Colin Forbes - Cell

'See you. Some time…'

Harry was gone. Newman stood up, went to the clothes cupboard, took out a long black coat. He put it on and it almost reached his ankles. He asked Monica to fetch him another 'violin' case. He peered out of the window.

'Paula and Jules have left in his car. I'll wait a few minutes before I drive after them up to Carpford. I'm going to be the mysterious figure lurking at the edge of Black Wood. Back-up for Paula and Jules. Even if you object I'm still going.'

'Mutiny!' Tweed threw up his hands. 'First Paula, now you. Get up there as fast as you can. Communicate with me on your mobile. When you can.'

Monica appeared. She handed Newman the Uzi inside the case. She pursed her lips.

'Don't go and shoot yourself.'

'What?'

Then he saw the smile on her face. He kissed her on the cheek. She then handed him a smaller satchel than the one provided for Beaurain and Paula.

'Coffee in a flask. Plus a bottle of mineral water. Still. The way you like it. You get thirsty, I know.'

'Bless you. I'm on my way…'

The office seemed strangely quiet with only Monica and Tweed left. It was the contrast with the frenetic activity which had taken place. Tweed asked Monica for her book with the list of phone numbers. He first called the Ministry of Security. The dull voice of a guard told him the Minister was not there.

Tweed called the penthouse number where Victor Warner lived in London. He was taken aback when a soft voice answered.

'Hello?'

'You sound like Eva. Tweed here.'

'Maybe it's because I am Eva,' the sultry voice replied. 'Hold on, don't go…' He heard her call out to Mrs Carson that this was a personal call and could she have some privacy. There was plenty to do in the kitchen. A door slammed. 'Old Nosy,' Eva whispered. 'Now what can I do for you? Always a dangerous question for a woman to ask a man.'

'Sometimes. Is his Lordship there?'

'If you mean Victor Wannabe, no he isn't. He drove up to Garda – his hideaway in Carpford. I can give you the number, but don't tell him how you got it. Ex-directory.'

'Thank you, but I won't bother.'

'I'm feeling lonely, restless. Could we meet somewhere? I'd suggest Marco's Love Nest in Lower Cheyne Street. It's off Walton Street.'

'I know it.'

'You do? I'm surprised at you. In an hour's time?'

'See you then…'

In a subtle way Eva had sounded seductive. There were many sides to Eva Brand. He phoned the Ministry of Security again, asked for Peregrine Palfry.

'He's not here. Didn't you phone a few minutes ago?' the same dull guard's voice asked.

'No. Good-night…'

His new call was to Martin Hogarth. He handled this carefully. A superior voice snapped.

'Yes. Who is it?'

'Martin?'

'Yes…'

Tweed hung up. His last call was to Drew Franklin at the Daily Nation. He was transferred from one person to another. Then a girl's voice answered.

'Drew?' she said. 'He's shoved off into his country place. Who is calling?'

'Charlie Wilson. Not urgent. Thank you…'

He broke the connection. Monica was gazing at him, intrigued.

He drank some cold coffee which had been in the mug for a long time. She pulled a face.

'Don't know how you can swallow that. You've been phoning all the suspects, haven't you? To find out where they are.'

'That's right. The only one I've left out is Margesson, whom Paula called the Priest. We haven't his number but it's probably ex-directory. Doesn't matter.'

'They do say that it's the one you've missed you should have called.'

Despite Monica's protests about lack of protection, Tweed drove himself to the bar off Walton Street. He was glad to be on his own. He could think better without company.

Marco's Love Nest was discreetly advertised. No flashing neon lights. The name simply engraved on a brass plate with a dim light above it. When he walked in he had to pause to get used to the dimness. A long thin room with the bar on his left. The only illumination was a series of wall sconces glowing with a shadowy light. Behind the bar was a thin man clad in a white apron decorated with the name Marco. He approached the bar.

'I was supposed to meet a lady here.'

'She is waiting for you at a table at the back. Arrived ten minutes ago.'

'How do you know she's waiting for me?'

Marco now had a secretive smile. Not a smirk but knowing. He put down the glass he was cleaning, leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.

'She described you, sir. Medium height. Could be in his mid-forties. Wearing horn-rim glasses.'

'What is she drinking? Ready for another, you think?'

'Not yet. She just sips her drink. What will you have?'

'A glass of Chardonnay.'

'Two of a kind. Even like the same drink.'

'Marco, just give me the drink, then tell me the cost, including the lady's.'

'Didn't mean to be offensive. Sir.'

'Had you been, you'd have known about it…'

Having paid, Tweed made his way to the back of the bar. By now his eyes had become accustomed to the dimness and he could see her clearly. Sitting at a table in a secluded alcove, one hand slowly swivelling her glass by the stem as she watched him coming. He sat down, facing her.

'Cheers!' He raised his glass and she clinked hers with his. Her outfit surprised him. She was wearing a close-fitting white sleeveless dress, exposing her shapely arms and shoulders.

'Does he know you're here?' Tweed asked suddenly, abruptly.

'Victor? Certainly not. I keep my private life very private.'

'When was he first appointed Minister of Security?'

'Oh, about two years ago…' Eva replied.

'Why was he chosen?' Tweed asked.

'He was an MP and had been director of Medfords private security outfit. Obvious choice. The only one with the experience.'

'How did you come to work for him?' Tweed went on in a blank tone of voice.

'Thought you'd have realized that from what I told you when I slipped over secretly to your office. When he was with Medfords I was on the staff. It's a loose arrangement.'

'What does that mean?'

'It means,' said Eva, 'I'm not officially on his staff. So I'm not trapped in that idiotic Civil Service system. I'm paid out of his private income. Victor is a rich man.'

'How did that come about?'

'It came about, Mr Tweed, because it was the only way I would agree to work for him.'

'You have official office hours?' Tweed asked.

'I damned well don't. I come and go as I please. I thought this was going to be a fun evening.' She was still smiling as she had done since he'd sat down. 'Instead I find myself being interrogated. I did a lot of that myself at Medfords.'

Tweed sipped his wine. She waited, her large eyes glowing into his. He had the odd feeling she was penetrating inside his brain. An exceptionally intelligent lady with bewitching looks.

'Where were you born?' he asked suddenly.

'In a small village in Hampshire. Don't ask me the village's name because I won't tell you. My childhood is strictly my own affair.'

'You told me your mother was killed in a road accident. So what about your father?'

'You've hit a road-block. I don't want to talk about him. I will not talk about him.' Still smiling.

'You disliked him?'

'Didn't you hear what I just said?'

Eva lifted her almost full glass, swallowed the contents in two large gulps. She raised the empty glass to the barman, who came hurrying over.

'Same again,' she said.

'You left Medfords before Warner did?'

'As a matter of fact, I did. He contacted me two years later when he became a Minister, offered me the job.'

'And how did you spend those two years?'

'More interrogation.' She was still smiling. 'I was what they used to call a swinger, maybe still do. Cocktail bars and the best night clubs.'