The Savage Gorge

FIVE

Tweed arrived early at Park Crescent the next day, to find his whole team in his office, again with the excep tion of Harry Butler. As he hung up his camel-hair coat he glanced through the windows towards Regent's Park, which was bathed in sunlight. Another glorious May day. Monica leaned forward as he sat at his desk.

'You have a visitor in the waiting room downstairs. A Hector Humble.'

'Why park him in that dreary room?'

'He preferred not to invade your office until you arrived. He was quite firm about it.'

'Invite him up immediately.' Tweed sighed. 'He's come to warn me the photos of the two murdered women won't be ready for weeks.'

A clatter of feet on the stairs, the door opened,

Hector bounced into the room. His jacket was open and underneath he was clad in a waistcoat of many colours, all tasteful.

'Love your waistcoat,' Paula called out. 'Really unique.'

'Got it in the Old Kent Road. Half price – it had been displayed for weeks.'

Under his right arm he clutched two cardboard- backed envelopes. He was still blushing at Paula's praise, shyly accepted Monica's offer of coffee. He eased his rounded body into the chair Tweed, stand ing up, had gestured towards after shaking hands.

'Done it,' he said with an air of triumph. 'Worked dirough the night. Got absorbed. Knew you needed them urgently.'

Diving into the thicker envelope he produced a batch of photos. He spread two copies in front of Tweed, who stared in disbelief. He knew he was looking at glossy prints of the two murdered women as they had appeared alive. Even their long hair falling to their shoulders looked real.

The whole team gathered round the desk. Paula peered over his shoulder. She pursed her lips as she made her remark.

'They were both beautiful. We've got to get the swine who ruined them.'

'You have seven copies,' Hector went on. 'Don't look now inside this envelope. It will upset you. They're copies of how they looked before I rebuilt their faces. Just for your files.'

'But eventually,' Newman said fiercely, 'to show the jury when we've dragged the killer into court by his heels.'

The door opened and Howard, the Director, strolled in. He was a tall man with the beginnings of a stout stomach. He was perfectly dressed in a new grey Armani suit, pristine white shirt, cuffs shot beyond the sleeves, exposing gold cufflinks. An Hermes tie decorated the shirt front. Normally ami able, he had a serious expression as Tweed showed him the photos.

'Hector has performed a miracle. I told you about him before I went home last night.'

'Well, write out Mr Humble the cheque I approved.'

Tweed already had his chequebook out, was filling it in for ten thousand pounds. Hector protested.

'I quoted too much. Seven or eight would be most acceptable.'

'A deal is a deal,' Tweed insisted, writing in the orig inally agreed amount.

Howard picked up the photos of both women as they had been in life. He sighed.

'I'd like to have taken either lady to dinner…' He gulped. 'God! That was in the worst taste. I do apolo gize. I'm off back to my office.' He held out his large pink hand.

'Mr Humble, I've seen the work of experts in other fields but words fail me to express my admiration for your quite unique skill.'

He hurried from the office, still embarrassed by his remark. Hector swallowed the rest of the coffee Monica had brought him, stood up, the cheque in his wallet. He grasped hold of Paula, kissed her on both cheeks.

'You're such a nice lady,' he murmured, blushing.

He darted out of the room before Paula could decide how to react. Tweed was sorting the photos into pairs, each pair comprising one photo of each murdered woman. He instructed Paula as the others returned to their desks.

'Every member of the team must have a copy.' He raised his voice. 'But everyone must be discriminating as to who sees them. Under no circumstances are you to reveal both women were murdered. It's identification of the victims that is holding up the investigation.'

'So not in the newspapers,' Newman suggested.

'Last place on earth,' Tweed replied emphatically.

'Well,' Newman insisted, 'this morning's Clarion has a big splash headline. It's my top newspaper friend, of course, Drew Franklin. Show him, Paula.'