The Power (13 page)

'Wouldn't like to live there,' she remarked. 'No
wonder they're all for sale. It must be as lonely as hell.'

'Padstow is pretty much hidden away,' Newman
agreed. 'Which is why Tweed has chosen this place to
give himself a little time to think. Turn round and you'll
see the whole of the little town.'

Paula swung round. Beyond the harbour and the
quays a densely packed series of old buildings
was
stepped up like a giant staircase. Newman checked his
watch, looked at Cardon.

'Now I think it's time we headed for Bodmin Moor and bearded this Celia Yeo - if you can do that
with a
girl. Philip, you sit in the back and keep your eyes
open. . .'

* * *

There was a little more traffic on the A30 as Newman
swooped down a huge slope and then whipped up the other
side. The sun shone down on the moor out of a clear blue sky but Paula found it no less hostile. A strong wind beat
against the side of the Mercedes 280E as Newman made his
suggestion. He perched dark glasses on the bridge of his strong nose, then rammed a black beret on his head.

'Paula, I think you ought to disguise yourself. We've no
idea what may face us at Five Lanes. It's possible we won't
want to be recognized.'

'A smart idea,' she agreed.

She took a pair of dark glasses from her shoulder-bag.
After putting them on she took out a scarf, wrapped it over
her raven-black hair and framed her face. Both actions
completely altered her normal appearance. Newman
grinned.

'You look like a madonna.'

'Just so long as I don't look like the contemporary
Madonna. I suppose not - I'm wearing too many clothes.'

'While I'm waiting with the car,' Cardon called out, 'I'll sit hunched up like a midget.'

'You look like a midget normally,' Newman retorted,
which was unfair. Cardon stood five feet ten tall and was
very muscular.

Paula called out a warning to Newman. 'We're
approaching the turn-off to Five Lanes. Celia lives in a cottage called Grey Tears on the outskirts.'

'Let's hope that peculiar name isn't prophetic,' Newman
remarked.

Grey Tears was a small single-storey stone dwelling set in a
hollow outside the village of Five Lanes. It was almost on
the moor and Paul noticed that High Tor reared up as a
clear-cut cone against the blue near by. Newman parked the car in another hollow off the road and followed Paula
who was lifting a brightly polished knocker carved in the form of a sheep's head and hammering it down.

'That polishing job doesn't look like Celia to me,' she whispered.

The ancient wooden door swung inward to reveal a
stooped crone wearing an overall over her flowered dress. Her lively eyes studied the new arrivals.

'We have come by arrangement to see Celia Yeo,' Paula
began. 'She told me this was her day off from her job at
Tresillian Manor.'

'Not one of we locals will ever work there again. Not after what 'appened yesterday. 'Orrible.' She clamped a worn hand to her lips, the hand of a worker. 'Dearie me,
we're not supposed to talk about that to anyone.' She
brightened up. 'Still, I 'aven't told you anything, come to
think. Celia's gettin' ready to go out.'

'Well, perhaps you wouldn't mind telling her a lady has
arrived who'd like a word with her.'

'See what she says...'

The door was closed slowly, not rudely, in their faces.
Newman, keeping his voice down, stared at Paula.

'Why didn't you mention your name? Just your first name? There are other Paulas in the world, so it wouldn't
have positively identified us.'

'Intuition. I have a feeling Celia may be reluctant to talk
to me.'

They waited several minutes. Newman paced backward
and forward and Paula bit her lip to stop
telling him to for God's sake keep still. Then the door opened slowly again.
Newman studied Celia. She had an odd-shaped head,
almost misshapen. Not a lot of intelligence and her eyes
reminded him of a cow's. Celia pulled the door to without closing it and stood outside with them.

'What was it you were wanting, miss?' Sullenly.

'We agreed to meet today, Celia. There are a few
questions I'd like to ask you.'

The servant girl's eyes opened wider. She stared at Paula
like a startled fawn.

'It's you, miss. I never recognize you till you spoke.'

Newman glanced at Paula. Wearing ski pants tucked
inside the tops of leather boots and a windcheater, she
looked very different from when she had arrived at the
Metropole. Celia's eyes swivelled to Newman, gazed at the
eyes she couldn't see behind the glasses.

'Who is he?'

'My brother,' Paula said quickly. 'Now, about yester
day. That tea towel - the bright red one I saw you bringing
back from so-called drying. It was a signal, wasn't it?'

'Information costs money.' Her manner was suddenly
truculent. 'I've no boy friends. No man ever looks twice at
me,
I have to get something out of life, don't I? Like money.'

Newman took out his wallet. He extracted a twenty-pound note, saw her expression, added another one to it.
He held the banknotes folded between his fingers.

'First, answer my sister's question, please.'

'You guessed right,' Celia said after a brief hesitation. 'It were a signal. I was paid a hundred pounds just for doin' that after the guests arrived for lunch. Then another...

She stopped in mid-sentence. Celia was dressed for
going somewhere. Above her shabby raincoat she wore a
bright yellow woollen scarf. Her frizzy hair did nothing to
improve her appearance.

'Who paid you to do that?' Paula asked quietly.

'I 'ad nothing to do with those awful murders at the
manor!' she burst out. 'So don't you go thinkin' I did.'

'I'm sure you didn't. Who paid you, Celia?' Paula asked
again.

'A man . . .' She hesitated. 'Never seen 'im before,' she went on quickly. 'And I've left a pot on cooker for Mrs Pethick. Talkin' about payment, before I says any more I want me money.'

Newman handed over the forty pounds to her. She
grasped the notes eagerly, shoved them deep into a pocket
of her raincoat. Glancing back inside the house, she
retreated, opening the heavy door wider.

'Before I tells you more I must attend to pot. It will boil over and then Mrs Pethick will throw me out. I need these
lodgings...'

The door closed in their faces with a heavy thud. Paula
looked at Newman.

Tweed was right. The massacre was diabolically well organized. And I think she does know who paid her.'

'So do I...'

They waited. There were no sounds from inside the
small primitive dwelling. Five minutes later - Newman had
timed her disappearance by his watch - he voiced the same
worry that had entered Paula's head.

'I think she's run off. There's probably a back way - let's
check.'

At the rear of the cottage the 'garden' was a miserable
vegetable patch. There was also a back door. Closed.
Paula took off her glasses, looked towards High Tor, pointed.

There she is. That flash of yellow. She's headed out
across the moor.'

'And,' Newman replied grimly, 'she was on the verge of
saying her paymaster was going to pay
her another hundred pounds today. God knows what she's walking into.
We have to catch her up. Before it's too late ...'

Newman began running along a track which led towards
the base of High Tor. He could still see the flash of yellow
scarf in the sunlight. He was surprised at the speed Celia
Yeo could keep up as she ran. Behind him Paula followed.
When they were out of sight of the cottage Newman
grabbed his .38 Smith & Wesson out of the hip holster.

Paula lost sight of Newman as he kept up a marathon pace, descended into a deep gulley. She came to a fork in
the path. Which way? She chose the left-hand path, kept
on running, her eyes watching the ground which was
uneven, making it easy to stumble.

She was nearing High Tor when she realized she had chosen the wrong fork. Newman was racing up the east
side of the tor. No sign of Celia. 'Might as well go on, see where this leads to,' she said to herself.

She paused for breath and the ominous silence of the
moor descended. A silence she could
hear.
Not even a hint
of birdsong. The undulating moor stretched away on all
sides, in a series of gorse-covered hillocks,
cutting her off
from any distant view. Paula shivered and then looked up. The view upwards was even less reassuring.

She was close to the west side of High Tor. Unlike the
shallow slopes she had associated with it, at this point from
the peak it fell sheer into an abyss. At the base she saw a
tumble of huge boulders. She was about to resume running
when she caught sight of movement at the summit.

'Oh, God, no!'

She spoke the words aloud. Even at that height Celia
was easily identified by the yellow of her scarf. She stood
perched on the edge of the fearsome drop. Why? Seeing her - and what happened next - took a matter of seconds.

Celia seemed to push out her stomach and Paula realized there was someone - out of sight - immediately behind her.
One moment she was poised there. The next moment she
plunged into space, her body cartwheeling in mid-air as she
fell and fell and fell. Her scream of terror echoed over the
moor as Paula watched in horror. The scream was cut off suddenly. It might have been her imagination, but Paula
thought she heard the dreadful thud as her body hit the
boulders. The silence of the moor returned like a threat.

Paula ran like mad, heading for the point where Celia had
landed. Once, she glanced up briefly, but saw no one.

Whoever had shoved Celia into eternity had kept well
hidden. Paula slowed down as she saw what remained of
the servant girl.

She was sprawled, face up, over a boulder of massive
size. Paula shuddered as she thought of the impact. She
kept running until she stood by the boulder. Celia's spine
was arched over the rock, her neck twisted at an angle.
Blood and brains which had oozed from her skull were
already drying in the sun. Without hope, Paula bent down,
checked the carotid artery. Nothing.