Vorpal Blade (15 page)

'You said at the party you flew to America now and
again. When was your last trip?'

'A few weeks ago,' Marienetta said tersely.

'And you also said Sophie flies over there. When was
she last there?'

'A few weeks ago. We didn't fly together. Sophie would
think I was keeping an eye on her.'

'And where did you fly to a few weeks ago?'

'Boston.'

* * *

Leaving Marienetta, who was calling a cab, Paula had
to walk rapidly once more to Marino's. Due to meet
Black Jack Diamond at 7 p.m., she knew she could just
make it if she kept moving. Her legs were beginning
to ache.

Entering the dimly lit street leading through to Piccadilly,
she paused just beyond an alley to smooth down her
jacket under her coat. The single street lamp cast her
shadow in front of her. Suddenly she realized there was a second shadow, very still, tall, wearing a hat, behind
her.

The hat, a man's, was wide-brimmed, possibly Spanish.
She froze. The street was otherwise deserted. Then she
recalled hearing a car stop by the kerb near the entrance
to the side street. Shadow was now tailing her on foot.
An ominous development. Whoever had followed her had been caught out by her suddenly stopping to tidy herself.
Now Shadow's sinister outline was motionless, almost alongside her own shadow. He was very close to Paula.
Her throat was dry with fear.

Then her brain accelerated. She was carrying the brief
case in her left hand, her handbag looped over her right
shoulder. With one sudden movement her right hand
dipped inside her handbag, gripped the .32 Browning
in its special pocket. Her left hand propped the briefcase
against the wall, she was swinging round, the Browning
gripped in both hands.

Shadow had disappeared. Down inside the narrow alley. The only way it could have vanished so quickly.
Don't peer
round a corner.
She heard in her mind the warning words
of Sarge, the man who had trained her at the mansion in
Surrey with its acres of grounds.

With her finger resting lightly on the trigger, she jumped
forward, faced down the alley. Nothing. She had half
expected this. A short way into the murky alley it turned
a corner, blotting out what lay beyond. She wasn't going down there.

She walked back, picked up the briefcase, walked back
swiftly to the main street. Just beyond the entrance a
brilliant red MG was parked. Brand new. Realizing she
was going to be late for her appointment, she walked
back into the side street, the Browning still in her hand,
concealed under her coat. She walked quickly past the
alley. Damn! She hadn't noticed the licence number of the red MG. Too late now.

As she entered Marino's the Browning was back inside
its special pocket. The hat-check girl took her coat but
Paula kept the briefcase. The absurd ordeal of obtaining
the volume inside it made her decide to hang on to it come
hell or high water.

Marino's was a large square room with a long bar against
the left wall. The only occupant was Black Jack, seated at a table by the bar with a drink in front of him. December
and the weather, which was getting colder still, would stop
people from coming out.

Black Jack stood up in the aisle, arms held out to
embrace her. She evaded him, smiling, slipping into the banquette opposite where he had been sitting. He waved his arms in a futile gesture to express his disappointment at her stand-offishness, sat down facing her.

'I thought you weren't coming,' he said with a broad
smile.

'I got held up. Gave you time to have a few drinks.'

He held up his glass, which was half full. Scotch, she
guessed. 'This, Paula, is my first drink. What is yours?'

'A glass of Chardonnay, please.'

The barman heard her and a glass was in front of her in
no time. She raised it, clinked glasses with him. Do relax,
she told herself. You want him to talk. He might just have
valuable information. And he's very sober.

'You're investigating the murder of the late Mr Holgate,'
he began, making it a statement.

'What on earth leads you to that conclusion?'

'Your reputation. You never give up. Like Tweed.'

'Only when we have started,' she evaded.

'Excuse me a moment,' he said looking towards the
door.

He ran, and because he left the door open she saw what
happened outside. He grabbed hold of Nathan Morgan by
the collar of his astrakhan coat. He pushed him against the
wall, twisting the collar.

'What the hell are you doing, Nathan, spying on me?'

'Lemme go,' Morgan croaked. 'Have you arrested . . .'

'Make a great headline in the press,' Black Jack shouted. 'Gestapo operating in Britain. Paris will love it. So get well
away from here. Now! Don't want to see your ugly mug
ever again . . .'

Paula turned round. Beyond the net-curtained windows
she could see Morgan tugging at his collar, feeling his
throat as he stumbled off. Black Jack was calm when he
sat again in his seat.

'Special Branch do have a lot of power,' she warned.

'So does the press abroad. The Americans would lap it up. Your Bob Newman could set Whitehall alight. Now,
where were we?'

'You were going to tell me something important about
Adam Holgate.'

'He was getting a pile of money from somewhere. Far
more than could come from his ACTIL salary.'

'How do you know that?' she asked.

'He'd roll into Templeton's, my gambling house in
Mayfair. He'd buy chips worth five hundred pounds or
more. Play with the lot. Win a bit, then lose the lot. He
was an addict when it came to gambling. A few nights
later he'd turn up with more cash, buy the chips, play
the lot, lose the lot. The source of his funds must have dried up. One night he came in and asked me for a loan.
I turned him down. He looked grim, said he'd get it from
somewhere. That was the night before he lost his head.
Excuse me - rather nasty pun.'

'I see.' Paula sipped her drink. 'Any idea what the
source was?'

'None at all.' He gave her the wide grin which knocked
over most women. 'Occurred to me he could be blackmailing
someone. If so, maybe that's why he ended up the way he did.'

'Did you like him?'

'I did not. He could be nasty. When he lost he started
using foul language. I had to tick him off, warn him that if
he did that again he wouldn't be allowed into the club.'

'Anything else you can tell me about him?' she pressed.

'Nope.' He grinned again. 'When we've finished our drinks it's time you had a little relaxation. Have dinner
with me at Santorini's. They have a terrace projecting out
over the Thames. I'm known there. We'll get a great table.'

'I can't. I have another date,' she lied.

The grin vanished as though wiped off his face with a cloth. He finished his drink, looked around the place. He
was thinking what his next move would be, she guessed.

'I'll drive you back to Park Crescent,' he decided,
standing up. 'My car's parked outside.'

'That's very kind of you,' she said, thinking quickly. Car
parked outside?

They walked out, turned left, went past the alley where the Shadow had vanished earlier. Entering the main street
he walked over to a parked red MG which had a ticket on
it. He was opening the door for her when she flagged down
a cab coming down the street.

'Thank you for the drink,' she called out. 'I've changed
my mind. A cab will get me there quickly.'

'Ladies have this habit,' he called back in a sneer
ing tone. 'Change their minds like the
cue ball on a
snooker table.'

As the taxi proceeded at speed with very little traffic
in the way she thought hard. Vaguely she recalled other cars parked further up the street, any one of which could
have been the one she'd heard. Could Shadow have been
Diamond? He might have nipped across the street, hidden
in another alley, then sidled swiftly into Marino's? Seemed
unlikely, but not impossible. Then there was Nathan
Morgan. Was he tall enough to have thrown that sinister
shadow she'd seen? She wasn't sure. It was unsettling.

9

The huge United Airlines Boeing was well out over the
Atlantic. Flying first class, Tweed with Paula and Newman
were comfortable and their flight was half empty, so they
could talk without risk of being overheard.

Knowing Tweed's dislike of flying, Paula had insisted he took a Dramamine pill in the departure lounge. It was
dark outside and Paula rarely looked through the window
by her side. This, she decided, was a good chance to report
what had happened the day before.

'I collected that volume Dr Seale suggested. It's with
me. The funny thing was that while I was waiting for ever
to get into the library who should walk down the steps?
You won't guess. Dr Abraham Seale. He chatted with me
for a short time. Was very nice.'

'He couldn't have been,' Newman remarked, speaking
across Tweed. They were sharing a spacious three-seater.

'During tea with Marienetta,' she went on, 'she sug
gested we collaborate on investigating Holgate's murder.
As you know she is a trained detective.'

'I should watch that,' Tweed warned.

'She's a very clever woman,' Newman remarked.

'I should still watch it. What about Black Jack Diamond?'

She told him everything that had happened, had been said, since she'd left Brown's. Tweed looked perturbed
when she told him about Shadow.

'You must be very careful while we're engaged on
this case. All of us must be. The killer is ruthless and
cunning.'

'Case?' queried Paula. 'Anybody would think you were
back at the Yard.'

'In a way I am, in my thinking. Surprising the way all
that experience comes flooding back. I can do without
DNA and all the rest of it. If you just listen to people
they'll tell you what they're really like without realizing
what they are doing. It's called egotism. And we may
already have met the killer.'

'You have a suspect?' Paula probed.