The Cauldron (21 page)

'Where is Philip?' she asked. 'Where did he go when he took extended leave?'

'I've no idea where he is now. We may never see him again. He's roaming the world. Like The Wandering Jew. That's a novel written by someone long ago called Jew Suss. I may have got the title a bit wrong - and the name of the author.'

'So he never really settled down?'

'Can you wonder at it? After what he went through?'

The newspapers broke the story that following morning. At his desk Tweed studied a national newspaper, only one of many which carried the story.

Twin Girls Murdered? Have You Seen Them?
The headline was splashed across the front page. A story followed about two women who had been dragged out of the sea, dead, six thousand miles and several weeks apart from the discovery of one to the finding of the other. Two large pictures. One of the twin in California. The other of the twin in Cornwall. Another paper carried the headline
International Twin Murder?
Tweed passed the first newspaper to Monica.

'Buchanan has done a good job. Pulled out all the stops. That's going to rattle VB in his cage, shake the living daylights out of him. The timing couldn't be more perfect.'

'You think Moloch will react?'

'Someone will. Somewhere. I'm hoping we'll get a person who knows who they are coming forward. Here or maybe in California.'

'Why in California?'

'You know I asked you in the middle of the night to collect copies of the newspapers as they came off the presses?'

'I could hardly forget. I was up half the night.'

'At least I packed you off afterwards to get some sleep. I told you not to come in until this afternoon.'

'I can get by on a few hours, as you know. How much shut-eye did you get?'

'None.' admitted Tweed. 'I had a shower here and a change of clothes. After I'd sent copies to Cord Dillon and called him. At my request the RAF had a jet standing by at Heathrow to fly them to the States. I had to get the PM's backing to arrange that.'

'So when do they arrive?' Monica asked.

'Should be there now.' Tweed said, after checking his watch. "They travelled in one of the RAF's superjets.'

'We really are moving. How will Cord get them to the West Coast?'

'By the same superjet. They may already have hit California. One of Cord's men in San Francisco is delivering them anonymously to Moloch's doorstep.'

It was late afternoon in Britain and early in the morning in California when Cord Dillon phoned Tweed.

'We've hit the button.' Dillon opened. 'Your papers arrived OK, have just been delivered to the big man. But more important, the story is splashed all over the
LA Times
, the
San Francisco Chronicle
- and the
Monterey Herald
. Now I'm waiting some guy who knew these chicks to holler that he knew them, who they are.'

'You're moving fast.' Tweed commented. 'How did you manage that?'

'I have contacts.' Dillon replied vaguely. 'We wired the three papers in California with the photo of the woman who came ashore in California and the Identikit you sent of the other one who was washed in on the coast of Cornwall. Someone, somewhere, has to react.'

'I hope so...'

Unknown to both Tweed and Dillon, someone had already reacted. An American, a partner in Standish Investigations, a private detective agency, was staring at the pictures in disbelief and growing horror.

Linda Standish was working on a homicide case under cover. She had obtained a job in a dress shop in Carmel at the princely sum of ten dollars an hour. There were no customers in the shop as she stood and rapidly read the story. She made up her mind immediately. Her boss was not pleased when she told him.

'I'm sorry, but I'm resigning, Leon...'

'Resigning? You've only been here a week. You can't do this to me.'

'My father's on a visit to London.' she lied glibly. 'I had a call just before you came in. He's been taken seriously ill.'

'You didn't tell me your father was going to London.'

'You don't tell me your private affairs.' she snapped.

'Don't expect you're going to get another week's pay.'

'Keep your pay!'

She was out of the shop and inside her parked car before Leon could think of a comeback. From a phone booth she called her father in Santa Barbara, told him only what she had told Leon, warning him to back her up by getting his girl friend to answer all calls, to say he was away in London. She was careful not to upset him by telling him the truth. He didn't take the papers or watch the TV. He had an aversion to any form of news and his girl friend was as dumb as they come.

Next she phoned British Airways, booked a seat on the night flight to London, using her credit card. Then she called her partner in San Francisco, explained the situation.

'Ed, send one of the girls on the staff to try and get the job in that dress shop. Guy's called Leon.'

'You were getting somewhere with the Armstrong homicide?'

'Not a thing so far. I have to fly. Literally ...'

Finally, she called the number at Black Ridge, asked to speak to Mr Moloch. She was put straight through to him.

'Linda here. I have to fly to London. My father's ill. Sounds serious. While I'm there I hope to pick up a clue about your missing girl friends.'

'I'll increase the fee to one hundred thousand dollars,' he replied instantly. 'If you trace them. But you don't reveal any information to anyone. Bring it straight to me. Me alone.'

'You told me that before. I have to rush to catch the plane.'

She then started the two-hour drive to San Francisco, pushing over the speed limit. It was going to be a close thing to catch that flight. All the time, at the back of her mind, she was thinking, One hundred thousand dollars is a load of money.

She caught the flight by the skin of her teeth, settled into her seat in Club Class. An expensive trip. Normally she'd have travelled Coach, or what the Brits called Tourist. But she needed time to think to get over the shock.

She knew she could have contacted the police in California, but they had so much crime on their hands she didn't think they'd give the case the attention she was determined to get. Her first move would be to call New Scotland Yard.

Linda drank the champagne the hostess had served while she checked the newspaper. The guy who appeared to be running the case was a Chief Inspector Buchanan. She'd call him. Frig the jet lag.

The following morning Buchanan called Tweed as he was looking again at the map of California Professor Weatherby had given him.

Tweed, we may have a reaction to the stories in the papers. A Linda Standish has called me. Just said she had information on the missing twins. Wouldn't talk on the phone. Since you started all this would you like to interview her? She's American. I have the feeling you might learn more.'

'Where is this Linda Standish?'

'I'll give you a number. She's staying at some hotel down in Bayswater. Here's the phone number ... And you'll keep me in touch?'

'Closely. But who am I supposed to be?'

'I hope you don't mind, but I gave her your name. I could have asked you first but I sensed she's highly strung, so didn't want to lose her. You're a chief claims investigator, your usual cover. I told her there could be an insurance angle.'

'I'll call her. And thank you ...'

Tweed knew this was Buchanan's way of repaying him for his cooperation. Also, he suspected Buchanan realized that he could at times be intimidating. He called the number and asked Standish if she would meet him at Brown's Hotel. She agreed immediately, said she knew London well.

He arrived at Brown's at eleven o'clock, fifteen minutes early, but the concierge told him Miss Standish was waiting for him in the lounge. Accompanying Tweed, he pointed out the American who sat drinking coffee.

Tweed studied Linda Standish quickly as he walked towards her. She would be about five foot seven, was slim, had straight brown hair and a plain face. Rimless glasses were perched on her long nose and she wore a white blouse, high at the neck and with long sleeves. Her legs were clad in beige trousers and on her feet she wore white trainers.

'Miss Standish? I am Tweed.'

'Do sit down, Mr Tweed.'

He settled himself into a comfortable chair opposite and close to her. She stared at him and he knew she was assessing him. He waited patiently while she drank the rest of her coffee. She put the cup down and he tried to help her.

'I understand from Chief Inspector Buchanan that you have information about the missing twin ladies.'

"They were my sisters ...'

Tears appeared in her eyes. She turned her head away and produced a handkerchief. Tweed was careful not to look at her. Instead he refilled her cup from the pot.

"Thank you,' she said and blew her nose. Her American accent was the softer type sometimes found in California. 'Sorry to make a fool of myself.'

'It's the jet lag.' he said kindly. 'I gather you have just come off the plane recently. A ten-and-a-half-hour flight can be a strain.'

'You are very kind.' She got a grip on herself. "They were my sisters,' she repeated more firmly. 'Julie was the woman who died in California, Cheryl in Cornwall. They were thirty years old. Unlike me, they were both very attractive.'

She paused. Tweed estimated Linda Standish would be in her mid-thirties. She was twisting the handkerchief between her hands, realized it, stuffed it inside her shoulder bag.

'Do you know when they disappeared?' he asked gently.

'Yes. Several weeks ago. Both of them about the same time. They were working for a very powerful man. Vincent Bernard Moloch.'

'Working for him. In what capacity? I need all the data.'

'I understand. I'm a private investigator. I work from Carmel. My junior partner covers San Francisco. Ed Keller.'

'I appreciate this is very difficult for you.'

Tweed now understood why she had weighed him up at first with her shrewd grey-blue eyes. It was part of her job to assess people quickly. He thought her intelligent. Probably good at her job - she could enter a roomful of people and no one would notice her, a valuable quality in her profession.

'I saw their pictures in the paper yesterday. I tried to trace their movements but they had just vanished.'

'I need to know in what capacity they worked for Moloch,' he repeated quietly.

"They were his confidantes and lovers.'

'I see. Did you go to see him?'

'Of course. He appeared puzzled and embarrassed. He couldn't understand where they had gone.'

'You said they were both his lovers?' he probed delicately.

'Not at the same time. It was Cheryl first. He can be very charming. She was furious when he turned his attentions to Julie, but she stayed on his payroll. He was a generous man where women were concerned.'

'What do you suspect happened to them?'

'I have no idea, Mr Tweed. There is not a lot of money in our family. I've had to educate myself. My sisters were inclined to rely on their looks to get by.'

'It's not unknown.' Tweed remarked.

'They could have worked for their living. That's what I did. Instead they floated about looking for rich men.'

There was a note of bitterness. Tweed wondered whether Linda had been jealous of the easy route her sisters had taken. Then he decided he was wrong as she went on.

'Cheryl and Julie both had brains. They could have used them in a different way. I kept warning them but they took no notice of me. I was the elder, bossy sister.'

"They both lived in quarters given them by Moloch?'

'No, not at first. They shared a small flat in Carmel -in one of the tiny courtyards difficult to find. Then Moloch hired Cheryl after meeting her at a party and she moved to his huge mansion at Black Ridge. That's near Big Sur. You may have heard of it.'

'I know the area.'

'Later Julie called to see her sister and Moloch offered her a job. My twin sisters always dressed alike and it was difficult for anyone to identify which was which - except for me. I sometimes wonder if Moloch one evening mistook Julie for Cheryl, so it could have been by accident that he turned to her.' Linda hesitated. 'My sisters liked to play tricks on men, one pretending she was the other. Then their playfulness backfired on Cheryl.'