The Savage Gorge

TWO

'You must have recognized Tweed the moment we came into the cell,' Paula said to Falkirk. 'Yet you showed no sign you'd ever seen him before. Why?'

'I wasn't saying a word inside that place. Reedbeck may have had my cell wired.'

'But even earlier, when you were falsely arrested, you kept quiet.'

'Had to. Reedbeck made a colossal blunder. Arrested me on no evidence. Didn't recognize me until after his arrest. I've grown this moustache since I left the Yard and worked under him. Also my hair has grown very long. When he realized who I was it was too late – for him. He had set the wheels in motion, was too stupid to back off…'

'It took me a few moments to realize who you were,' Tweed admitted.

'What are you doing now?' Paula asked, using Tweed's technique of switching the topic suddenly to throw her target off balance.

'We're going back a couple of years. I started my own private investigation agency.'

'What's it called?'

'Eyes Only. Short and to the point…'

He paused as Paula's mobile buzzed. She answered and after a few words she handed it to Tweed. 'Professor Saafeld. Sounds urgent.'

'We'll be there in half an hour, maybe less,' Tweed said after listening briefly. 'He's puzzled,' he told Paula. 'If you're willing to cooperate with me on this case,' he said to Falkirk, 'you can come with us. Which client are you working for now?' he asked abruptly.

'Now you know a private detective never reveals the identity of his client,' Falkirk smiled engagingly. 'Part of the code.'

The Audi was stopped. The traffic wasn't moving. Tweed opened his door, called over his shoulder.

'We'll be here awhile. An accident with police cars. A huge tow-truck is grappling with a monster Cadillac. You won't be able to get into Saafeld's mor tuary, Falkirk. I've just spotted Buchanan in a car three vehicles back. Both of you stay here…'

'Then I'll leave you in a minute,' Falkirk called back. 'Have an urgent appointment so I'll be able to get there early.'

'Refusing to tell us who your client is doesn't strike me as my idea of cooperation,' Paula said sharply when Tweed had gone.

'Sorry, way of the world.'

'Another thing,' she persisted, 'private detectives always have to carry an identity folder and yet you hadn't anything on you when they searched you at Pine Street.'

'Reedbeck is a lousy searcher.' Falkirk grinned, opened his jacket, lifted the hem. Undoing an invisible zip fastener he extracted an identity folder, handed it to her. The photo of him was good and she saw he was forty years old.

'You need money too,' Falkirk went on.

From the same pocket he prised out a wad of folded banknotes. She guessed he must be carrying at least two hundred pounds. He must be doing well out of Eyes Only.

Tweed had lied when he told them he'd seen Buchanan. In his rear-view mirror he'd seen Harry following several vehicles behind him in his beat-up old grey Fiat. Stationary in the log jam, Harry jumped out, followed Tweed down a side street. A woman backed her car out of a resident's bay and drove off.

'You won't believe this,' the cockney began. 'Back at the office, earlier, I was coming in when I heard voices. The door wasn't closed properly. I heard what Lisa said about the people stalking her, then crept back up the stairs. Well, on your way with her to Lynton Avenue, with me keeping well back, she was followed. A hunchback first. He vanishes down an alley. When I've found an empty parking slot and run back to the alley he's gone. I hurtle down the empty alley into the next street. A woman dressed in black with a black veil walks past me. Carrying a large strong carrier bag from an expensive clothes shop.'

'Peculiar.' Tweed began talking quickly. 'I have a passenger in my car beside Paula.'

'Falkirk. Met him over two years ago. When you sent me down to the Yard with a sealed folder.'

'God, what a memory.'

'Has a 'tache and long hair since then.'

'Listen, Harry, he'll be leaving me shortly. Follow him to the end of the earth…'

'I can just turn the Fiat into that empty slot. If he walks I'll collect the car later. If he takes a cab I'll use the car.'

'Don't lose him.'

'You are talking to Harry Butler!'

The moment Tweed settled himself behind the wheel of his Audi, Falkirk opened his door on the pavement side. Squeezing Paula's arm, he paused to speak to Tweed.

'I'm off now. Pointless if I'm not allowed into the mortuary. Saafeld is right, of course. I'll keep in contact. Be good – if you can't do that, be careful. Cheerio…'

In his rear-view mirror Tweed saw Falkirk take the second empty taxi parked behind them. He was amused at his choice.

'Falkirk ignored the first empty cab, took the one behind it. He was worried I'd hired Harry to follow him.'

'Well, we've lost him anyway,' Paula said, now occu pying the front passenger seat next to Tweed.

He smiled as the traffic suddenly started moving again. He told her about his conversation with Harry. When he reported his instructions Paula smiled.

'Falkirk may be smart but Harry's smarter. He'll never lose him.'

She went on to tell him about the trick with his iden tity folder and the money he was carrying. Tweed merely grunted, his mind elsewhere. As they reached Holland Park he turned down the winding cul-de-sac leading to Saafeld's HQ. There were other large private mansions vaguely visible behind trees coming into leaf. It had been a hard winter so the trees were flourishing late. He stopped in front of a pair of high wrought-iron gates let into a ten-foot-high wall, jumped out, used the speakphone set into a pillar to identify himself.

The gates opened, closed automatically behind them. They walked up a curving drive hemmed in by rhododendron bushes. A large white stone mansion came into view and Saafeld stood waiting by a massive open front door.

Professor Saafeld, the country's top pathologist, was of medium height, well built, thick white hair above a high forehead which suggested brain power. It was an impression reinforced by the sharpness of his eyes, which gazed unblinking at anyone he was talking to. He wore a smart blue bird's-eye suit and was in his late fifties. He hugged Paula, who had been to his HQ before.

Tm not going to hug you,' he said with a grin at Tweed.

'Thank heavens for small mercies.'

'We'll go straight into the mortuary. I'm only at the first stage of my autopsy on the two ladies. Also,' he went on, 'I'm puzzled. Show you why…'

In front of a large steel door coated with white enamel he pressed buttons inside a security panel, pulled at the handle. The door opened and closed with an airlock's sucking sound. They descended a flight of stone steps into a small room which was very cold. Paula remembered the procedure as Saafeld opened a cupboard, handed each of them a white coat, a cap, a pair of white gloves and a pair of outsize canvas shoes. The moment they were dressed he pressed buttons in another security panel and a large steel door opened slowly. A unique odour drifted in the air, the odour of death. This time she was prepared for it as she adjusted her mask.

'You're getting used to it,' Saafeld said with a reassuring smile. He was not wearing a mask. 'I never do, but sometimes there's an element in the odour which tells me how they died…'

It was a large room with eight spotless metal-topped tables equipped with encircling gutters. Saafeld skipped the length of the room to two more tables, occupied with bodies covered with white sheets. Paula was always amazed at Saafeld's agility: he moved like a twenty-year-old. A tall man clothed in white stood waiting.

'This excellent chap is Joffey, my new assistant. Been here six months. Joffey, meet our important vis itors. Deputy Chief Tweed and his brilliant assistant Paula Grey. I'd say we're ready now…'

Paula tensed inwardly as Joffey lifted the nearest sheet. It was the woman who had lain nearest Lisa Clancy's house. Paula shuddered inwardly. The cuts had dug deeply into her flesh.

'Hatred on the killer's part,' Paula said softly.

'Or a determination neither would be recognizable,' Tweed commented.

At a nod from Saafeld, Joffey replaced the sheet, moved to the next table. He lifted the sheet clear of the head and neck again. The massacre of the face was just as ruthless on the other victim.

'In each case,' Saafeld explained, 'the killer cut the throat first with a very sharp knife. I suggest he came up behind them, grabbed their long hair, which you notice was dishevelled, hauled the head back, expos ing the throat for a swift slash ear to ear. Probably only took seconds. What puzzles me is what kind of weapon he used to ruin their faces, to create the deep random squiggles. Hector might solve the problem – you can't put photos of those horrors in the papers asking if anyone knows them. Joffey, ask Hector to join us.'

'Hector?'

Paula was taken aback by the name. She made a major effort to compose her expression when Joffey opened a door at the rear. A very small tubby man bounced into the room. Humpty Dumpty, Paula said under her breath.

'May I introduce you to one of the cleverest men in the country,' Saafeld began. 'Meet Hector Humble.' He introduced the tubby little man to his guests. 'He can bring both those women back to how they looked in life.'

'Impossible!' Tweed burst out.

'I've studied the faces, sir,' Hector assured him. 'It can be done.' He tapped a large cardboard-backed enve lope under his arm. 'I have photographed them as they are now. I must warn you,' he went on in his singsong voice, 'the job will cost you a fortune. Probably ten thousand pounds only payable if you're satisfied.' He began dancing round. 'I can see you're sceptical. Why not come with me to my work den. Just three side roads from here.'

'I strongly urge you to visit his work den,' Saafeld said.

Outside, Hector pointed to a large Mercedes parked beyond the Audi before he danced along the cul-de- sac towards it. His chubby face was all smiles.

'I'll lead the way. Leaving this close, turn left, then I'm the third turn-off on the left. My work den has a red metal cone over the chimney, in case you lose me…'

Dancing off down the cul-de-sac he paused at the front of his Merc. The rear of his car was facing the back of the Audi. In his rear-view mirror Tweed watched him fiddling with something.

'"In case you lose me,'" he quoted Hector ironi cally. 'In this traffic. Where does he think he is? Le Mans?'

At that moment Hector turned the Merc round and drove past them. Tweed stared. Paula shook with laughter. Tweed glared at her as he started his car.

'What's the matter with you?'

'Didn't you see? He's stretched white ribbon from the symbol on the bonnet back to each corner of his windscreen. People will think he's late collecting the bride and groom from their wedding!'

'Must be batty…'

'Or clever. Look what's happening.'

The Merc was swinging all over the place on the main road as other traffic stopped by the kerb. Hector was honking his horn gently and politely. A Rolls- Royce backed a few feet to let him through. Then Hector vanished.

Paula was checking side turnings on the left, count ing them. Hector had called back as he left them that he was at Salty Close. Tweed was crawling behind traffic when Paula warned him.

'Next turning to the left. Salters Close.'

'I thought he said Salty Close.'

'He did.' She dug him gently in the ribs. 'Where's your sense of humour? Hector has one. And there's his work place on the right – complete with a red cone over the chimney. Don't look so grim – we got here. So did Hector, ahead of you.'

They walked up a short path to an oak front door which had three knockers, one very high up. Paula took out a coin, spun it and smiled at Tweed.

'I suspect Hector is full of tricks. Lift me so I can reach the top one.' She pointed to a sturdy wooden box beyond the step. 'That's for small visitors to stand on.'

Tweed hoisted her easily, holding her round her slim waist. She hammered the top knocker twice and Tweed lowered her to the step. The door opened quickly after the turning of two locks and the release of a heavy chain. Hector stood there, beaming.

He looked even stranger since he was wearing a pair of enormous large-lensed glasses. He pushed them back over his forehead and stared at Paula.

'That was you, clever girl. I know because you knocked lightly and didn't try to drive the knocker through the door. So come on in.' He was speaking quickly. 'I need the glasses when I'm working – these lenses have great magnification. I have started on your project,' he told Tweed.

After relocking the front door he led them down a narrow hall into a large room. Paula was startled – there were wooden tables with various unusual tools neatly arranged, and shelves stacked with life-size fea tureless heads in smooth wood, some male, many female. The ceiling was a slab of thick glass providing plenty of light.

'My work den,' Hector explained. He wore a short white coat over his suit. 'The top knocker causes that red bulb to light up, tells me it's someone I know – not an estate agent wanting to tell me he could sell this place for a fortune.'

'Can I just wander round?' Tweed suggested. 'Never seen anywhere like this.'

'Wander, wander as you wish.' He took Paula gently by her arm. 'This is the most comfortable chair,' he went on, leading her to a leather armchair. For a moment he stared hard at her, then he nodded his head, turned his back on her and opened a cupboard.

Inside was an amazing collection of models of women's heads. He chose one, rejected it, chose another. Paula was suspicious. Hector placed it on a plinth on a wide shelf, opened another cupboard. Inside was a huge collection of wigs, also perched on plinths – blonde, jet black, brown. Selecting one with longish jet-black hair, he used a brush to create a glossy effect, arranged it on the plinth on the shelf. By now Paula was thoroughly suspicious. She waited for him to turn round but he still kept his back to her.

Finally he opened another cupboard, neatly arranged, took out an eye shadow, tested the colour on a sheet of cartridge, then applied it slowly above the eyeless head. His last act was to choose a lipstick, then apply that over the wooden lips. At that moment Tweed returned. For the first time Hector turned round, looked at Tweed.

'Well, what do you think of this?'

'Good God!' Tweed exclaimed. 'It's Paula.'

'I don't like it.' Paula had jumped up. She checked her watch. 'And he produced that in five minutes. You're not going to photograph it, I hope,' she said severely.

Hector looked disturbed. He ran forward and gently grasped her hand.

'I'm sorry. You have my word it will not be photo graphed – and within minutes of your leaving it will no longer exist.'

'Don't get upset,' she urged him in a softer voice. 'I just find it creepy. And you never looked at me.'

'I will confess,' he replied, his voice shaky, 'I could see you over there.'

He pointed to a large mirror attached to the far wall. There was something special about it. Her image was so clear. She managed to smile.

'You clever thing.'

Seeing he was still upset, almost had tears in his eyes, she kissed him lightly on one cheek.

'Time for us to go,' Tweed said briskly. 'My office will by now be in turmoil with both of us absent,' he fibbed. 'Hector, can you give me any idea when you'll let me have the photos?'

'So sorry, but I never predict that – I don't know. I assure you I will make it as quick as I can, for a double murder investigation.'