The Main Chance (34 page)

`I've kept my word. Let you tell Tweed what has happened. Now please, if you will, have a rest in the library while I have a private word with Mr Tweed'

Crystal walked slowly away and into the library. She left the door open. Paula realized she was going to listen to make sure Hammer got it right.

`All the details, please,' Tweed requested.

`Killed the same way the others were. One of those unpleasant — I mean horrible — collars slipped over his head and neck from behind him in his apartment. He was sitting in a chair. Throat ripped out. I called Buchanan, who called Professor Saafeld. The Professor came straight down in the middle of the night in his Rolls with a team of medics. Until the autopsy, he calculates the murder took place between midnight and 2 a.m. this morning, subject to the usual et ceteras. I've interviewed everyone and they were all, so they say, asleep alone in their apartments. No alibis again.'

Where is Lavinia?' Tweed asked. 'She usually opens the gates.'

Crystal came walking steadily out of the library. Paula marvelled at her self-control. She spoke firmly. `I'm worried about Lavinia.'

`Why?' Tweed asked. Where is she?'

`Just after breakfast Marshal said he was going down to Seacove. He pressed Lavinia to come with him.'

`
Pressed?
' Tweed queried.

`She didn't seem too pleased at the idea. She accompanied him to the car dressed in that large overcoat because it was cold at that hour. He leaned over from the driving seat, caught hold of her by the arm and she agreed when he said he needed some company. She got in and Marshal drove off.'

`How long ago was this?' Tweed asked anxiously.

`About an hour ago. Oh, there was something else peculiar. I went out to Snape's cabin and found the gun cupboard had been broken into. Someone has stolen the Winchester shotgun.'

`Hammer,' Tweed said speaking rapidly, 'I'm leaving you in charge again. We have to rush off.'

`Where to?' asked Paula as they ran down the steps. `To Seacove,' he replied as he jumped behind the wheel.

`Why?' she asked as she settled beside him.

`I just hope we're in time — to prevent a fourth murder.'

Paula would never forget the long drive to Seacove. Tweed swung round steep bends like a driver at Le Mans, always just inside the speed limit. He avoided the motorway often a short distance above them. He had chosen the country road the motorway had replaced.

`Too much traffic,' he replied when Paula referred to the motorway. 'Heavy trucks delivering to the West Country. That Rolls is an hour ahead of us.'

`What had disturbed you?' she asked.

`The missing Winchester shotgun.'

`You want to get there as fast as we can?'

`That's the idea.

`Then call in at the first garage we come to.' `Can't waste the time.'

`So how do we make it on no petrol? Look at the fuel gauge.'

Tweed glanced down. The needle was close to zero. How much longer before the engine simply stopped? He glanced at Paula.

`Good job somebody aboard has brains.'

`Don't worry.' She touched his arm. 'We're bound to find a petrol station soon'

But are we? He wondered. This was a lonely country road. No car had passed them in the opposite direction for miles. We could be sitting out here in the middle of nowhere for ages, he thought. He kept the anxiety to himself.

The sun blazed down on beautiful countryside. Purple and gold crocuses in clumps flared on the verge, backed by masses of yellow daffodils. Rolling green hills swept up on either side. Spring had at last flourished. Tweed forced himself not to check the position of the needle on the gauge. They were in Dorset now and Paula revelled in the freshness of the world.

They rounded a bend and a hundred yards ahead several pumps were spaced in front of a small petrol station. Paula dug him in the ribs.

`See?' Paula called out to him. 'I'll get out to fill up.'

For Tweed the process seemed to take forever. Then it seemed to take an age for her to pay inside the station. He realized his fingers were rapping quietly on the wheel. He stopped. A tapping on the window on the passenger side. It was Paula. She pointed at the gauge. A full tank. He gave her a great big smile. She came back, sank into her seat.

`The Audi Express is rolling again. Would Leo have let anyone into his apartment at that early morning

hour?'

`He was surrounded by family, people he lived with.

Could have been anyone. Let's hope the weather lasts.'

`Any theory as to why he was killed?' she persisted.

`At a pure guess he may have overheard the unknown spy phoning Calouste to tell him we were all leaving the manor. Now will you please keep quiet. I don't like conversation when I am concentrating on driving at this speed.'

Paula kept very quiet. She knew Tweed was thinking about Leo's brutal murder. In her mind she listed the people who were in the manor that night. Marshal, Lavinia, Warner, Crystal and Mrs Grandy who, so far, had not figured prominently at all in the events at Hengistbury.

She suddenly leaned forward. They were crossing the border into Cornwall. Instead of rolling green hills there were now bleak limestone ridges inland looming towards the sea, which had made its first appearance to their left.

Worse still, the sun had vanished. Drifting in rapidly from the west, menacing black storm clouds filled the sky. So dense, so low there were like mobile mountains. Tweed switched on his headlights. Heavy mist vapours were sliding over the ridges, blotting them out. A wind was rising, smearing the windscreen with the mist. Tweed started his wipers. The atmosphere was abruptly warm and cloying.

`Let's hope they haven't taken out that so-called wonder yacht, as Marshal once called it, in these conditions,' Tweed said aloud to himself.

They crested a ridge, saw ahead the long steeply sloping road and Seacove. In the distance below them they saw the white cottages, bunched together with a gap where the
Sea Sprite
's ramp plunged down to the edge of the pebble beach. No sign of anyone. Paula gave a little gasp.

`What is it?' Tweed asked.

`Look out to the south. That fool Marshal is taking out the yacht across Oyster Bay. And he's heading straight for the gap between the capes. He's steering the vessel out into the ocean. The waves out there are storm-high.'

`Maybe we are too late,' Tweed said quietly.

39

Arriving at the beach they parked the Audi. Paula rushed out and ran through the open door into Marshal's cottage. She was only inside a short time and ran out to where Tweed was standing about ten feet away from the ramp.

`Lavinia's not in the cottage,' she said breathlessly. `The crazy Marshal has taken her aboard.'

`Not completely crazy,' Tweed assured her. 'He's coming back in. Didn't like the look of what he saw.'

No wonder, Paula thought as she stared out at Oyster Bay and what lay outside. A fresh storm was churning the sea into mountainous waves which collided with each other, hurling up massive clouds of spray.

The yacht was racing towards the shore as oceanic waves came into the bay as though pursuing the craft. Paula watched its progress, praying the vessel would make it to the ramp.

`It does look very like a miniature cruise liner,' she remarked. Her voice changed, she gripped Tweed's arm. 'Oh my Lord — he's going off course, must have been gripped by that underwater current.'

Tweed stared. For a few minutes it was very quiet. Paula had the impression she'd heard another engine, then realized that Marshal had adjusted the throttle in a desperate attempt to change course. He failed to do so. The yacht was heading at speed for Pindle Rock. They stood close together in silence as the forward part of the vessel smashed into Pindle with a breaking sound they clearly heard. The forward section seemed to climb up the craggy rocks, then slowly sink back. They were stunned by the next development.

The rear section split away, became a separate craft as doors opened at what became the prow. At the rear an emergency wheelhouse, enclosed with glass, stood above the forward deck with a rudder projecting from the new stern.

`My God!' Paula exclaimed. 'It works.'

`Never thought it would,' Tweed agreed.

He focused his binoculars on the elevated wheelhouse. He saw Marshal with his flamboyant blue peaked cap operating the wheel. He saw the amateur skipper slip into a yellow oilskin, pulling the hood down. To see clearly, the skipper had lowered his front window and was being splashed by the wild sea.

`He might just make the ramp,' Paula shouted now the wind had risen.

`It's possible.'

`Be more optimistic,' she snapped.

`There's a giant of a wave coming up behind him.' `It might just help him to make the shore. Do be positive,' Paula chided.

`There's blood on Pindle Rock,' Tweed warned. `He must have been injured. It was one hell of a crash when the ship hit.'

`Possibly.'

`You have to be so downbeat?'

`I have to be so realistic,' he shot back at her.

`I don't see any blood,' she argued, scanning the rock with her binoculars.

`Not now A burst of spray just washed it clean.' `You imagined it,' she snapped.

`You're tense,' he told her. 'Take a deep breath, slow down.'

`I'm never tense,' she snapped again.

`I'm ordering you to take a really deep breath. Now!'

She was almost leaning against him. She took a really deep breath, held it, let it go. Salty air filled her lungs. She felt the tension ease out of her. Tweed had been right.

`Here it comes,' Tweed said cheerfully.

The strange vessel was being hurled in on the crest of a huge wave, skilfully steered to reach the ramp. The engine was switched off to slow it down. It cruised up the ramp close to them, stopped opposite to where they stood. Paula heaved a sigh of relief.

The skipper climbed down steps from the wheelhouse, stomped stiff-legged across the deck, within ten feet of where they stood, staying on the other side of the hull. With a swift movement of oilskin hood and coat were removed, thrown on the deck. Long black hair draped down to the neck. From under the cast-off oilskin coat the Winchester shotgun appeared, pointed point blank at both of them.

`Stay close. Any move and I'll send you both to hell with one blast,' said Lavinia.

40

`Lavinia! What are you doing?'

Paula's voice was full of shock and disbelief. She stared at the hard chin, the white face, the shotgun held so steady in her strong hands.

`Having already murdered Bella, Mrs Carlyle and Leo,' Tweed said in the calm voice he always used in a crisis, 'she now proposes to murder both of us. How, Lavinia, if I may ask, how do you propose to get rid of our bodies?'

`Good question, Mr Tweed. Dump you aboard the deck behind me. Then send the ship out across the bay into the Atlantic. OK with you?' she asked with a sneering smile.

Paula was appalled by the sheer callousness of Lavinia's reply. Her brain was spinning with shock. Lavinia's next words didn't help.

`You've lost count, Mr Tweed. Look at the far side of the deck. Recognize the corpse curled against the hull?'

`Marshal,' he replied promptly. 'With a necklace which has ripped out his throat. Patricide, the murder of one's father, is regarded as the most contemptible of all crimes.'

'
My father?
' Lavinia's voice was venomous. 'I hated him, my pseudo-father. I was conceived when he played with Mrs Mandy Carlyle, the tramp who charged so much a night.
She
was my pseudo-mother. May she rot in hell. My own mother couldn't have a child, desperately wanted one. Marshal had the idea when Mandy Carlyle became pregnant by him to admit what had happened to my real mother. She agreed to go with the Carlyle bag to a dubious expensive nursing home well away from Hengistbury. My real mother had pretended to be pregnant. When I was born my real mother took me back to Hengistbury as her own child. The clinic where it happened faked papers to cover up the impersonation.' Her voice became grimmer. 'Can you visualize how I came to hate my pseudo-father?'