The Power (40 page)

'I have a question to ask you,' Tweed said in German.

'Ask away. Don't promise you'll hear anything from me.
Not as though I'm the local gossip.'

'I'm sure you're not,' Tweed said amiably. 'The new girl
had someone who called on her before we arrived. Did you
by chance see them? Could you give me a rough des
cription?'

Between his fingers he held a hundred-franc note. She
was eyeing it with great interest. She tossed her head.

'Information costs money in Switzerland.'

'Which is why I'm willing to pay - if I'm convinced you're
not making it up.'

'Me make something up for money?' she blazed indig
nantly. 'Who do you think you're talking to?'

'Someone, apparently, who isn't interested in accepting a fee in good faith,' Tweed replied, his tone harsh.

'Didn't say that, did I?' She simpered and Paula felt nauseated. 'I didn't see them go up,' the woman said in a
regretful tone. 'I was listening to my favourite radio pro
gramme. But I did hear them leaving. Tiptoeing down
those steps pretty fast.'

'You saw who it was?' Tweed asked, mentally crossing
his fingers.

'Only saw the back of the caller. As they was leaving,
going out the front door.'

'Describe them for me as best you can,' Tweed coaxed.

'He had a black wide-brimmed hat on, pulled well
down . . .'

'Colour of hair?'

'I just told you - he had the hat pulled well down. So how
could I see the hair? One thing I can tell you is his height. I
always notice how tall someone is. About as tall as her.' She nodded towards Paula, looking her up and down. Paula's gaze remained steady as she stared back at the ferret-like eyes. 'Wore a long black overcoat and a thick woollen scarf.'

'A fat man?' Tweed enquired.

'No. He was tall and fairly slim. Had a funny walk.'

'Funny in what way?'

Took quick short steps. Like a pansy.'

'Did he move like a pansy then?' Tweed pressed.

'No, I don't think he did. Didn't mince, if that's what you
mean. I only got a glimpse as the door was closing.'

'A thick neck?' Tweed probed.

'No idea. How could I? He was wearing this thick
woollen scarf. I just told you that.'

'So you did,' said Tweed, who was checking her powers
of observation. 'Was he carrying anything?'

'Not in his hands. But he had something pretty heavy in
his coat pocket. Weighed it down, it did.'

'Thank you,' said Tweed and handed her the banknote. 'I congratulate you on your powers of observation.'

'Something funny has happened up in her apartment?'
she asked, her eyes gleaming at the prospect.

'According to you something funny is always happening
in that apartment.'

Tweed left the building before she could think up some vicious retort. He began walking rapidly across the square, returning to the side they had come from. His legs, despite
his shorter stature, moved like pistons and Newman had
trouble keeping up with him. Paula was running when they
reached the entrance to Theo Strebel's building.

'What is wrong?' Paula asked.

'Nothing, I hope. But I am very much afraid . . .'

Newman managed to get alongside Tweed as he took two
steps a time up the staircase to the first floor. On the
landing Tweed stopped suddenly, pointed. The door with
frosted glass in the upper half leading to the ante-room was
open several inches. Behind them, Paula froze briefly.
Doors partly open were beginning to fill her with terror.

She grabbed for her Browning as Newman, Smith &
Wesson in his hand, used his other hand to hold Tweed back. Paula caught up with them.

'Strebel is so careful about security,' she whispered.

'Exactly,' Tweed responded in a grim tone.

'You're not armed,' Newman reminded Tweed. 'We'll
go ahead, check the lie of the land.'

Paula had slipped off her gloves, held the Browning in
both hands as she followed Newman into the ante-room. It
had the same long-uninhabited feel she had sensed last
time. But there was one difference. The heavy oak door to Strebel's office was open several inches.

Tweed had followed closely on their heels. He stood for
a moment, fists clenched out of sight in his trench coat
pockets. Newman, on the hinge side of the door, reached
out his left hand, pushed it hard. It swung open slowly,
noiselessly on its well-oiled hinges. There was a terrible
silence pervading the atmosphere, a lack of life. Paula,
awaiting a signal from Newman, was pressed against the
wall on the other side of the door.

Tweed, standing very still, watched the door expose
more and more of the room beyond. There was
something theatrical about its movement. Then he had a clear view of
the interior of the room.

Without hesitation, Tweed marched straight inside.
Newman, inwardly cursing what he regarded as fool-hardiness, jumped in after him, stopped. Paula, Browning
aimed for instant firing, stood in the open
doorway, slowly
lowered the angle of her gun until the muzzle pointed at the
floor.

'Dear God, no!' she exclaimed in anguish. 'Not again.'

'Yes, again,' Tweed said in a voice which held no
emotion. 'Exactly what I expected. Except for the method
of execution .. .'

Theo Strebel lay back in his chair behind the large desk.
His jacket was open, revealing his white shirt front. A large
red rose shape decorated the white shirt to the right. Over the heart. A red rose which blossomed and spread slowly
as Paula watched, almost hypnotized.

Tweed walked swiftly round the desk. He felt the carotid
artery, shook his head.

'He's dead,' he said simply. 'Shot through the heart.
One bullet, I suspect. And I blame myself. I was so looking
forward to having that drink with him. Some people - a
rare few - make an instant impact on you - he was one of
that rare breed. Such a bloody waste.'

Paula had seldom heard Tweed swear. And he had
spoken with a ferocity that startled her.

'Where's the flaming phone?' Tweed demanded.

'Why, for Heaven's sake, blame yourself?' she
enquired.

'Because the murderer arrived while we were talking to
Theo Strebel.' He looked at Newman. 'You gave me the
hint and a faint alarm bell rang. I was fool enough to ignore
it.'

'What hint?' Newman, puzzled, asked.

'When we were leaving here before you said someone
started to come in through the front door. You thought
they'd seen you and changed their minds. That was the murderer. He'd just committed one and was on his way here to kill Strebel.'

'Committed one?' queried Paula.

'Yes. The garrotting of Klara. I only realized Strebel was
probably in great danger when I said aloud that the murderer was exterminating everyone who might provide
information. I shouldn't have delayed our departure by
questioning that awful woman. But on the other hand she
did say something very significant, and Strebel was by then
probably already dead.'

'What was very significant?' Paula asked.

'So where
is
the phone? I must call Beck . . .'

It was Paula who found out where Strebel hid his phone. Wearing her surgical gloves, she began opening drawers in
his desk. Hauling open a deep drawer at the bottom, she
lifted out a telephone. She dialled police headquarters,
then handed the instrument to Tweed who was wearing gloves. He asked for the Swiss police chief, giving his name.

'Tweed here, Arthur . . .'

'I have news for you,' the familiar voice broke in. 'I have
at long last received the expert's report on that cigar ash
specimen you gave me. Whoever smoked the cigar has
expensive tastes. It is a Havana.'

'Thank you, I have another specimen for you to check - but that can wait. There have been two more murders

Two more?' Beck's tone was ironical. 'You know then about the killing of a certain Helen Frey?'

'Yes, we can talk about that when we meet. One victim is

Klara, the girl who had the apartment opposite Helen
Prey's. The other is a private detective. I'm speaking from
his office now. A Theo Strebel . . .'

'Strebel! Oh, no, not Theo. He worked in the police
force just before I got the top job. I wouldn't have thought anyone could have murdered Theo. You said you were at
his office?'

'Yes. The address is—'

'I know it. I'm on my way there now ...'

25

Paula sat in the front passenger seat next to Butler as he
drove them up the steep hill to Eve Amberg's villa. Nield
was in the back. The two men had discreetly followed Tweed to the Altstadt address when he had first visited Theo Strebel.

Before Beck arrived at Strebel's office, Tweed had given
Paula careful instructions as to the information he wanted
her to obtain from Eve Amberg. He had warned her not to
mention the murders of Klara and Strebel, had then taken
her down into the street to find a taxi. Relieved to see
Butler and Nield, he had left her in their safe hands while
he waited with Newman for Beck.

'Shouldn't you have phoned her first to make sure she is
in?' Butler suggested as he pulled up in front of the
wrought-iron gates.

'I did think of that but Tweed was anxious for me to get
clear before Beck arrived.'

'Makes sense - under the circumstances,' Nield
remarked.

On the way Paula had told them about the two murders.
They had listened in silence as she put them concisely in the
picture.

'A pretty grisly experience,' Butler had commented
when she had finished. 'The murder count is climbing. Tweed could be next if he's not careful.'

'Bob stayed with him. Tweed will be all right. Now, if
you don't mind, I'll go in by myself. I shouldn't be long

Tweed had made that point - that she should talk to Eve on her own.

'She may tell you more on a woman-to-woman basis . . .'

Pushing open one gate, Paula walked past an Audi
parked in the drive, bonnet pointed towards the garage,
caught a whiff of petrol in the fresh clear morning air. She
hauled on the ancient chain bell-pull and the door was opened almost at once by Eve Amberg.