Cross of Fire (26 page)

Butler, who was wearing gloves, helped him to place the fox on the cloth they had spread across the road, to roll up the corpse and carry it back to the car. When it was safely stacked in the boot Newman stripped off his gloves, tossed them on top of the bundle.

'I'd advise you to do the same,' he told Butler.

He shut the boot when both pairs of gloves had been
dropped inside. Then he clapped a hand briefly on Butler's shoulder.

'Thanks for saving us, Harry. We'd be like that fox now
but for you.'

'Part of the job,' Butler replied typically. 'Where to now?'

'Back to the Brudenell. Tweed left early this morning so we'll probably settle our bills, get back to London.' He looked at Marler who was standing close by. 'Well, it worked.'

'What did?'

'My stirring up Lord Dane Dawlish. That chopper attack was a blunder, a major giveaway. Tweed will be interested.'

Chapter Seventeen

During his morning drive back to Park Crescent in the Ford
Escort Tweed was worried. Too many people were descend
ing on Lord Dawlish for his shooting party. And besides Newman and Marler, Paula had chosen the same morning
for her interview with the millionaire.

His anxiety grew as he drove into London. By the time he parked close to his HQ he'd decided what to do. Hurry
ing up the stairs to his office, he opened the door and spoke
to
Monica before even taking off his coat.

'Urgent.' He checked his watch. 12.30 p.m. And Paula's appointment had been for noon. 'Very urgent. Look up the number of Lord Dane Dawlish at Grenville Grange near Aldeburgh. Write it down and give it to me quickly.'

He opened a file after taking off his coat and sitting
behind his desk. He hardly saw the papers he was looking
at. Monica was having trouble obtaining the unlisted num
ber. After speaking to the operator she broke the connection, called a friend of Tweed's in Special Branch.

A few minutes later she slammed the phone down,
scribbled on a sheet of paper, tore it off the notepad, and
took it to Tweed.

'Sorry it took so long ...'

'I've got it. That's the main thing. I'll dial the number
myself. I may have to crash through a screen of underlings...'

*

Paula had shown cool outrage when Dawlish grabbed her by the wrist.

'If you don't let go of me I'll walk out on you now. And
you won't like the article. Headline?
Lord Dawlish Manhan
dles Women.
Won't do your image a power of good, I'd have
thought.'

Dawlish released his grip. Still red-faced he repeated his question more quietly.

'Who the hell put you up to asking that question about armaments? Someone else threw me the same sidewinder not ten minutes ago.'

'I'm not someone else. For your information I happen to operate independently. And it was rather an obvious subject
to bring up - you do control armament factories. I do my
homework before I interview anyone. Or would you prefer to dodge the issue?'

'No issue to dodge, as you put it. I also control whole chains of supermarket stores in North America. Which is
my main source of income.' He leaned towards her. 'I feed
people. Armaments is a sideline. I suppose, like all reporters
you're looking for a sensational angle.' he sneered.

'A balanced report is what I aim at. You have a really
wide spread of activities. That's the way the article will
read. Supermarkets, financing underwater exploration of a
sunken village. I think I'll concentrate on the latter. It's
unusual.'

'Do I have your word on that?' Dawlish barked.

'Look, are you deaf? I've already told you once what I'm going to do.'

'I like a girl with guts.' Dawlish became amiable. 'I spend
half my time pushing thickheads into carrying out my
instructions correctly. Only way I've got where I have. You're very intelligent. Shouldn't have lost my temper.
There was an incident outside just before I met you. My
apologies.' He grinned. 'Why not join me in a glass of wine to show
no hard feelings? Then later I can show you round the house. Some interesting pictures upstairs.'

Upstairs?
Bedrooms. Here we go again, Paula thought as
she shook her head. 'If you don't mind I'll stay with coffee.'

'Coffee can be served upstairs.' Dawlish persisted. 'I have
a Rubens up there. That would be something for your
article.'

'Don't like Rubens.'

'What were your sources for discovering one of my minor
activities is armaments?' Dawlish suddenly shot at her.

Paula paused. She sensed the situation could turn ugly. Dawlish was not a man accustomed to being turned down
by females. His attitude and expression had become
aggressive. The phone rang. Dawlish pursed his thick lips
with annoyance, picked up the instrument off a table.

'What the devil is it? Who did you say was calling? I see.
Hell, you'd better put him on.'

'Dawlish here ...'

'Chief Inspector Buchanan speaking,' a voice interrupted him. 'I know you have a Paula Grey visiting you,' Tweed continued. 'I want her to drive back at once to the Brudenell Hotel for questioning. When I say at once I mean now.'

'It's not convenient just at this moment...'

'Make it convenient, I'm investigating a murder case -
that takes priority over everyone's convenience. Put her on
the line, Dawlish.
Now!'

Dawlish looked grim. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. He decided to try once more to delay his guest's departure.

'She could leave within about an hour...'

'And I could send a patrol car over there to fetch her. I'm
beginning to wonder about your reluctance to cooperate.'
Tweed continued.

'Just a moment.'

Dawlish shoved the phone at Paula. His tone was brittle. He raised his voice so it would carry along the line.

'Chief Inspector Plod insists on speaking to you. He'll
give you his own message.'

'Miss Grey?' Tweed went on speaking quickly. 'This is Chief Inspector Buchanan. Would you kindly drive back to the Brudenell Hotel immediately. I have further information I need from you...' Tweed dropped to a whisper, using his normal voice. 'Get out of there at once. I don't like the sound of Dawlish's mood.'

Paula managed to keep her expression blank.. Earlier it had sounded exactly like Buchanan.

'Very well, Chief Inspector. I can't imagine how I can
help, but as you insist I'm
leaving now. I should be with
you inside half an hour. Goodbye.'

Handing back the receiver, she put her notebook and pen inside her shoulder bag. Standing up, she walked swiftly to
the cupboard, slipped on her coat before Dawlish could
reach her, turned round.

'I'm sure I have enough for my
Woman's Eye
piece. I would like to thank you for your courtesy in agreeing to see me.'

Dawlish shoved a hand into the pocket of his jodhpurs.
He looked grim and highly unsatisfied. He stood like a
wooden statue as he asked the question.

'What was all that about? Are you in trouble?'

'I discovered the body of a girl who was strangled on the marshes near Aldeburgh not so long ago.'

'I read about it. Karin...' He snapped the thick fingers
of his other hand. 'Somebody-or-Other.'

'Rosewater.' She watched his eyes, which were like bul
lets again. 'She was German with an English husband. No one can work out why she was murdered.'

'Some psychopath probably. You'd better go and meet
Mr Flatfoot. I just wonder how he knew you were here.'

'He knows I'm staying at the Brudenell. He only had to
make enquiries - I asked some of the staff how to get to Grenville Grange.' Paula lied easily.

'Don't forget my invitation to join me for a trip aboard the Cat.' Dawlish reminded her as he escorted her to the
spacious entrance hall and the front door. 'Here is my card
with my ex-directory number. Don't print that, for God's
sake.'

'I promise.' Paula said, taking the gold-edged embossed
card.

'Just call me when you're available.' Dawlish urged her affably, one hand on her arm. 'I'll give you several dates.'

Paula turned her head suddenly as he opened one of the
double doors. Leading into the hall was a single door to her
right and it had been open about a foot. In the gap she
caught a glimpse of a man watching her and then it closed.

'Drive carefully.' Dawlish advised jovially as she left, running down the terrace steps and across to her car.

She sank into the seat behind the wheel, sighing with
relief. Dawlish had an overwhelming personality and she'd
exhausted herself fighting him off. She switched on the ignition and spoke to herself as she drove down the gravel
drive towards the gates which were opening automatically.

'Thank God for Tweed .. .'

Inside Grenville Grange Dawlish walked to the door in
the right-hand wall, opened it and glared at the man waiting
inside.

'I just hope to hell she didn't see you, idiot. Now follow me and report, Lieutenant Berthier.'

*

At Park Crescent Monica gazed in astonishment at Tweed. He had just completed his call to Grenville Grange.

'In all the years I've known you.' Monica began, 'I'd no idea you were such a good mimic. You really sounded just like Chief Inspector Buchanan.'

'Oh, I have hidden talents.' Tweed smiled wrily and
polished his glasses on his handkerchief. 'Now, we must
move fast. Get me Rene Lasalle...'

'I'm on scrambler, Ren
é.'
Tweed warned when the call came through.

'So am I. The situation here is grim...'

'I'm working on it,' Tweed assured him. 'So is most of
my team. Round the clock. I need certain items urgently ...'

'Which are?'

'When Paula and I met you in Paris you showed us some photos from a certain gentleman's dossier. Can you send me
quickly copies of photos of the following - Josette. You
know who I mean?'

'Yes. Who else?'

'Major Lamy, de Forge, and Jean Burgoyne.'

'I'll make copies from the negatives myself, send them to you by personal courier. Code-name Versailles. I will also
send you one of someone else. A Lieutenant Andr6 Berthier.
On Lamy's staff. Could be a key liaison officer - and
something else. That's it?'

Tor the moment. Keep in touch...'

'Who is Josette?' Monica enquired.

'General de Forge's wife. When Newman goes back into France he'll need to be able to identify the main players.'