Blood Storm (31 page)

Hammer grunted. He was ignoring Tweed, watching
Paula as she searched the cobbled street with her torch. She
bent down as her beam reflected off something. A diamond
ring was slotted inside a crack in the cobbles. She put on
latex gloves, picked it up.

'Nothing that matters, I'm sure,' Hammer said aggressively.

Paula walked back to Tweed, showed him the ring by the
light of her torch. Tweed recognized it. Viola had worn the
ring on the third finger of her right hand when they'd dined
together at Mungano's. During their visit to Saafeld at his
mortuary he had noticed a mark on the finger where she
had worn the ring. The killer must have wrenched it off the
severed hand. He must have dropped it when leaving
the building.

Hammer grunted again, stalked off towards his car parked
in the shadows. Tweed took out a transparent evidence
envelope, dropped the ring inside and placed it inside his
pocket.

'Could that be important?' Paula asked. 'So much for the
chief inspector's careful search. It's eerie round here,' she
added. 'It rather frightens me.'

'Then I suggest we go inside this house of horror. I've got
the front-door key from Hammer. A plodder, not the most distinguished chief inspector I've known . . .'

They entered. Paula noticed the lock was a Banham. Not
easy for anyone to pick. Tweed felt around, switched on the
light as Marler closed the door. They were in a long wide
hall with tasteful paper on the wall. Ahead of them a
staircase rose, built of mahogany with matching banisters.
On the first-floor landing Tweed, latex gloves on his hands,
opened a door to his right.

'The bedroom,' Marler said. 'Where it happened,' he
added quietly. He found a switch and lights came on all
over a spacious tastefully furnished room.

Paula's eyes instinctively went to the tall frosted-glass
window overlooking the street. There were few signs of
blood and she guessed one of Saafeld's technicians had
scraped it for DNA samples. A waste of time. Commander
Buchanan had told Saafeld the blood was all Viola's.

A double bed stood in the centre of the room. A white
sheet covered the entire bed. Paula lifted a corner.
Underneath was only the mattress. The sheets and blankets
had been taken away for examination. No sign of blood on
the mattress, but that wasn't surprising. On the floor on the
far side of the bed a chalk mark outlined where Viola's body
had been killed and cut up. Faint brown stains where the residue of her blood seeped into the wooden floor. Paula continued moving slowly round the room.

'This is probably useless,' Tweed remarked. 'It will have
been searched by experts.'

'I never trusted experts,' Marler said, standing by the
closed door.

Tweed was opening drawers, closing them. Paula stood
still, clasping her own latex-gloved hands. Where would a woman hide something? She lifted up the lid of a musical box. It began to play a romantic tune, which disturbed her.
How many times had Viola sat listening to its melody? She
found it very sad.

Inside the box was a selection of expensive jewellery. She
emptied it out into one hand, placed it on top of the
dressing table where the box had rested. Tweed looked at it
as she made her comment.

'Well, the motive certainly wasn't robbery. Not that we
ever thought it was. This is very expensive jewellery.'

'Shouldn't have been left here,' he said, and turned away
to continue his search.

The base the jewels had rested on was a thick blue
cushion. Paula extracted a nail file from her shoulder bag.
She pressed the tip gently down the side of the cushion,
eased it up. Underneath was a folded sheet of paper. She opened it, read the wording inside.

Marina. Call her and try and make it up. There followed
the address and phone numbers Coral Flenton had
provided. She showed it to Tweed. He pressed his lips
together as he studied it.

'We've found something the police missed,' he told
Marler.

'I told you I mistrusted so-called experts.'

Tweed showed him the note in neat handwriting. Marler
raised an eyebrow.

'It's a fresh lead.' said Tweed. 'I'm going over to see her when we leave here.'

'At this hour?' said Marler.

'I think, like Viola, Marina is a night bird. Surprise can
throw people.'

'Then we're coming with you,' Marler told him. 'Not
going to have you wandering round on your own at this
hour.'

'All right. But you must both keep out of sight. She won't
say a word if she's overwhelmed with three people. Let's get
moving.'

26

Paula found it eerie being driven through Mayfair at this
hour: not a soul about. There was an unsettling silence
when Tweed turned down a cul-de-sac. He parked by the kerb and they got out together. The heavy silence seemed to press down on them.

Marina's flat was situated in one of the old terraced
houses lining both sides of the street. The atmosphere reminded Paula of a stage setting for a menacing play.
Tweed had gone up the steps, was about to press the button
which had a card alongside inscribed Marina Vander-
Browne, when Marler tugged his sleeve.

'Front door is open,' he whispered. It was the sort of
street where you automatically whispered.

Beyond the heavy front door was a narrow hall, an
equally narrow staircase leading upwards.

Tweed whispered: 'Follow me. According to the card
she's on the third floor.'

They began to climb up three staircases covered with a
red carpet. When they reached the third floor Tweed
looked up. Above them was another floor. Marler gave
Tweed a strange-looking whistle, inserted an earplug with a
wire disappearing inside his coat.

'Paula and I will wait here, out of sight. Any trouble, you
blow it. She won't hear it but I will.'

Tweed moved close to the speakphone outside a heavy
door. He pressed the bell. Waited. Nothing. He pressed it
again. At head height the door had a closed flap over a Judas
window. It opened suddenly. A woman's face was staring at
him as he held up his folder.

'Investigating the murder of Viola,' he said tersely.
'Could I come in and have a word with you?'

'At this hour?' Through the bars over the opening he
could see she was fully dressed. Smoke was drifting up from
a cigarette. 'Who are you, anyway?'

The voice was cut-glass. She repeated her question, this
time less politely.

'It says who I am on the folder you can see. SIS. I am
Tweed.'

'Oh, him. Bloody good job I stay up late. Don't get up very early in the morning. Can't burn the candle at both ends.'

As she was talking he heard keys turning in three locks,
then the clanging removal of four chains.
The place was a
fortress. Eventually she opened the door and he slipped inside. He was relieved when she turned only one key,
leaving it in the lock.

'Better come in and join me with a drink,' she suggested
as she stared him up and down. 'And you may smoke.'

Tweed was intrigued to see how much like Viola Marina
looked. The resemblance was striking - she too had thick
blonde hair, though hers was trimmed shorter - but there
was a hardness Viola had lacked.

She wore a short white dress which hugged her excellent
figure. The eyes were again blue but hers were cold.
Leading him into a flamboyantly furnished living room,
she sat on a very long wide sofa, patted the place where
Tweed should sit close to her. He chose a chair further
away from her. She crossed her legs, began swinging her
right leg. On a glass-topped table before her was what
Tweed would have called a complete bar, laden with
bottles and glasses.

'Drink.' It was almost a command accompanied by a
flashing smile. 'Scotch on the rocks, gin, brandy? Come on,
I can't call out the lot.'

'I don't drink on duty.'

'On duty! You come to see me of all people at this hour
on duty? Come off it.'

The leg was still slowly swinging up and down. Tweed
had trouble not glancing at it. In her brazen way she was as
attractive as poor Viola had been. He decided he'd
preferred her twin sister.

'On official duty,' he emphasized.

'Oh, I see. You don't do it when you're official. Well at
this hour you're off duty. Want to see the bedroom?'

'No thanks. It's comfortable in here.'

'Then we could use the sofa. It's wide and long enough.
I should know by now.'

'Miss Vander-Browne . . .' His voice now had an edge to it. 'I would have thought it would have been a shock when
you heard the horrific way your sister had died.'

'I'm sure she asked for it.'

Tweed drew in a breath. The sheer cold-bloodedness astonished even him with all his experience. His voice
became tougher.

'After being raped. By a man - or a woman. Her legs were
chopped off at the knees, her arms at the shoulder, then her
head . . .'

'Oh, do stop it. You're spoiling what could be a pleasant
night for you. Take your mind off it.' She became coy,
which was even more sickening. 'I assume you have five
hundred pounds on you? The fee always comes first.'

'Had you heard from your late sister recently?' he
demanded.

'Why would she be in touch?'

'Because I have evidence she had been hoping to make it
up with you.'

She hesitated for the first time. She poured herself a fresh
drink, swallowed half of the glass's contents. Then she lit a
cigarette with a steady hand. A granite heart, Tweed
thought. But for the first time he saw a sign of nervousness.

'She did call you, didn't she?' he persisted abruptly.

'Yes, she did. About ten days ago. All lovey-dovey.
Couldn't we meet and talk things over? I said "What for?"
and slammed the phone down on her.'

'That was so very nice of you, in view of what's taken
place since. Did you both have any of the same clients?'