The Cauldron (27 page)

The pilot was already in touch with the control tower at the airport. Moloch had top priority for a flight.

The machine proceeded south, passed over Monterey and Carmel, was soon landing on the helipad behind the grotesque mansion, Black Ridge. Joel was waiting as Moloch alighted.

'I have the car waiting. The doctor is inside with Ethan. Shall I come with you?'

'No, stay in control here. Tighten security. A major project is about to be launched.'

The stretch Lincoln Continental with amber-tinted windows was waiting for him. He got inside next to the driver, told him to drive to Mrs Benyon's home at once. Looking round he saw in the rearmost seats the doctor sitting next to Ethan, his lean face twisted with anxiety.

"There's nothing wrong with Mrs Benyon.' Moloch informed the doctor. 'She's just a psychopath, a mild case.'

'She may be very sick.' Ethan protested.

'I doubt it. The doctor will confirm...'

Moloch was first out of the limo when it pulled up at the top of the drive. Using his key, he walked into the living room, followed by Ethan and the doctor. In her thronelike chair Mrs Benyon sat sagged back, gripping her two sticks.

'I'm unwell,' she started in a low voice. "The guards are frightening me.'

"The doctor is going to check you out.'

'Don't want a doctor.' Mrs Benyon protested, her voice stronger.

Moloch left Ethan and the doctor alone with Mrs Benyon. Standing in the hall out of sight, he could hear every word that was said. After fifteen minutes the doctor reappeared, closely followed by Ethan, who had a stubborn look.

'Is there somewhere we can talk quietly?' the doctor suggested.

'In here.'

Moloch took them into a large study which had a triangular-shaped fireplace. The walls were tiled with weird coloured mosaics. He closed the door.

'She's generally in good shape,' the doctor began. 'Her pulse rate is a little fast. I've given her pills for that.'

'She's frightened of the guards,' Ethan burst out. 'She feels trapped, that the walls are closing in on her.'

"That's true,' the doctor agreed. 'Psychologically, they are bad for her. They make her nervous - which probably explains the fast pulse rate. I strongly urge you to remove them.'

'They're to protect her,' Moloch argued.

"They're having the opposite effect.'

"The bloody guards have to be sent away or I'm staying with her,' Ethan burst out again.

'Then I'll remove them at once,' Moloch replied.

It was a reluctant decision, but he couldn't have Ethan upset at this stage of the operation. He walked out of the house, ordered the guards to return immediately to Black Ridge, then was driven back to the mansion with the doctor and Ethan in the rear seat.

At the house Mrs Benyon approached the window overlooking Highway One cautiously, without the aid of sticks. She sneered to herself as she watched the limo vanish while the guards walked away down the drive.

'You're a stupid bastard, Vincent,' she said aloud. Tm going to ruin you.'

She went to a drawer, took out the pills she had used to increase her pulse rate, threw them on the blazing log fire. A sea mist was floating in from the Pacific, the temperature had dropped and she felt cold.

'I need someone I can tell things to,' she said, again aloud.

At Park Crescent there was a tense waiting period. Such pauses always tested nerves. Marler was standing against a wall, thinking as he smoked another king-size. Newman recrossed his legs in the armchair, trying to concentrate on reading a newspaper. Tweed seemed most at ease, reading again a report Professor Weatherby had sent by special messenger on notes he had just found in an old file, notes made by Ethan.

'I was just thinking of Cornwall,' Paula said to break the heavy silence. 'Most people who go on holiday walk along the rugged cliff-tops, which are magnificent. Or spend their time sitting in the beautiful coves. But these are the fringes of Cornwall. When you get inland it's a grim desert, a wilderness.'

'True,' said Tweed automatically.

'I went into Falmouth,' Paula continued. 'It's built in a kind of valley. Up the steep sides as you enter there are row upon row of terraced houses piled up at different levels. I noticed some strange types in the streets - rather primitive. More like a backward tribe.'

"They're from the remote villages outside.' Newman said, not looking up from his paper. 'I suspect in a few of those villages families interbreed.'

'Cornwall does go back centuries,' Paula agreed. 'But for a holiday the coast and the quaint villages by the sea are wonderful. I think...'

It was noon when she was interrupted by the phone call from Langley. Monica immediately transferred the call to Tweed.

'Cord here.' Dillon opened, 'we have another murder. This time in the middle of Carmel. Woman called Linda Standish. Garrotted. Head almost torn off her neck. A private dick. I'm in contact with the local police and they called me.'

'Any idea when the murder took place?' Tweed enquired.

'I got the Medical Examiner out of bed - pathologist to you - and he estimates between 9 p.m. and 11 p.m., California time. He said he had to wait for the autopsy, but if he had to guess, about 10 p.m. It's our serial killer, The Accountant, again.'

'You're sure?'

'Well, the victim had the letters AC painted on her bare back in her own blood. That's it.'

"That's enough. Thanks, Cord.'

Tweed told his team what had happened. No one said anything - they were waiting for Tweed to continue, which he did.

'We just have time to board the flight for San Francisco. Monica, phone British Airways. Confirm all our seats. We're leaving now.'

'Trouble is we arrive there unarmed.' Newman remarked.

'I'll fix that Within a couple of hours of getting there.'

Marler said. 'Weapons are easy to obtain in the States. Too easy. But I have a contact in San Francisco who can supply guns that the police can never trace. That will be my first port of call.'

'Our first port of call is Heathrow.' Tweed told them as he fetched his suitcase from a cupboard. "The battle has started c'

Luis Martinez had earlier become bored watching Park Crescent from his parked car. Now he was excited. People were arriving very early at the same building. First, a cleaning woman, well dressed. He had seen Monica.

A dark-haired woman with glossy hair arrived next. Martinez had no idea his field glasses were focused on Paula, but he thought the human scenery was improving no end. Then he hit the jackpot - he immediately recognized Newman from the photos by his side.

Later a slim man wearing a linen suit walked into the same building. Martinez had no idea he was looking at Marler, but the number of people arriving so early told him he had hit the target. Newman's arrival confirmed he was in the right place. He settled down to wait, keeping a close eye on the Merc. Newman had driven up in, now parked by the kerb.

Butler and Nield arrived in Tweed's office soon after Marler. Tweed told them briefly that The Accountant had killed again, that this time the victim was Linda Standish.

"The sooner we track down this serial killer the better,' he remarked. 'He is obviously a skilled operator.'

'He?' Paula queried. 'Why does everyone assume it is a man? Why not a woman?'

There was silence in the room. Tweed looked thoughtful as Paula went on.

'You're all hooked on the idea that it is a man who can charm women. But a lot of women make friends with other women - or even talk to a strange one. The victims would all have been off guard with a woman.'

'You've got a point.' Newman agreed.

'We're leaving now,' Tweed snapped. 'Or we miss the plane. We'll take your Merc., Bob. Paula, Marler and I will go with you. Harry, you take the Ford Fiesta and bring Pete with you. Monica, warn Cord Dillon which flight we're coming on. You know the hotel in San Francisco where we're staying so...'

'I should do. I've just reserved rooms for all of you.'

'I meant to say contact me there with any development here. Tell Howard where we've gone, but don't tell Roy Buchanan - unless an emergency arises. Well, everyone, what are you waiting for?'

Monica wished them luck. She watched them leave, full of foreboding.

With Newman behind the wheel they made good time to the airport. Tweed sat beside him while Paula travelled with Marler in the back, and behind them Butler followed, driving with equal skill. They were close to Heathrow when Newman spoke.

'We've been followed all the way from Park Crescent.'

'I know,' said Tweed, who had glanced frequently in the wing mirror. 'He's been watching the office for days in a parked car. He changes his clothes. Today he's wearing a cap. But he always sits behind the wheel of his car in a certain way.'

'Doesn't that mean Moloch will know we're coming?' Paula asked anxiously.

'I hope so.' Tweed sounded cheerful. 'I want him to know I'm on my way. Rattle his cage a bit more.'

'He could have a reception committee waiting for us when we arrive at San Francisco.' Newman warned.

I've taken out insurance against that happening. Stop worrying. It's battle stations from now on.' he said with enthusiasm. 'Makes a change from being trapped behind my desk. And here is Heathrow.'

They parked the cars in 'Long Stay' and just managed to catch the plane in time. Tweed gave Paula the window seat in First Class while the others were scattered about in Club. Paula gazed out of the window after it had taken off. She caught a glimpse of the curving Thames and then they were heading due north across the middle of England.

'I wonder if I'll ever see this again.' she said to herself.

18

Martinez had watched them as they checked in their luggage. He had no idea that they were aware of his presence. The moment they disappeared through the Fast Track he called Moloch.

'Luis here. They have boarded Flight BA 287 for San Francisco. It arrives there 4.25 p.m., California time.'

'Who are they?' Moloch enquired from his small office at Black Ridge.

'Newman for one. There were five others, including a woman. The rest were men.'

'Give me descriptions.'

'Well ...' Martinez paused - he was not good on description. "There was a man smaller than Newman, well-built, he wore horn-rimmed glasses.'

For a moment Moloch thought he was describing Tweed, but Linda Standish had not mentioned horn-rimmed glasses. Had she left out this important item for some reason?

'Describe the woman.' Moloch urged.

'A sexy piece. Dark hair. That's all I can say about her. Oh, she had good legs.'

'We'll recognize her at once.' Moloch said ironically. 'I want you to catch tomorrow's flight to San

Francisco -then proceed straight here to Black Ridge. Thank you for calling me...'

He repeated the conversation to Joel Brand, sitting upright in the chair opposite him. Brand's reaction was

swift and typical.

'We could take out the lot soon after they leave the airport. I'll organizeRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'

'You'll do nothing of the sort.' Moloch snapped. 'You can have them followed so we know what they're up to. '

But your idea is insane. You don't know who you're dealing with.'

'I can deal with anyone,' Brand said impetuously, 'run any organization.'

'Such as AMBECO?' Moloch enquired softly.

His pale eyes stared at Brand's, who dropped his gaze. It always worried him when Moloch looked at him like that. He realized he had blundered badly.

'Of course not.' he said quickly. 'It would be far too big a job for me.'

'Don't forget that, Joel. Now, arrange to have our visitors followed. And try, for once, to use some

discretion c'

Brand was fuming as he left the office. He had his own way of dealing with the opposition. Sitting down behind his huge desk in his own spacious office, he put a silk handkerchief over the phone. Checking a number, he dialled and asked to be put through to the Chief of Customs at San Francisco International.