Blood Storm

5

'I think this gentleman would prefer to talk to me on our own,' Tweed said before asking Monica to invite Macomber up. 'Harry, put the recorder on – then you can all listen afterwards. No, Paula, don't go. I want you to stay. You're very good at getting an impression on a new player in this deadly game.'

Monica left to go upstairs, followed by Nield and Butler. Only then did he lift the phone and tell George, the guard in the hall, to ask their visitor to come up.

Macomber came into the office. He wore an Armani suit, and a tie Paula felt sure was Chanel. He moved easily and was smiling. He bowed his head towards Paula, still smiling. She rather liked the look of him.

'Good morning, Mr Macomber,' Tweed greeted him quietly. 'Do please sit down.'

'My apologies,' Macomber said softly, looking at Paula, 'but I will be speaking to you, Mr Tweed, in great confidence.'

'If I was away or out of action Miss Paula Grey would take over from me,' Tweed explained.

Macomber's reaction was swift. He stood up, and smiling pleasantly he walked over to Paula, held out his large hand to her.

'Miss Grey, my profound apologies. I am not familiar with the ranking here. You are most welcome to hear all I have to say.'

She clasped his hand which squeezed hers, but did not hold on too long. He returned to his chair. His movements were agile for a man she estimated was in his forties.

'Now, Mr Tweed,' Macomber began in his soft voice, 'I have heard you are a man who does not beat about the bush. So am I. I have come to discuss with you the proposed merger of all the security forces under one command. That is the CID, MI5, the police, the coastguard, Special Branch – and the SIS, your own organization. This single organization will be known as State Security. We are thinking you would make an excellent deputy commander.'

'Under whose control?' Tweed asked off-handedly.

He had listened to this revolutionary scheme with a placid expression. Paula, who was appalled, gasped under her breath. She felt sure Tweed would never agree.

'Under the control of a Cabinet Minister heading a new post in the Cabinet, as yet to be created: the Ministry of State Security.'

'Earlier,' Tweed remarked, 'you used the word "proposed". I am interested in what that means.'

'Well…' Still smiling, Macomber paused. 'At the moment a bill to establish this organization has been drafted, but not yet presented to Parliament.'

'All the Cabinet agree?' There was a sharper edge in Tweed's voice.

'Well…' Another pause. 'At the moment almost half the Cabinet do agree. It's only a matter of time before the slowcoaches come on board.'

'Mr Macomber…' Tweed leaned forward over his desk.

'Please call me Nelson.'

'I have heard there are three junior ministers involved. You are one of them. Who are the others?'

'You may find this curious. The other two are brothers of mine. We are offspring of the famous General Lucius Macomber, known for his brilliance in the Gulf War.'

'Tell me about your brothers – and their roles.'

Tweed had folded his arms, leaning over them. His eyes had never left Nelson Macomber's, penetrating and the colour of lapis lazuli, which was rare.

'There is Noel, the youngest. We call him the Planner. Then there is Benton, a year younger than me. He acts as arbiter in the rare cases when there is disagreement on policy.'

'The three of you,' Tweed said thoughtfully.

'We do work closely together in the same room…'

'Communications?' Tweed interjected.

'Ah!' Macomber beamed. 'We have the most advanced system in the country. State Security will need to know what is going on everywhere. Phone-tapping, a CCTV system covering the entire country…'

'Already installed?' Tweed interjected again.

'In the process of being installed,' Macomber assured him. 'Should be completed within weeks.'

'On whose authority?'

Macomber laughed, glanced over at Paula. 'This is getting to be an interrogation.'

'Which is my job,' Tweed reminded him. 'On whose authority?' he repeated. 'Since the bill you spoke of has not gone anywhere near Parliament.'

'We must be prepared.' Macomber's tone became defensive. 'So, what is your reaction? I have hidden no secrets from you.'

'I'll have to think it over, won't I? All this comes as a surprise.'

No, it doesn't, you wily thing, Paula thought. You knew all about it before Nelson Macomber ever arrived.

'Tell you what,' Tweed continued. 'In the near future I'd like to visit your HQ, meet your brothers. I'd bring Paula with me.'

'Great!' Macomber jumped up. 'I appreciate the time you've given me. Do come and see us soon. Time is breathing down our necks. Needless to say all this is highly confidential.'

'Uniforms,' Tweed said suddenly. Macomber paused on his way to say goodbye to Paula. He looked taken aback. Tweed explained.

'I just wondered whether you proposed that after the merger of all these diverse organizations everyone would wear the same uniform?'

'Well…' He was close enough to Paula for her to notice he was clenching and unclenching the fingers of his right hand. 'Bit early to think of that,' he went on cheerfully. 'We had thought of a long black coat, black cap, an armlet identifying the wearer as State Security. But a bit early to decide,' he repeated.

'I see.'

'May I call you Paula?' Macomber asked, holding out a hand. 'I am Nelson.'

'If you wish,' she said quietly, clasping his hand which, again, he withdrew quickly.

'What do you think?' Tweed asked after Macomber had left.

Paula was peering out of the window. 'He does well for himself. He turned up in a whacking great Merc with chauffeur.' She sat down again. 'I'm flabbergasted,' she began. 'I'd expected you to roar at him, tell him you thought the whole idea was wrong, mad – that you'd have nothing to do with it!'

'He's a skilled politician,' Tweed told her. 'I can handle any of them. When he reports back to his two brothers they won't be at all sure what I'm going to do.'

'So what are you going to do?'

'Everything in my power, however unscrupulous, to smash them – to destroy the whole plan.' His voice was a muted growl, his eyes were fierce. 'Strange that he came to see me a few hours after someone tried to frame me for committing a horrific murder. And they're already in uniform. So he lied.'

'So he probably lied about a lot of other things.'

'Undoubtedly. Bring down Monica, Pete and Harry. When I tell you, play back the recording of the whole conversation. I don't think it occurred to him it was all going down on tape.' He looked up at the cornice in the ceiling above Paula's desk. Harry had done a marvellous job of concealing the listening device. 'And you took photos of him?'

'Several. He didn't see me doing it.' She produced a tiny camera with a long lens which retracted out of sight when she pressed a button.

She had just finished speaking when the door opened and Monica walked in, followed by Nield and Butler. Monica spoke to Tweed quickly.

'While we were upstairs I had a call for you from Professor Saafeld. He has data he wants to show you urgently. At his place in Holland Park…'

'Call him back when I've left. Tell him I'm on my way now. While I'm away get the recorder moving.' He looked at all three of the new arrivals. 'You'll hear my conversation with Macomber – Nelson Macomber. Keep what you hear under your hats.'

'Never wear a hat,' Harry told him with a straight face.

Tweed glared, went on speaking.

'Nield, when you've heard it I want you to get moving. Check with your informants. I need to know if the other two brothers, Noel and Benton, are married. If so, who to. We know Nelson is married to Loelia, daughter of the Earl of Something. Do any of them have girlfriends? If so who are they and where do they live?'

'Is that all?' Nield asked with a grin.

'I'm off to Professor Saafeld's place. Could be there for a couple of hours. Have the info for me when I get back.'

'Should give me plenty of time.' Nield grinned again. 'Don't be surprised if I'm still out when you get back.'

Tweed, still speaking rapidly, turned to Monica. 'If a Chief Inspector Hammer arrives or phones tell him I've gone abroad. You don't know where or when I'll be back. Now I must get moving.'

'I'm coming with you,' Paula said firmly.

She had already slipped on a windcheater over her slacks and jumper. Tweed stood uncertainly.

'Thought you were in a hurry,' Paula said, grabbing his arm.

Harry followed them downstairs, talking as they hurried. 'I got here early. Spotted our friends had fixed up cameras to the lampposts on the other side of the road. The cameras are difficult to see. They were aimed to cover the entrance here.'

'Were?' queried Paula.

'I covered them with black goo – same colour as their spy cameras. They'll need new lenses.'

'Don't waste much time, do they?' commented Tweed.

'Neither does Harry,' Paula replied.

The drizzle had stopped. Above was a clear blue sky and it was bitterly cold. Tweed had slipped on his overcoat as he skipped nimbly down the stairs.

They were driving through heavy traffic, approaching Holland Park, when Paula looked back again through the rear window. She swore softly.

'We're still being followed. Big black car picked us up as we left Park Crescent. Look to be two men in the front. Black coats, I think, and black peaked caps.'

'The uniform Nelson said they hadn't got round to. I'll lose them.'

Tweed slowed down as they approached traffic lights on green. He waited for amber, pressed his foot down, passed the lights as they turned red. A police car was parked by the kerb. Tweed recognized the driver, used one hand to hold up his SIS folder. The police driver saluted him.

'That was Ned,' Tweed remarked. 'He knows me well.'

'Well, you've lost our friends,' said Paula after glancing back. 'They were caught by the lights…'

Shortly afterwards Tweed swung into the side street where Saafeld's mansion was located. He drove to the end, parked the car round a corner. They walked back quickly to where a pair of high wrought-iron gates were closed at the end of a curving drive. Tweed pressed the button on the speakphone.

'Yes. Who is it?' Saafeld's clear voice enquired.

'Me,' said Tweed. 'The "me" you're expecting.'

The electronically operated gates swung open and they walked quickly up the drive. Little time was given to allow a car to drive in, to stop the vehicle being followed. Rounding a corner of the drive bordered by evergreen shrubs the elegant mansion came into view. The massive front door was open as they mounted the steps. Saafeld, wearing a white gown closed at the neck, ushered them inside, stared at Paula as he shut and relocked the door. They were standing in a large hall with a marble floor.

'Paula,' Saafeld said gently, 'I'm not sure you want to see this.'

Knowing the drill, Tweed and Paula removed overcoat and windcheater. Saafeld slipped them over hangers, put them in one cupboard, opened another, took out white coats, white caps and two pairs of latex gloves. As they put them on quickly their host stared again dubiously at Paula. Her reaction was instant and sharp.

'I've been in there before. Stop treating me like a schoolgirl.'

Saafeld shrugged, walked to a heavy steel door, took out a key card, inserted it in the slot. The door slid open and Paula breathed in powerful disinfectant. They went down several steps to another heavy steel door which Saafeld opened.

Underground now, they followed him into a large room

37with tables of metal and gutters along each side to catch any blood which spread too far. The first two tables had corpses lying on them while white-coated assistants went about their grisly work. There were large cameras overhead and X-ray machines poised above each table, held by telescopic arms. Now there was another odour which Paula recognized, the odour of bodies that would never move again.

'Here she is, poor woman,' Saafeld said quietly.

It was unusual for him to express any emotion about what was brought into his mortuary. Paula stood very still, her palms clammy. The body of Viola Vander-Browne was lying on the table. The severed head, ashen, was placed an inch or so from the neck, coated with dried blood, now darkish brown in colour. Paula's teeth were clamped tightly behind her closed lips as she continued her survey. The severed left lower arm was also placed an inch or so below the elbow. The same applied to the right arm, to the lower limbs severed below the jagged ends of the knees. Paula found the strange sequence hideous. Saafeld seemed to read her mind. He began talking in his detached professional voice.

'This is exactly how I found the corpse on the bed at Fox Street. The killer had first slammed her naked body on to the wooden floor, by the side of the bed. I think he-'

'Why "he"?' Paula interrupted. 'Couldn't it have been a woman?'

'You could be right, possibly,' Saafeld agreed. 'Except that after gagging her the murderer raped her. He used a condom – no traces of semen. That doesn't rule out a woman completely, if a condom pulled over one of those sex toys was used. After the rape the murderer used a sharp-bladed instrument to cut her up – a meat cleaver, I suspect. The head was severed last – severing the carotid arteries. Hence the jet of blood which covered the window.'

'Excuse me,' Tweed suggested, 'but was there a light on in the room when you arrived?'

'Yes, left on after the killer left, so when the police arrived before me the blood-covered window was very prominent. Now, I said earlier the body was found laid out on the bed. There were blade notches deep into the floor, which is how I know for certain that's where she was killed. He – or she -afterwards lifted the several pieces of the body on to the bed, created an arrangement as I have done on the table.'

'That's horrible,' Paula said after clearing her throat.

'One of the worst cases in my experience – and I've just about seen everything, or so I thought. I think now we ought to adjourn to the drawing room. My wife will provide refreshment. We can discuss the case in more pleasant surroundings.'

He turned to a youngish man who was washing his hands at a deep sink.

'John, I know you've taken X-rays and photos of the lady on my table. I'd like you to take more photos, concentrating on every angle. Thank you…'

In the small room they had passed through earlier he relieved them of their white clothes. As he closed the cupboard doors he turned to Tweed.

'I'm very fussy. Those clothes will be burned, in case you picked up something undesirable while in the mortuary. Now for that tea.'

They mounted the steps into the hall. Saafeld closed the heavy door and did not bother to use his key card. Paula guessed it locked again automatically.

They were seated in armchairs in the luxurious comfortable drawing room when a tall grey-haired lady, in her late fifties Paula guessed, came in carrying a large silver tray laden with plates of cakes, Wedgwood china, a teapot and another pot containing coffee.

Saafeld started to get up. 'I'll take that…' 'No, you won't, Willy,' she said firmly. 'I can still cope with this.' She laid the tray on a table between the chairs.

'Hello, Paula. So nice to see you again. And you, Mr Tweed.'

'You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble,' Paula said, returning her warm smile.

'You'll have to excuse me,' Mrs Saafeld went on. 'We have people coming to dinner so my place is in the kitchen.'

'We have…?' Saafeld began, then stopped as she gave him a certain look, then left the room. She knows what we've seen, Paula thought, so she's tactfully leaving us alone.

Paula accepted tea with a little milk but no sugar when their host also offered her both plates of cakes. She forced herself to smile when she refused. She had arrived hungry but her appetite had deserted her. Tweed accepted coffee but he also declined anything to eat.

'We had lunch before we came to you,' fibbed Paula.

'Can you tell us anything about the killer?' Tweed asked.

Saafeld settled back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling as though choosing his words carefully.

'The killer is exceptionally strong,' he began. 'That's proved by the fact that each time he wielded the cleaver – if that's what it was, but I think so – it not only sliced through bone, muscle and flesh in one blow but ended up leaving a deep gash in the oak floor. It must have taken more strength to ease the weapon free for the next strike.'

'Surely he must have had blood all over his clothes?' Tweed suggested.

'Not if he was clad as you two were in the mortuary, plus the kind of face mask used by surgeons. Afterwards he'd have taken all his whites off and stuffed them inside some container he took away with him.'

'Any sign of forced entry at Fox Street?'

'None at all. Which suggested Vander-Browne knew whoever killed her. Very premeditated murder,' Saafeld went on. 'The way he – or she -' he glanced over at Paula -'arrived with all his equipment – weapon, the whites. I suspect he arrived in normal dress. I say this because in the bathroom was cotton wool, traces of powder. Vander-Browne's visitor may have arrived early. He puts on his whites while she is in the bathroom. I think that's about all I can tell you.'

'Is it?' Tweed pressed.

'Well, I'm not a psychiatrist. We may be dealing with a psycho, but that's a vague word. What happens to some people who are strong-blooded and evil is that the pressure starts to build up inside them. The process probably accelerates over a period of days, maybe even a few weeks. They reach the stage when they are ready to murder – and revel in what they are doing.'

'Difficult to detect,' Tweed muttered half to himself.

'I call it blood storm,' Saafeld concluded.