Vorpal Blade (39 page)

'Oh, hello there,' she managed.

Marienetta had a sable coat over her arm. She was
holding two plates, each with a creamy cake. Putting one in front of Paula she sat down facing her, ordered coffee when the waitress reappeared. She spoke softly.

'You had a shock, like me, when you arrived. You thought that woman was Elena
Brucan, didn't you?'

'Yes, for a moment.' Paula noticed Marienetta had a
folded newspaper under her arm. This was too opportune
not to exploit. 'How did you come to think it was her?' she
asked. Marienetta had not appeared while she was viewing
the body and police were keeping people well away from
the horror.

'Simple.' Marienetta smiled, opened the newspaper.
The front page of the
Neue Zilrcher Zeitung.
Today's
edition. A huge slamming headline, easy to translate.

SECOND HEADLESS BODY FOUND -
IN ZURICH

A lot of text below. The story by Sam Snyder. He'd
even included the fact that the head - after severing -
had been perched back on the neck. There was a large,
accurate drawing of Elena Brucan's head, the fur cap now
straightened up. Paula looked up at her companion.

'That's how I knew,' Marienetta explained. 'Like you, I
saw her from the back when I arrived just before you. And
back in London she came to see Roman. At the Cone.
Said she had vital information for him. He only saw her
for a short time, then thought she was weird, called me to
take her away. She was wearing the same clothes as that
woman we both saw when we arrived.'

A very pat explanation, Paula thought. But she had learned something from Marienetta chatting. The links
Tweed was desperately seeking were beginning to come together.

'Did you go and look at her?' Paula asked.

'Yes, then saw it was someone else.'

'Which tells me why she was so ratty with me. She was
fed up with people trying to occupy the reserved chair.
What was the vital information Elena had for Roman?'

'Damned if I know. Don't you like the look of your
cake? I can go and get another one.'

'Sorry. The newspaper story distracted me. I see it even
gives details of the tragedy at Montreux. I think this cake
looks delicious.' She used her fork to taste it. 'The cake
is
delicious. I think I'll take one back to the Baur au Lac.'

'Sit still. Don't move,' Marienetta commanded.

She jumped up and went back to the counter where
a great variety of cakes were displayed. You chose what
you wanted, paid one of the spry women beyond the
glass counter. Soon Marienetta was back with another
cake inside a carton which she pushed across the table.

'I must pay for this one,' Paula said firmly.

'Don't be silly. It's only a few marks. What are you up
to this morning? You're always up to something. Making any progress with your investigation?'

'Sometimes I get lucky,' a cheerful voice boomed out as
a hand squeezed Paula's shoulder. Here we go again, she
thought.

She looked up. Black Jack Diamond stood behind her.
Clad in full riding kit. Spotless jodhpurs tucked into
gleaming boots. His right hand held a whip. She glowered
up at him.

'Kindly remove your sweaty hand.'

'Sweaty?' He took his hand away. 'Had a wash five minutes ago.'

'Have another.'

He hauled a free chair from another table, sat down on
it between them. His healthy face was flushed with the cold. He snapped his fingers for the waitress. Paula was to remember that snapping of the fingers. The waitress
appeared with a blank expression.

'Coffee for the customer, darlin'. I'm the customer.'

'This is Sprungli's - not some cheap bar,' Paula told
him.

'Got results, didn't it?' He grinned. 'I've been riding in
the fresh air. At a riding school outside the city. Feel like a million dollars.'

'You don't act like it,' Paula rapped back.

'You ladies looked so serious when I came in.' He
reached for the newspaper. 'You don't want to dwell on
the seamier side of life.'

'I'll take that,' said Paula, easing the paper out of his
grip. 'After what happened yesterday this is no time for
exuberance.'

'Oh, come on! Life is for the living.'

'Ever seen a few dead bodies?' Paula enquired.

'Not since yesterday.'

Paula stood up. Behind the bravado she had sensed a
touch of menace. He'd presumably intended it to be a
joke but his tone of voice had been odd. She looked at
Marienetta, picking up the carton with the cake.

'Let's meet under pleasanter circumstances. I must
go now.'

'We'll do that,' he called out after her. 'Dinner tonight
suit you?'

He stood up and behind her she heard the crash of a
chair falling over. Glancing back she saw him stooping to
pick it up. His movements were wobbly and while at the
table she'd caught a whiff of alcohol. What had caused him
to drink so early in the day?

Leaving Sprungli's with the newspaper folded under her
arm, she paused, looking round for Newman. He materi
alized out of nowhere. She handed him the paper.

'You can read German,' she said. 'I'm going over to that bar Sam Snyder frequents. I could do with the heavy mob
on this trip.'

'I'm the heavy mob. Wait a minute.' He scanned the
news on the front page. 'I think we
have to ask Mr
Snyder a few serious questions. Beck will be appalled at
the detail. Sam has no respect for anyone if he can get a
scoop . . .'

'And after that back to Tweed. I've done rather well.
Caught more than one of the people involved off guard.'

They entered the bar and Sam Snyder was sitting at
the same table, the newspaper spread out before him and
a glass of beer next to it. Paula started out slowly after Snyder had greeted them with apparent delight. They sat
opposite to him.

'You've seen my story?'

'We have. Read every word. Makes interesting reading.
So quick.'

'Thank you, dear lady. What are you drinking?'

'Nothing. I'm curious, even disturbed. Zurich will be in
a panic after reading that.'

'Ace reporters,' he began with a smile, 'do just that. They
create stories that create panics.' He leered at Newman
who was staring at him with a blank expression. 'Stories
all so-called respectable citizens just
have
to read. Why? Because it gives them a secret satisfaction they still have
their heads on their shoulders.'

'You had to use a drawing of Elena,' Paula observed,
still quietly.

'Couldn't use the camera. The flash would have alerted
the police to my presence. I always carry a small sketch
block. I did another sketch when Zeitzler - that's his name,
isn't it? - lifted the head off the shoulders to show it was
severed from the neck. Hoped they'd use that one but they
funked it.' He reached towards his back pocket. 'I'm sure
you'd like to see it.'

'Keep it in your underpants - where it belongs,' Paula
snapped.

'Don't think the lady has a high opinion of me.'

'She thinks you're a louse,' Newman burst out. 'And
so do I.'

'Keep it cool, Bob,' Paula advised. 'Now, Mr Snyder,
how were you able to get this material? I was there and didn't see you anywhere. Obviously, neither did the police.'

'Ah!' Snyder placed a thick index finger by his nose. 'A trade secret. But since she's asked me so nicely - Newman,
you ought to study her technique - I'll tell you. On the
opposite bank of the Sihl there's a shadowed walk. That's where I stood, keeping very still. I could even hear what
was being said - the Sihl's pretty narrow. Had to be careful
not to move much while I was making the sketches. The
editor of the paper was away - some temporary guy in his place. Which was lucky. I could tell he wanted to make his
name before he moved on. Think I saw the killer when I
first arrived before the police rolled in.'

'What did it look like?' Paula asked, lighting one of her rare cigarettes.

'Tall, wore a black coat, very long. And a funny hat. It
walked stiffly. Mind you I only had a glimpse so don't take
that description as accurate. Vanished in the direction of the
Baur en Ville, where we are now.'

'You didn't include that in your article,' Paula remarked.

'No.' Snyder grinned. 'If I had, Beck would have locked me up for hours while he interrogated me. That I could do
without.'

'Ever seen anyone like that figure before?' she asked.

'Can't say I have.'

'Sure?'

Snyder lifted his glass, drank quite a lot of beer, smacked
his lips as he put down the glass. He was so pleased with
himself Newman could have smashed his fist into his face.
But he was leaving the floor to Paula, who was doing
so well.

'Mr Snyder,' she said, still quietly, 'was the figure
carrying something?'

'Could have been holding a very large briefcase, some
thing like that.' He waved a large hand. 'Can't be sure.'

'And this was before the body was discovered - and before you'd noticed it?'

Snyder took out a small cigar. He spent his time light
ing it. Then he took several puffs, gazing round the
bar. It was spacious, a luxuriously furnished room with
mahogany walls, a crescent-shaped counter way over to
the right with black leather stools where several customers
sat. In the middle of the room was a large black piano
and illumination came from stud lights embedded in the
ceiling.

'You haven't answered my question,' Paula prodded.

'You know what?' Snyder took another puff at the
cigar. 'I reckon I've answered more than enough of your
questions.'

'Thank you for your support, Bob,' Paula said as they headed back to the Baur au Lac.

'I didn't say anything - except for one brief outburst.'

'That's what I meant by your support.'

She glanced at Newman and he had pursed his lips. Not
best pleased with her attitude. She didn't care - she'd done
the job.