The Savage Gorge

ONE

Police tape was strung across the entrance to the house on the corner, before Tweed turned into the next quiet street, the house next to Lisa's round the corner. He was driving slowly, pulled in next to the tape. As he alighted, telling his passengers to wait in the car, Paula glanced at Lisa. She was staring fixedly at the street on her side.

Tweed crouched down by the body spread out down the steps. It had been covered with a bedsheet but no policeman was on guard. Slipping on latex gloves, he lifted the sheet at the top, sucked in his breath.

Not a pleasant sight. It was the body of a well- dressed woman in her late thirties or early forties. He lifted an arm. Rigor mortis had come and gone – which meant she had been lying there for hours. Probably murdered during the night.

Her slender throat had been slashed open from ear to ear. Tweed felt real horror seeing what had once been a handsome face. Past tense. Her forehead cheeks, nose and chin had been gutted with some strange instrument; a series of deep squiggles had rendered her, he felt sure, unrecognizable. Such brutal butchery he had not experienced before.

I’ve never seen anything as hideous as this. ' Paula's calm voice said over his shoulder, ' Don’t worry – I’ve left Lisa in the car 3 locked all the doors.'

He replaced the sheet over the horrific face, walked down the steps, continued round the corner to Lisa's house. No police tape there. But the house beyond did have more police tape – and another body sprawled down the steps, also covered with a sheet. No police guard.

Climbing the steps, still wearing the latex gloves, he lifted the sheet. Like the previous corpse it was a woman, of a similar age, with fairish hair and was expensively dressed. Her face had been ruined with a similar weird instrument – or the same one. Deep squiggles of flesh had been torn open, were coated with dried blood. Her throat was slashed from ear to ear. Tweed lifted an arm. No rigor mortis. This body had also lain here for hours.

The door to the house was jerked open, slammed back. A figure stood in the doorway in a police uni form. It was a tall overweight officer, his peaked cap on his head above cunning eyes glaring viciously at Tweed, Chief Inspector Reedbeck.

'Heavens!' whispered Paula. 'Old Roadblock. ' Her nickname for the most incompetent police officer Tweed had ever met.

'What are you doing messing about here?' the offi cer demanded snidely. 'Commander Buchanan has placed me in sole charge of this murder investigation. And already I have the killer locked up in our new Pine Street police station just down the road. '

'Chief Inspector Roadblock. ' Tweed started again: Paula had thumped him in the ribs. 'Chief Inspector Reedbeck,' he began grimly, 'how long have the two bodies been lying on their doorsteps? And surely you're not alone?'

' Of course not,' Reedbeck snapped. 'I have Sergeant Peabody and Constable Brown with me.'

' Then why aren't they here guarding the bodies? And how long have you been here? Why hasn't the pathologist arrived? '

'Because -' Reedbeck had folded his arms, his expression distinctly smug – 'Peabody and Brown are inside the houses trying to establish the victims' iden tities. Nothing in their handbags…'

'Both men should be outside guarding the bodies. You could deal with searching the houses.'

' I don't need any lessons from you, Tweed. And I've been here two hours, I'm waiting for the pathologist I phoned almost that long ago. Professor Arpfels. '

'Why not Professor Saafeld? He'd have been here ages ago and the bodies would be in his mortuary. '

'Your pet pathologist. ' Reedbeck sneered.

'Who happens to be the top pathologist in the coun try. Arpfels is useless. And what is this about your having a serial killer at Pine Street? What is his name – and what evidence have you to charge him with this beastly crime? '

'Well, even you know that. A murderer often returns to the scene of his crime. I spotted this joker stopping, looking at the body here, then going round the corner and stopping again to stare at the other corpse, I dashed out and nabbed him.'

'He went under the police tapes and examined the faces?'

'Well, no he didn't. ' Reedbeck was losing some of his arrogant self-confidence. 'He refused to give his name, refused to say one word to me or at the police station. I had him searched s but he'd nothing on him to say who he was. Don't you find that significant?'

'Maybe you didn't search him thoroughly.' Tweed raised his voice. *I think you're disgraceful – leaving two corpses out in the open without guards. The Yard could well do without you.'

Tweed returned to his Audi, parked round the corner. Paula had run ahead of him. Behind him he heard Reedbeck's barking yell.

I’ll remind you I’m in sole charge of this murder investigation.'

Paula had unlocked the Audi and Lisa dived out onto the pavement, started running towards Tweed. She stopped briefly, tucked a card in his top pocket. Her face was ashen but she managed something of a smile.

'I'm going to lock myself in my house, try and eat some breakfast. Thank you so much for your help…'

As she disappeared round the corner he heard Reedbeck bellowing. His manner was back to bully ing.

'You're confined to your house. Miss Clancy. I'll be round later for a thorough interrogation.'

Tweed sat in his car behind the wheel. He made no attempt to start the engine. He was reading the printed card Lisa had given him. Her address was 77 Lynton Avenue, He turned the card over. She had written on the back: Will wait here until you or Paula call me. Lisa.

'And now,' Tweed said to Paula fiercely, 'if you'll loan me your mobile, I'm going to set in motion a volcanic eruption.'

Tweed pressed the buttons for Commander Buchanan's private number at the Yard, was relieved when Buchanan himself answered. Seated beside him, Paula clearly heard every word Buchanan used in reply. He was livid.

I’ll flay that Reedbeck alive. Leaving two bodies unguarded in the street! It's a scandal. I sent him out there well over two hours ago, when the woman called to tell me about the bodies… No, she didn't leave a name. Sounded well spoken, rang off when I asked her for a name. '

'Why send a man like Reedbeck?' Tweed broke in.

'Shortage of staff. Only man available. Tweed, I know I've asked you for too much help over the past year…'

Tweed sighed. 'But you want me to involve myself in the case?'

'I want you to assume complete charge of the inves tigation.' Buchanan paused. ' I have to ask you to take on Reedbeck as your assistant. Working completely under your command. That I'll make bloody clear to him. '

' Why?' snapped Tweed,

'He has influence, which is why I was forced to agree to his working at the Yard. He was an inspector at a local police station in Hobartshire. '

'Hobartshire? I've just about heard of it. Where is it? '

Paula already had unfolded her map of Great Britain. She was pointing with an elegant finger. She nodded,

'It's all right, Roy, ' Tweed said, 'Paula has located it.'

'It's in the middle of nowhere, the whole country/ Buchanan went on. I know your history is good, Remember centuries ago a few MPs had pocket bor oughs they ruled like little kings? Hobartshire is still like that, controlled by a Lord Bullerton, who is a pal of Reedbeck's. Bullerton also dines with Reedbeck at his country house. Hence the manipulation of Reedbeck into my lap plus promotion to chief inspec tor. As Commander of the Anti-Terrorist Squad I can't waste time fighting them.'

'I'll take over the complete investigation. Hammer that into Reedbeck's thick head,' Tweed said grimly. 'Now I'm contacting Professor Saafeld. He'll be over here in fifteen minutes with his special vehicle. Tell Reedbeck that. Next we're off to Pine Street police station to find out just who Reedbeck has locked up on no evidence at all. You can reach me on Paula's mobile. You have the number. She's by my side. Goodbye…'

He called and explained the situation to Professor Saafeld. The pathologist confirmed he should arrive inside ten minutes, using his sirens.

'You may meet opposition at Pine Street,' Paula warned.

I’ll crush it.'

They drove out of the silence of Bexford Street into heavy traffic. Eventually, arriving at Pine Street, they saw a police motor cycle courier Tweed recognised. He jumped off his parked machine, ran to Tweed.

'This is for you, sir, from Commander Buchanan,' the courier explained, handing him a large sealed envelope. 'Don't bother about a receipt. I know you and I'll forge your name.'

'Good man.' Tweed was breaking the seals after sit ting back in the passenger seat Paula had vacated. The envelope contained two official-looking documents, which he scanned quickly. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the signatures on both.

'Any trouble here and I'll clobber them,' he told Paula. 'You stay with me all the time.'

Pine Street station was an ugly new mass of con crete blocks with a crooked needle on top of the central gable. Inside, Tweed was confronted with a stubborn-faced uniformed policeman behind a recep tion counter protected with a screen of bars.

'You'll 'ave to wait. Sit over there. We're busy,' Stubborn informed him in a rasping voice.

'Read this document. I presume you can read? Lift this barrier – but first look at my identity folder. Now!'

Stubborn peered at the SIS folder. He swallowed after reading the document, and raised the barrier. 'Lumme,' he gasped, 'first time I've ever seen the sig nature of the Assistant Commissioner. Gather you want to see the murderer we locked up.'

'Watch your words,' Tweed snapped. 'And I need to interview him in complete privacy. With my assistant, Miss Grey.'

Stubborn pressed a button below his counter.

'They want to see the prisoner Chief Inspector Reedbeck brought in. If they so decide, they have authority for him to be released into Mr Tweed's cus tody.'

Tm Constable Merle Pardoe,' a uniformed police woman informed them in a pleasant voice. She extracted a bunch of keys from inside her pocket. Not dangling from her belt where they could be snatched, Tweed noticed. As she unlocked a steel door he glanced at Paula, sending her a signal. He needed extra staff at Park Crescent.

Once they were the far side of the closed door, in a long deserted corridor, Paula reacted, smiling at Constable Pardoe.

'I may need to interview you about conditions here. Where is a good place we could meet if Mr Tweed decides he'd like me to do that?'

Without stopping, Pardoe took a card from her top pocket and scribbled something on the back, handed it to Paula. She paused before unlocking another steel door at a lower level.

'I shouldn't say it. That Sergeant, Wulgar, is bad enough but you are about to meet Frankenstein him self, a guard called Milburn. Staff were chosen by Chief Inspector Reedbeck.'

'Explains a lot,' Paula said to herself.

'He kept me on "for the moment", as he put it because I'd been here to clear up the place before it went on station. It was spotless after I'd chivvied up the cleaning ladies. Take a deep breath now.'

She used another key to open a third massive steel door down in the cells, told them they'd arrived and walked swiftly away. On the other side of the door their way was blocked by a six-foot-two giant.

'Milburn?' enquired Tweed.

'That's me.'

He had the build of an American quarterback, his wide chest and shoulders almost bursting out of his uniform. His large ugly face and icebreaker-like jaw exuded aggression.

'Is that the prisoner I've come to interview?' Tweed demanded.

'That's 'im.' He leered at Paula. 'Is this your girl? Or is she snooty like that Pardoe bit?'

'Which suggests,' Paula broke in, 'you tried to come on to her and she told you to get lost.' Her tone was icy. 'I wonder why?'

'Watch your dirty mouth,' Tweed warned him in a dangerously quiet voice. 'You're in the presence of a lady, like Miss Pardoe. Now shut up and open the cell door.'

The prisoner was a lean man, good looking, with long dark hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. He was settled on the only furniture in the cell, a long bed at the rear, perched against a foam pad serving as a pillow. His legs were carefully stretched along the bed and he wore a smart grey suit. A clean blue shirt was open at the collar, exposing a lean muscular neck. He glanced at Tweed and Paula, then switched his gaze to his well-polished walking shoes.

'The sod -' Milburn began then changed it as Tweed glared at him. 'The prisoner won't talk, hasn't uttered one word since they brought 'im in. No name. Nothing. I'll sort 'im out this evening,' he promised as he unlocked the cell door.

'Leave the door unlocked and open,' Tweed ordered as he entered the cell with Paula.

Watching Tweed's expression, Paula had the impression sudden recognition was dawning. On the other hand the prisoner gazed at Tweed with no sign of recognition whatsoever. Tweed called over his shoulder.

'Milburn, I repeat, don't lock that door, we're leav ing with the prisoner. You've had your orders from Sergeant Wulgar. And now you don't say a word.'

Tweed and Paula smiled at Merle Pardoe as she opened the door to the outside world. Tweed paused to speak to her.

'We do appreciate the courtesy you've shown us since we entered Dartmoor.'

'That's our duty, sir.'

'No, that's your duty, which you perform perfectly. No one else in this place.'

'Mr Tweed,' Wulgar called out as they were passing his counter, 'I need you to sign this document con firming the prisoner is now in your custody.'

'Sign it yourself,' Tweed rapped back as they walked on, leaving the station.

Outside, Tweed opened the rear door of the Audi, gestured to both Paula and the prisoner.

'The two of you ride in the back.'

As he was driving along the busy road he called out again to his passengers.

'Paula, meet ex-Inspector Dermot Falkirk, once sta tioned at Scotland Yard. Now I'm looking for a nice place which serves coffee and maybe sandwiches.'