated public call box near Simonsbath Seton-Charles pulled at his lips with his thumb and forefinger, He was waiting for the phone to ring, had been waiting a good ten minutes. Jupiter insisted he arrived in good time.

His car was parked off the road amid a clump of trees: an empty car left in the middle of nowhere in full view could attract attention. He looked round through the windows for the fifth time. The deserted road spiralled away up on to the moor. Mist curled down over the ridges. If the call didn't come soon it was going to be a difficult drive back to his bungalow.

He shivered. The chill seemed to penetrate the box. He felt the cold after his stay in Athens. He grabbed the phone when it began to ring.

'Clement here,' he said. 'Speaking from , . .' He gave the number of the call box, reversing the last two digits.

The voice began speaking immediately, the tone clipped, the accent upper-crust. No time wasted on greetings, Straight into the instructions.

'We need two furniture vans for the move. In Norwich there's a firm called Camelford Removals. Just gone bankrupt. Selling everything off. Purchase two vehicles, large ones. Pay in cash to save time. Store them in the barn at Cherry Farm in Hampshire. Make sure the doors are double padlocked. Two sets of keys. I want you to drive there tonight after dark. Put up at a hotel in Norwich.'

'I can't drive two vans back myself . . .'

Think, man. Store one in a garage in the Norwich area tomorrow. Drive the other to Cherry Farm. With a motorbike inside. Use the bike to get back to Norwich. Then drive the second van back to the farm. The bike is expendable. I want both vehicles at the farm two days from now. Camelford Removals' address is ... Got it?'

'Yes,' said Seton-Charles. 'You're sure the vans will still be available? Not already sold?'

'My dear chap, the advertisement said they have six vans they want to shift. Bound to be at least two left, providing you're in Norwich first thing tomorrow. That's it . . .'

The connection was broken. Seton-Charles hurried back to his Volvo station wagon, backed it on to the road, started driving for his home on the bungalow estate.

He had no idea of the identity of the man who had called him. He thought the codename Jupiter rather pretentious, but driving along he realized Jupiter was a first-rate organizer. Now he'd drive to Norwich during the late evening, find a hotel. He'd have to park his Volvo in a lock-up, buy a second-hand motorcycle.

When he'd purchased the two furniture vans he'd park the motorbike inside one, then drive it to Cherry Farm, an uninhabited farmhouse he'd visited earlier. Next he'd ride the bike back to Norwich, collect the second van, drive it to the farm. Finally, he could use the bike to ride back again to Norwich to pick up his Volvo. The bike would be dumped in some convenient wood. Job done.

But what could Jupiter want with a couple of furniture vans? He couldn't even guess. But the operation-whatever it might be - was under way. And there had been a hint of urgency in the way he'd been given his instructions.

'Do go easy on Kearns,' Paula said as Tweed parked the Mercedes just short of Woodside House. 'Remember, his wife has just been killed.' She looked up. 'Good Lord, it's Pete.'

Nield leant on the edge of Tweed's window. He looked very tired. He winked at Paula and then spoke to Tweed.

'It's a small world, as they say. Seton-Charles has come back from Greece. I've been checking for days. He's just returned to that bungalow of his at the end of the cul-de-sac after making a covert phone call.'