Cell (53 page)

'He's up. Glow of light from between the shutters closed
over the windows.'

Turning on his powerful torch, he aimed it at the roof. A slim radio mast protruded upwards. Reducing the strength
of the beam, he went up to the door, examined the locks. A
well-known make. He handed his torch to Paula, gestured
to indicate he needed her to shine it on the lock.

Taking out a small folded leather tool-kit, he extracted
an oilcan, a pick-lock. He squirted oil first on the lock, then
a smear on the pick. He heard the tumblers drop back, put
his tools back in the leather holdall. Very gently, he turned
the door handle. His acute hearing had caught the sound
of a voice speaking inside. He pushed the door open a few
inches. No creak. The door's hinges were well oiled.

Paula stood next to him as light flooded out from the narrow opening. Martin's voice came to them clearly,
speaking emphatically.

'I tell you Billy is not here. I have checked his bungalow
and it's empty. What? No, I don't have any idea where he
is. And no, I've no idea where he might have gone. Must go now . . .'

Marler realized Martin had been alerted to their presence by the drop in temperature as icy air percolated in from the
outside. He walked in, Walther in his right hand, followed
by Paula. Martin had his back to them as he put down a telephone on a table. His right hand reached inside
his jacket.

'Don't do anything stupid, Martin,' Marler ordered.

Turning round slowly, Martin rubbed fingers across his
mouth as though considering how to respond. He was fully
dressed in a grey business suit. He dropped both hands,
exposing them palms outwards, demonstrating he had no
weapon.

'What the devil are you doing here?' he hissed. 'Breaking
and entering? A crime. I'll put you both behind bars . .,.'

'Martin,' Marler interrupted in cold voice, 'who were
you calling on that phone?'

'None of your damn business.'

'But it is our damn business,' Marler told him, moving closer. 'You're mixed up with the New Age people - and something far worse.'

'Prove it,' Martin snapped with a feeble show of bra
vado.

'I'll leave Superintendent Buchanan to do that. You're already linked to New Age for starters.' With his left hand Marler produced a pair of plastic handcuffs, recently issued. Locked on wrists, they clicked tighter and tighter if the prisoner struggled with them. 'Turn round,' Marler went on. 'Hold both wrists close together behind your back.'

The next minute was horrific. Martin twisted his lips in a strange attempt to look defiant, then crunched on something in his mouth. His face twisted again into something almost unrecognizable as his hand darted to his throat. He let out a terrible half-choked scream, fell sideways into a chair. It became a gurgle of unbearable pain. His eyes bulged. Paula rushed forward. She had only seen this once before.

'He swallowed something. He put it in his mouth when
his back was turned to us.' She sounded desperate as she
reached him, bent down.

'Water,' said Marler. 'With salt. An emetic . . .'

He was heading for the kitchen when Paula shook her
head. By now Martin was thrashing his legs and arms, still
in the chair. Paula stopped Marler.

'No good. He's gone. I caught a whiff of bitter almonds
from his mouth. He swallowed a cyanide pill. We can't
save him.'

Martin's thrashing body suddenly became motionless.
He sagged in the chair. His eyes were open. Dead eyes.
Marler came back, looked down at him. He realized he
was still holding the Walther. He slipped it back inside his holster.

'Why on earth did he do that?'

'My guess,' Paula replied quietly, 'is he knew he'd be
linked to al-Qa'eda. That he'd face a sentence of thirty
years in prison. Couldn't face it.'

'I'll inform Buchanan at once,' Marler decided, taking
out his mobile. 'We'll need an ambulance up here urgently.
And no screaming sirens up here — or flashing lights . . .'

He was lucky. When he pressed Buchanan's private
number at the Yard, the superintendent answered immedi
ately. Marler explained the situation in as few words as possible. The superintendent said he was on his way to
Carpford with an ambulance at once.

'Buchanan's coming himself,' Marler told Paula.

She had forced herself, after putting on latex gloves, to go through the dead man's pockets. Inside a thick wallet she found credit cards, driving licence, five hundred pounds in five-pound notes. She also found a one-way ticket to the Bahamas via New York. She showed the ticket to Marler.

'Look as though he was about to flee. The Bahamas. That suggests Gerald Hanover.'

'Isn't he the man who is controlling the whole opera
tion?'

'Yes. Or the woman.'

They continued the search while waiting for Buchanan. Marler closed the door to Martin's bungalow but left the
door unlocked.

The door to Billy Hogarth's bungalow was closed but
also unlocked. Which Paula found strange and said so to
Marler.

'An obvious explanation,' he replied. 'We heard Martin
say on the phone to someone that he'd checked Billy's place.
Anything strike you in here?'

'Nothing.' Paula went on checking. She worked quickly
and had the reputation at Park Crescent of being an expert
when it came to searching. After checking living-room,
kitchen and the two bedrooms she came out, held out her hands in a dismissive gesture.

'Nothing anywhere. Nothing I wouldn't expect to find. A gap in his wardrobe, but they'll be the things he took
with him to London. Palfry's tub-house next. No, we'll
call on Margesson first. Tweed keeps dismissing him as
unimportant.'

Marler first pressed the bell after pretending to admire
the outside of the Georgian house. There was a light on
in a first-floor room. They both heard the heavy thump of
footsteps coming down a staircase. The door was flung open
and Margesson, clad in a strange robe which fell almost to
his ankles, glared out. Even his beard seemed to bristle. Marler was holding up his identity folder.

'Do you know what time it is?' Margesson fulminated.

'Yes, we do,' said Marler. 'But you obviously were not
asleep . . .'

'I was praying. Does that mean nothing to you? This
is the state the world has collapsed to. No discipline. No
courtesy. You wonder why the revolution is coming?'

'Which revolution is that?' Marler enquired. 'And we can listen to your views more comfortably if you invite us in. It
is bitterly cold out here - and the cold is getting into your magnificent home,' he said with a rare smile.

'You like it?' Margesson's mood changed. 'For a few
minutes then.' His mood changed again. He pointed at Paula. 'She can't come in. Only one woman is permitted to enter my home.'

'Thank you.' Marler pushed past the large figure, holding
Paula by the hand. 'Thank you,' he said again.

Confused, Margesson closed the door. As he turned round the folds of his silken robe swished. He waved
towards a sofa.

'You may sit.'

Marler sat down with Paula beside him. He gazed round
the spacious room, furnished with expensive sofas and
chairs, all covered with Oriental designs of a weird charac
ter. The big man sat down in a high throne chair facing them. Paula also looked round the strange room.

'This is so beautiful,' she commented.

'I have spent time on my surroundings. It is probably a
sin. The world is full of sin.' His voice had risen, his arms
waving. 'Society in the West has fallen to the depths and there is no structure, no discipline, just orgies of the most
frightful behaviour. Even the children are polluted.'

'Excuse me,' Paula said, leaning forward, her eyes fixed
on Margesson's, 'but I have the strongest feeling that you are repeating, by rote so to speak, what someone else has
preached to you. Rather like listening to a record, if I may say so.'

Margesson blinked. He was confused again. He stared round the room as though seeking help. So far he'd made
no effort to deny what Paula had suggested. He gazed down
at both of them as though not seeing them. As though
drugged.

'So,' Paula continued in the same quiet voice, 'who is it that comes to see you? The person who propagates these
ideas to you so forcefully you are convinced this is the real
truth. One of your neighbours, perhaps?'

'I think I have to ask you both to leave now,' he mumbled.
He looked at Paula. 'Who are you?' Then he lifted a large
hand. 'No, please do not tell me. I do not wish to know.'

'We do have to leave,' Marler said, standing up. 'Thank you for allowing us in to your holy house.'

Margesson rose slowly, as though really he was reluctant
to see them go. As he unlocked and opened the door, Marler
asked his question suddenly.

'You see much of Palfry?'

'Palfry?'

'Your neighbour living in the round house.'

'He comes occasionally.' His reply came after a long
pause. 'My blessings . . .'

The cold hit them like a hammer. Marler looked thought
ful as they made their way to the tub-house. As they got closer it looked enormous in the fog.

'That was very clever of you,' Marler remarked. 'He
has been brainwashed by some unknown person. Maybe
Palfry — you noticed how long it took him to answer my
last question.'

'Or the unknown woman, the only one permitted to enter
his house.'

No lights in Palfry's home. They walked all round it before
approaching the front door. Paula was surprised by the
dimension of its circumference. It was a
very
large place.
Marler decided there was no one inside. Using his tool-kit,
he dealt with the lock, opened the heavy door, stepped
inside, felt round, found the switches, turned them all on. Paula gazed at the interior, taken aback by what she saw.

One vast room with circular walls. A kitchen area over
to her right. Curved counters, curved cupboards against
the wall, an immense American-style refrigerator, a stove,
cooking utensils hanging from the wall behind the huge
counter. No antiques, but plenty of tasteful chairs and sofas scattered around. On the far wall a curving staircase led up to a gallery.

I'd soon get dizzy living here, she thought. Marler had a
nerve, breaking into the place. Supposing Palfry was sleep
ing upstairs, appeared with a shotgun. Then she noticed Marler had his Walther in his hand.