Blood Storm

35

Nield, waiting in Whitehall near the Cabal's HQ, was taken aback at Benton Macomber's reaction to his approach. He had expected hostility initially. He walked up to Benton as he descended the steps into the side street.

'Benton Macomber, sir?'

'That's right. What can I do for you?'

'I'm Pete Nield of the SIS,' he said, showing his folder. 'I would appreciate a few words with you. I'm investigating the murders of Viola and Marina Vander-Browne.'

Benton would be in his late forties, Nield estimated. He was well built, with unusually wide shoulders which gave him a hunched appearance. His clean-shaven face was bony, the observant eyes greenish, his complexion rugged with a reddish tinge, the mouth full-lipped and sensual. He exuded an air of suppressed energy.

'I'm just going for a quick lunch,' he explained. 'Just a sandwich and a drink at an up-market wine bar at this end of Victoria Street. Why don't you join me? Later it gets busy but it will be quiet now.'

Benton walked with long strides and Nield, being shorter, had to hurry to keep up with him. He's a very fit man, Nield thought as they turned into the wine bar. Neither said another word until they were seated at a table and Benton had ordered for them both after consulting Nield.

Both drank Scotch. Benton sipped his glass, pushed it away. He smiled pleasantly at Nield.

'I drink moderately, unlike Nelson. Doesn't seem to affect his ability to think and act. What is this?' He glanced at the sheet with the dates of both murders, pushed it back.

'I thought those dates might be significant.'

'The first date is when Viola Vander-Browne was savaged and murdered. The second is when her sister, Marina, was killed.'

Nield was taken aback. Benton was so different from what he had expected. It was more like talking to a favourite uncle. He pressed on.

'Where were you on those particular nights between the hours of 11 a.m. and 3 a.m.? You have a remarkable memory,' he added.

'A phenomenal memory. Born with it, or inherited it. Who knows? But specific hours on two different nights? That's pushing it a bit. Wait a minute.'

Benton took out a pocket diary. He then extracted a pair of rimless glasses from a case, put them on. The transformation rattled Nield's nerves. Benton glanced at Nield, then looked at his diary before staring at Nield. The rimless glasses had converted Benton into something sinister. The greenish eyes pierced Nield's. Sinister was not a strong enough word.

'The night Viola died I was with a girl, Patsy, in a flat I rent in a mews off Mayfair. She left at 10.30 p.m. She'd exhausted me,' he remarked with a strange smile. 'I went to bed, slept until morning. Not much of an alibi, Mr Nield.'

'What about the second date?' Nield persisted.

'Spent the whole evening and night in my Mayfair flat. Alone. No alibi at all.' He took off his glasses and again looked normal. 'I'd appreciate it if you'd not mention Patsy, at least by name, if at all. I'm just about to divorce my wife, who is visiting her boyfriend in Canada.'

'I'll forget Patsy – unless it becomes essential to name her. I have to ask you these questions because you're one of a number of names on Tweed's list of suspects.'

'Then you'll have to tell Tweed to leave my name on it.' Benton smiled pleasantly, sipped a little more of his Scotch.

Nield drank the rest of his Scotch. He still had in his mind the evil vision of Benton wearing his rimless glasses. Which was the real man?

'Who do you think killed those women?' Benton asked suddenly.

Nield was briefly stunned by the sheer bravado of the question. Benton must have guessed the whole Cabal was on the list of suspects. He rallied swiftly, gazing straight at Benton.

'Someone powerful. Someone who lives in London. Someone who will be identified by Tweed within the next twenty-four hours.'

'I see.' Benton paused. Now he was stunned. 'You are very confident…'

'Someone,' Nield continued his counter-attack, 'who left a clue at one of the crime scenes.'

Benton called for the bill, paid it quickly, stood up, his expression grim. His mouth was turned down at the corners, all traces of the benevolent uncle absent. Without a word he strode out of the wine bar, moving rapidly.

Nield sat smiling. He ordered another sandwich. He had broken through the wall of bland innocence the Cabal presented to the world.