The Janus Man

Fifty

`Five hundred kilos of heroin,' Tweed said to Newman as they strolled along the Travemunde waterfront. 'That would cause havoc in Britain. Worse, in some ways, than a couple of atom bombs. Could you load that amount aboard a cruiser like the Sudwind?'

`Yes, if you stacked it to the gunwales. Bit of an exaggeration, but it could be done.'

`Do you think that cruiser you saw approaching the Wroclaw was the Sudwind?'

In the distance, wending her way among the crowds, Diana, wearing a cherry-coloured dress, was heading for the vessel Tweed had named. Behind her ambled Harry Butler, his blue shirt concealed beneath a white lightweight Marks amp; Spencer sweater. Pete Nield strolled on the opposite side of the road.

Butler and Nield had followed Newman's hired Audi in their own hired Fiat on the drive from Lubeck to Travemunde. Newman shrugged in answer to Tweed's question.

`There are so many of these power cruisers in this part of the world now. It could have come from a marina anywhere along the Baltic – here, Kiel, Flensburg. And don't ask me if I could identify the chap in the balaclava who brought his cruiser alongside the freighter. I couldn't.'

`Lack of evidence.' Tweed grunted. 'And now Kuhlmann is going back to Wiesbaden – although I think he's wrong. I can see Ann Grayle. Let's have a chat with her.'

As usual, Ann Grayle was smart as paint. She wore a cream linen V-necked sweater, a navy blue pleated skirt, court shoes and a rope of pearls. Her right hand clasped a glass as she welcomed them aboard.

`And how are you, Bob? Fully recovered?' She eyed Tweed with a dry smile. `So, the claims investigator has come back too – with the delectable Diana. Sit down somewhere – and would you like a drink? It's a punch. I'd better warn you – it carries one hell of a kick.'

`Not for me,' Tweed said hastily. 'Perhaps a glass of orange juice?'

`I'll risk the punch,' Newman said.

`Ben! One glass of punch, one orange juice.'

The head of Ben Tolliver appeared again above the companionway, curious to see who'd come aboard, then vanished. She talks to him like a servant, Tweed thought. Grayle was at her most upper crust as she arranged herself in a canvas seat, crossing her shapely legs.

`This old tub is getting like Piccadilly Circus. I bet Bob didn't tell you he slept on board here two nights ago.'

`Really?' Tweed pretended innocence. 'I'm sure he found it to his liking.'

`And that's a dirty remark if ever I heard one. Piccadilly Circus, I said. I had the oddest visitor the night Bob came aboard – not thirty minutes before he arrived.'

`Who was that?' Tweed enquired.

`I don't know. Said his name was Andrews, but I didn't believe that. Nearly scared me over the side. All those bandages.'

`Bandages?' Newman interjected.

`Yes, like someone just out of hospital. Maybe he was. His whole face was covered in them – except for the eyes and a slit for the mouth. Said he was a reporter, asked me questions about Dr Berlin. Oh, things are livening up. The august Dr Berlin is back. I suppose he'll be meditating in his locked study.'

`He'll be doing what?' Tweed asked.

`Oh, didn't you know?' She paused as Ben appeared with the drinks on a silver tray. 'Ben, that tray could do with a good clean.'

`Then you'll be having a little job waiting – when you can get round to it.'

She glared as Ben served the drinks and disappeared down the companionway. Tweed had studied Tolliver as he handed round the glasses. The red complexion, the blue-veined nose of the hardened drinker. Whisky, probably. The tropics encouraged its consumption, the way of life he'd enjoyed in the 'good old days'.

`As I was saying,' Grayle continued, 'whenever he returns from one of his mysterious trips to God knows where, Dr Berlin locks himself in his study and meditates. None of your bogus guru nonsense which was popular not so long ago. He simply wants to be alone. Like Garbo, I suppose.'

`How do you know this?' Tweed enquired.

`He sacked one of his servants. A German who drank like the proverbial fish. He told Ben all about it in a bar one night. Shortly after that, he disappeared. Never been seen around since.' She raised her eyebrows, took a sip of her punch. 'A sinister disappearance some people said.'

`And what about this stranger with the bandaged face? Was he really English?'

`I'm sure he was. From his voice. Said he'd been in a car crash. Only superficial injuries, but mauled all over a bit. I'd have told him to leave – I pretended to fetch a handkerchief, left the drawer open, the one where I keep my gun. And Ben was aboard, doing something to the wheel. I have an alarm button concealed under the bunk I was sitting on. So I wasn't too bothered. And he intrigued me – his questions about Dr Berlin.'

`What sort of questions?'

`Had he returned to Priwall Island? Did I know him? When I said no – except twenty years ago in Kenya – he wanted to know his timetable. How much time he spent here. How long he was away. When he was away. In the end I told him I was a diplomat's wife, not a bloody walking encyclopaedia. He pushed off soon afterwards, limping back across the gangway.'

`He was lame? Could you describe him?'

`This is getting a bit much. No, I couldn't describe him. He said the strong light hurt his eyes, so I turned them down with the dimmer. About Bob's height and build, I think. He wore one of those floppy duffel coats, so it was hard to tell. That was the night the strange power cruiser put in here.'

`Strange?'

`Never seen it before. It moored at the landing-stage beyond the Sudwind. It arrived a few minutes before this so-called Andrews appeared like a genie out of a bottle.'

`It's still here?' Newman asked.

`No. It must have moved off during the night. It was gone by morning. The Nocturne.'

Tweed froze, his glass half way to his mouth. He frowned, trying to recollect where he'd heard the name before. She misinterpreted his expression.

`I do know what I'm talking about. I was just going below when I saw it berthing. I used my night-glasses to read the name on the hull. Nocturne. I suppose,' she continued, 'as an insurance man all you know about is statistics. Nocturne, I said. Chopin composed them.'

`I have heard of Chopin…'

`Good for you. Oh, look whom we have here. We are honoured. How are you, Diana, darling? Care for a drink? You've never been known to say no.'

`You're looking marvellous,' Diana said as she came aboard. `This old thing?'

`I meant the outfit, not what's inside it…'

`Really?' Grayle placed her glass carefully on the table, rose slowly to her feet, her expression icy, as Tweed stood up quickly, staring at Diana. Grayle opened her mouth, closed it without saying anything, and studied Diana before speaking.

`What's wrong? You're trembling.'

`I'm terribly sorry. That was unforgivably rude of me.. `Something's happened?' Tweed asked.

Diana clenched her hands, took a deep breath. She looked at Tweed, then at Newman. She unclenched her hands, folded both arms across her breasts as though struggling for control.

`Could you both come to the Sudwind? Something has happened.'

`Someone has been on board while we were in England. All my things have been searched. I'll have to wash everything – the thought of a burglar feeling my underclothes…'

`There's no outward sign of a burglary,' Newman remarked.

`Yes, but a woman can tell when someone has been rifling her things. They tried to cover it up, but I can tell. Things are not the way I left them. And, it's weird. They've put new locks on the cupboards I don't use – which are most of them.'

`Show me an example,' said Tweed.

`This cupboard, this one – and this one…'

The locks certainly looked new, and they were deadlocks – not what you expected aboard a cruiser. Tweed stared round the cabin. The storage space was considerable. And it would take more than a skeleton key to open these locks. He looked at Newman, who was checking the general capacity of the newly-secured cupboards.

`All the drawers containing your own property were locked?' Newman asked.

`None of them were. They don't lock. I'm packing all my things now.' She heaved a suitcase down off a shelf, placed it on a table, flipped open the case. She started taking her clothes out of a drawer, putting them inside the case. 'I'm clearing out. Could I stay with you at the Jensen? I'll pay for my room. You've spent too much on me already…'

Her hands were trembling again. Tweed put an arm round her waist, sat her down on the edge of a bunk.

`You need a drink. Where is it?'

`In that cupboard.' She pointed. 'Cognac, please. Just a little.'

Newman found the bottle and the glasses, poured a small quantity into a glass and handed it to her. She took several sips, put the glass down.

`Thank you. Both of you.'

`You seem exceptionally upset,' Tweed observed, sitting beside her. 'Is it only the burglary? It doesn't look like a normal burglary.'

`It's those new locks. I've got to get out of here – away from Travemunde. He must be back.'

`Dr Berlin?'

`It's his boat.'

`How are you off for money?' Tweed asked, changing the subject.

`I'm all right at the moment. And soon I'll be able to earn my own living. In London I called a couple of secretarial agencies. I was amazed what they pay for a competent secretary. It's time I stood on my own feet. I'm all right now. Let me get on with the packing. I feel I must do something…'

Tweed stood up, asked Newman to stay with her, then walked back along the landing-stage to the waterfront. Butler was leaning against a lamp post, taking random shots with a camera. Tweed paused beside him, cleaning his glasses. His lips hardly moved.

`Emergency. Diana must be guarded night and day. She could be in danger of her life. The risk has increased enormously. Tell Nield. Arrange a roster between you – one on, one off. Then you can both get some sleep.'

`Understood.'

Butler had his camera raised, was snapping a large white passenger ship just approaching the narrows from Sweden. Tweed was turning to go back to the Sudwind when a uniformed policeman ran across the road and spoke. Tweed thought he recognized the man from Lubeck-Sud.

`Mr Tweed?'

`Yes.'

`Chief Inspector Kuhlmann is on the phone. Wants to speak to you urgently. Can you come back with me to the station?'

Inside the small police station facing the waterfront, Tweed was given a tiny room on his own. He picked up the receiver lying on its side and stood, looking out of the window.

`Tweed speaking. How did you know I was here?'

`I had you followed. Chap on a motor-cycle. That's immaterial. Kurt Franck didn't murder those blonde girls.'

`I did wonder. How do you know that?'

`Pathologist's report after examining the knife. It's very similar to the weapon used, but it's not the weapon. They've checked it under the microscope. There's a minute nick in the blade – so small you'd never notice it with the naked eye. However carefully that knife had been cleaned traces of dried blood, human skin, flesh, etc. would have remained inside the nick. No traces. And the curve of the blade isn't quite the right angle.'

`So my theory becomes valid again…'

`The theory you won't tell me about?' Kuhlmann snapped.

`Because I'm not sure I'm right. It's become complicated again, grimly so. And I suppose if I asked you to search one of Dr Berlin's cruisers, the Sudwind – rip it apart – you'd jump back a kilometre?'

`Ten kilometres. If I hadn't had friends in Bonn that raid would have finished me. And my job is to find that mass- murderer. Top priority.'

`You think you'll succeed?'

`They never did identify your Jack the Ripper.'

Ten days passed. Newman had the impression Tweed was in a passive phase, an opinion shared by Butler and Nield when the two men discussed their chief.

`He's waiting for something to happen, a development,' said Butler, who knew Tweed well. 'When it does, watch his smoke.'

At Tweed's suggestion, Diana spent a lot of time in her room at the Jensen, perfecting her shorthand and typing on a machine she'd hired locally. She never went anywhere near Travemunde.

Butler and Nield took it in turns to guard her. When she took a short walk in the town one of them was always close to her. Tweed had persuaded Kuhlmann to issue each man with a Walther automatic and a temporary licence to possess a firearm.

And Tweed's so-called passive phase was packed with activity. He phoned London and arranged for a Sea King helicopter to be flown to Lubeck. He also took a great interest in the local private airfield at Blankensee, a nowhere place out in the country sixteen kilometres east of Lubeck.

Butler, who held a licence to pilot a helicopter, drove Tweed to the airfield. Close to it they saw a sign pointing down a side road to the right. Lubeck-Blankensee. Turning down it they drove along the Blankensee-strasse, a long straight road bordered by trees and fields beyond.

The airfield was on their left, larger than Tweed had expected, stretching away towards the east. It was a lonely spot. The departure building was a single-storey modern edifice which carried a large sign above the entrance. FLUGHAFEN LUBECK.

`No one-about,' Newman commented as they walked inside. The entrance hall had a strange floor – paved with small pebbles. To their right was an empty restaurant which appeared closed. Tweed made for a noticeboard, glanced at it.

'Polizei – Raum 4,' he read out.

Inside Room 4 a policeman sat in shirt-sleeves drinking coffee with two men in flying gear. Tweed introduced himself and the policeman checked his identity and then said he'd leave them alone.

`You'll know these two gentlemen,' Tweed said to Newman. `They flew us last year from the Swedish island of Ornei into Arlanda Airport. Bill Casey, pilot, and Tom Wilson, his co-pilot and navigator, plus radio op.'

Casey, a good-humoured man of thirty-one with sandy hair shook hands with Newman. 'With Tweed involved,' he said, `my bet is this is a hairy one, too.' Wilson, dark-haired, about the same age, was more reserved, simply nodding as he briefly shook hands.

`Now,' Tweed said briskly, 'let's get down to it. You managed to borrow a Sea King?'

`She's out there now,' Casey confirmed. 'Getting her was a job. The papers I had to sign, but she's all yours. And the controller here has loaned me this chart.'

He spread it out over the table. Newman was surprised by the area it covered. The whole of the Baltic, continuing north to the Skagerrak – the vast body of water which entered the North Sea and the Atlantic – and Oslo.

`Exactly what we want.' Tweed was becoming very animated, Newman observed. Action was coming. Tweed produced several Polaroid prints, laid them alongside the chart. 'These were taken by a colleague in Travemunde a few days ago – pretending to be a tourist, snapping shots at random. This power cruiser is the Sudwind. Think you could recognize it from the air if it heads out into the Baltic?'

`If I can keep these prints, yes. Wilson will soon pick it up with a pair of high-powered glasses. From a distance.'

`Good. I wouldn't want the helmsman to know you were interested in him. There are two more very similar cruisers I want you to look out for. The Nordsee – and the Nocturne.'

`Half a mo' while I note those names down.' Casey scribbled in his notebook. 'How far do we follow them, bearing in mind we can only tail one if they take different courses?'

`Only one will head for the west, turning north through the Oresund between Denmark and Sweden, then on into the Kattegat and the Skagerrak. I need to know its ultimate destination when that happens.'

`It will happen?' Casey queried.

`I'm betting my whole career on it. Of course there'll be other cruisers poodling about along the coast. It's the one of the three mentioned which goes long distance I want tracked. Radio regular reports back to Lubeck-Sud police HQ. And on this bit of paper is the call sign, the waveband, etc. You address each signal to Kuhlmann – it's written down there. I understand you know German, Casey?'

`My second language..

`Transmit in German. That's important – in case of interception from the other side. You sign off as Walter Three.'

`We brought over night-sight equipment as requested. How do we go about covering night and day?'

`Take it in turns to fly the chopper.'

`I told you it would be hairy,' Casey said to Wilson. He looked at Tweed. 'You've marked where the Sudwind and the Nordsee are moored with crosses. What about the Nocturne?'

`She's disappeared. I think she may come back.'

`You do realize we're going to be pretty conspicuous?' Casey pointed out.

`I want you to be. More pressure on the target I'm after. The Sea King does have Danish markings?'

`Again, as requested.'

`So people – including those across the border – are going to think it's some kind of NATO exercise. The locals will soon get used to your patrols, hardly notice you. But for God's sake, don't stray over the border.'

`That thought had occurred to me,' Casey replied. 'And I think we'll get moving now…'

`Pressure?' Newman queried as they drove away from the airfield. 'On Dr Berlin?'

'As much as I can bring to bear. Head for Travemunde – I'm going to haunt that place, mingle with the boat people. The news will reach Priwall Island soon enough.'

`And I'm sticking with you. Butler and Nield have their hands full watching over Diana. You're after that five hundred-kilo consignment of heroin, aren't you? I thought so. But what makes you think it isn't already on its way to Britain now?'

'A remark Kuhlmann made the morning after Franck attacked me in my bedroom.'

`And, of course you wouldn't care to tell me the remark?' `Of course.'