Cross of Fire (21 page)

They came to the point where the footpath forked - one
fork leading back up to the road, the other up to the dyke. Paula slipped on a patch of mud, nearly fell. Rosewater
grabbed her waist, kept her erect, hauled her up on the
dyke. Behind them Newman paused: his acute hearing had
caught the sound of the engine of a distant vehicle which
seemed to be growing louder although still some distance away. Sound carried a long way in the menacing silence which hung over the marshes. He could still hear the surge
of the sea.

Rosewater trod along the narrow path atop the dyke, the
marshes below him on the right,
the anchorage beyond a
mess of grassy creeks to his left. Paula was following close
behind him and Newman brought up the rear, wishing he'd
brought a weapon. He could still hear the sound of the
vehicle approaching across the marshes.

Paula was trembling - and not with the cold. The nearer
she approached the location where Karin had been found
the worse she felt. The dark didn't help. She couldn't even see the distant copse of firs where she had sheltered while
Karin was being strangled.

'Stop, Victor.' she called out.

She stood still, made herself play the flashlight down the side of the dyke, along a small creek filled with stagnant water. She froze. By the light of her beam she saw the small craft, rotting, the staves showing like the bowed ribs of a
disturbed skeleton. It was just as she had seen it with Karin's corpse laid out inside it. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself
to speak.

'She was found inside that wreck of a boat...'

Rosewater flashed his own beam on the craft, ran, slith
ered down the grassy bank. Crouching down, he examined its interior. Then, laying the lighted flash on a grassy tuft,
he grasped hold of the craft, heaved it over upside down
with manic energy, hauling it on to the grassy tufts. Paula
slipped a hand over her mouth to stop crying out. New
man's hand gently held her arm.

'Let him get it out of his system,' he whispered.

Rosewater had picked up the flashlight again, was now feverishly searching the grass, the muddy clefts, feeling the ground with his free hand. The moving hand stopped suddenly. Paula stiffened. Rosewater moved the beam very slowly over a patch of grass. Moments earlier he had been acting like a man in a frenzy. Now he was moving his hand slowly and systematically. The hand stopped again, the fingers closed over something. He opened his palm, shone his flashlight on an object, tucked the torch under his arm and used his gloved hand to rub it, to clean it.

He scrambled back up the bank, his bare hand clenched
tightly. Facing Paula, he opened the hand, shone the beam
on it. She stared at the gold ring which bore an insignia.
Picking it off his palm, she showed it to Newman who
glanced at it, then at Rosewater.

'Karin's?'

'No. Look at the size of the diameter. Karin had a small hand, slim fingers. Recognize the symbol on the signet?'

'The Cross of Lorraine. French. De Gaulle's symbol for
the Free French during World War II'

'And because of the size,' Rosewater pointed out, 'it was
probably dropped by the murderer. Find the owner and
we've found the strangler...'

'Put it in your pocket! Quickly!' Newman ordered.

The sound of the engine was suddenly much louder as a
vehicle approached rapidly
across the marshes. Newman
was about to urge them both down the far side of the bank away from the marshes when a blinding glare of light
silhouetted the three figures perched on the dyke.

'Stay exactly where you are,' commanded a familiar
voice. 'There is nowhere to run. I repeat, stay on the
dyke

Newman threw up a hand to shield his eyes against the
fierce glare. He shone his torch down on to the track below
the dyke bordering the marshes. The vehicle was a buggy
with enormous tyres - the only type of vehicle which could have crossed the treacherous ground.

'Turn off that damned light, Buchanan.' Newman
shouted back. 'We've as much right out here as you have.
You hear, Buchanan?'

'Chief Inspector
Buchanan, if you please,' Warden shouted
back from behind the vehicle's wheel.

'Don't be ridiculous, Warden,' Buchanan whispered.

It was the first time Newman had heard the stolid
Warden give voice to speech. He turned to Paula and
Rosewater, commenting at the top of his voice.

'Miracles happen. It can actually speak!'

'All right, that's enough, Newman,' Buchanan called out.
'I'm coming up there.'

'Then tell that driver to douse his bloody light.'

The searchlight, mounted on top of the buggy, went out. Buchanan climbed agilely up the bank, produced his own torch, shone it on the upturned craft.

'That could come under the offence of tampering with evidence,' he said mildly.

'Come off it,' Newman snapped. 'You've had the markers
and tapes which undoubtedly cordoned it off removed. So anyone could have played about with that boat.'

'I still need to talk to all of you. Would you prefer the
police station or the Brudenell where I'm staying?'

'You can't take us to the police station,' Newman con
tinued, keeping up his aggressive attitude. 'And you know
it. But yes to the Brudenell. Provided you give us a lift back
in that buggy...'

Chapter Fourteen

'So,' Buchanan continued, addressing Rosewater, 'you came
here to see where your wife was strangled?'

They were assembled in Buchanan's bedroom which
over-looked the street, on the
opposite side to Tweed's much
more spacious room on the floor below. It was cramped
with so many people - Newman, Paula, and Warden - in
addition to the Chief Inspector and Rosewater. Newman
had a grim look, disliking Buchanan's brutal approach.

'That's right,' Rosewater replied. 'A rather natural reaction, wouldn't you say?'

'And you're a captain in Military Intelligence?'

'With the BAOR - British Army of the Rhine.'

'You're on leave then? Compassionate?'

'No.' As tall as Buchanan, Rosewater stared straight back at his interrogator. 'I can go where I like, when I like.'

'Unusual for a British officer. What permits you such freedom of movement?'

'My job. I told you. Military Intelligence.'

'Care to enlighten me a little further?' Buchanan
suggested.

'No. Security. You have no authority to ask such a
question.'

Buchanan sighed. 'May I remind you, Captain Rosewater,
this is a murder investigation I'm engaged on?'

'No reminder necessary,' Rosewater told him tersely.
'May I remind you it my wife who was murdered?'

'Did you find anything interesting when you were messing around with that boat?' Buchanan persisted.

'Not a thing.' Rosewater lied promptly.

'Haven't you pushed this interrogation far enough?'
Newman interjected.

He was seated on the bed alongside Paula. Rosewater
and Warden occupied the only chairs. Buchanan kept stroll
ing round the room, jingling change in his pocket. He
stopped in front of Paula, looked down at her.

'And why were you out on the marshes, Miss Grey?'

'To guide Captain Rosewater to where it happened.'

'Really?' In one word Buchanan expressed his scepticism.
'How did you happen to meet this officer stationed in
Germany?'

'Purely by chance. I knew Karin. So once I met her
husband while I was on holiday over there. In Germany, to
be precise.' she added acidly.

'And Newman, you're here by chance?'

'No. On purpose. Occasionally I still interview prominent
people. Just to keep my hand in.'

'Even though that book you wrote,
Kruger: The Computer
That Failed,
became an international bestseller, made you
financially independent for life?'

'Your memory is slipping. I just told you - to keep my hand in. I don't enjoy hanging about doing nothing all the
time.'

'From my previous experience of you that's something you rarely do.'

'If you say so.'

Buchanan glanced at Rosewater, at Paula, at Newman,
his expression cynical. He looked at his watch, put both
hands back in his trouser pockets.

'You can all go now. And while I remember, thank you
for your close cooperation...'

'Sarcastic bastard, that Buchanan!' Paula burst out to
Newman as they walked along the corridor and down the
staircase to the next floor.

'Oh, he's just doing his job.' Newman glanced back at the
man behind them. 'And he's good at it. I must say you
handled him well. Just answered his questions, adding
nothing.'

Rosewater, following them down, smiled. 'It wasn't too difficult. I've been on the other end often enough - interrogating suspects. Care to join me in the bar. I think maybe I
could do with that Scotch now. Freezing out on the marshes.
I hope you didn't catch a chill, Paula.'

'No, I was well wrapped up.'

Paula paused as they reached the lower floor: 'Bob, I want to go and see someone. Why don't you and Victor
have a chat on your own?'

'We'll do that. See you for dinner.'

'But we will miss your company,' Rosewater assured
her.

Paula waited, fiddling with the folded coat she'd worn
for the trek to the dyke. As Rosewater passed her he handed her something. When they were gone she opened her hand.

It was holding the ring Rosewater had dug out of the
mud. She hurried to report to Tweed in his room.

Earlier, lieutenant Andre Berthier of Third Corps had waited
patiently while Jean Burgoyne sat chatting with the attrac
tive raven-haired girl. Two beauties - one brunette, one
blonde. He wouldn't mind a more intimate acquaintance
with either. Both would be even better. He dreamed a little
to pass the time but never for a moment did his alertness
desert him. Reminding himself of the role he was playing as
an Englishman, he ordered another gin and tonic because it
was such a British drink. Sipping it, his mind went back to
the orders he'd been given in France ...

Outside the car which de Forge had been travelling in -
leaving the Villa Forban - the
instructions had been explicit.
Major Lamy was not noted for wasting words.