Colin Forbes - By Stealth

This outcome had been inevitable: Andover's murder on Belgian soil dictated that the police must take over the case. Benoit had checked train times, had shown relief when he realized they could return by fast train.

`I've had enough of travelling in a car for one day,' he explained.

`So why are you behind the wheel now?' Paula chivvied him mischievously. 'When you have a perfectly good driver behind us?'

`Oh, Jean is cautious. I drive like a madman – I used to do a bit of race-driving.'

`I can see that,' she commented as he swung round one of the bends practically on two wheels.

`What about this murdered cab driver they informed you about over your car phone?' Tweed called out.

`Well, you said this car which mowed down Andover was a black Mercedes taxi. Two uniformed men found his body inside the same type of vehicle abandoned in Marolles – behind the Palais de Justice. Paula told me she fired one shot through the rear window. The cab they found has one bullet-hole in the rear window. Draw your own conclusions.'

`Would it be possible for me to have a word with the policemen who found it? And even see the body?' Tweed suggested.

`You and I can go to the morgue where they've taken the body. The policemen have been told to wait there for me.'

`I'd like to come too,' said Paula.

Benoit grinned at her. 'A moment ago you suppressed a yawn. Now the lady wants to see a corpse.'

`I've been with Tweed since this business started. I'm not going to miss anything now.'

`The lady has stamina,' Benoit said, and grinned again. `Flattery will get you nowhere,' Paula shot back.

`Have you any idea how this cab driver was murdered?' enquired Tweed.

`It was only a brief message. Maybe we'll know when we get there…' Benoit shrugged.

`If we do reach Liege station alive,' Paula needled him.

Which was not entirely fair. It was only on traffic-free stretches that Benoit rammed his foot to the floor. Now they were threading their way through the dank gloomy streets of Liege Benoit was driving slowly, despite his frequent glances at the dashboard clock. The cobbled streets had a greasy, sweaty look, and as Benoit pulled up in front of the station and Paula stepped out the same appetizing smells of cheap fast-food stalls assailed her nostrils.

Benoit collected their bags from the boot, his portly figure moving at great speed as they rushed for the train. The express was standing by the platform and moved off the moment they had jumped aboard into an empty first- class coach.

Benoit sat opposite Paula while Tweed sat alone, also in a corner seat, staring out into the night as the express raced west. Glancing across at him, Paula guessed his mind was racing as fast as the express. Benoit leant forward.

`I have arranged for a car to meet us at Midi station. First stop, the morgue. Are you sure you want to come with us?'

`Quite sure. But thanks for asking again. Later we can go back to the Hilton.'

`Which is not so far from where the cab driver's body was found,' Benoit said thoughtfully.

`I presume,' Tweed called across, 'that Andover's remains will eventually be sent home to the address I gave you?'

`But certainly,' the Belgian agreed. 'That is, after the pathologist has examined the body. It is the law.'

`Was that all the ambulance contained?'

`No.' Benoit paused. Delvaux showed me his wife's hand in the chest freezer. I persuaded him it must be sent to the pathologist in the same ambulance. What sort of people are we dealing with? Psychopaths?'

`We are dealing with a man of exceptional intelligence and not even an atom of humanity – a man working to a plan, if my theory is right.'

`What plan is that?'

`The elite of Western Europe are being targeted. The plan is to break their spirit, to remove them from any position of influence – to use fiendish psychological methods to turn brilliant men into useless wrecks – both mentally and physically. Especially mentally. How long ago is it since Hugo Westendorf resigned as German Minister of the Interior?'

`About three months or so,' Benoit replied. 'Surely you don't suspect..

`I don't suspect anything. Like you, I deal only in facts. But the timing is right.'

`I could get in touch with Chief Inspector Kuhlmann of the Criminal Police in Wiesbaden.'

`I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't do that under any circumstances,' Tweed said.

`Then I will not do it..

`But what I would like you to do is to ask your pathologist to concentrate first on examining Lucie's severed hand. As a matter of top priority.'

`I can – will – do that. May I ask why?'

`You just did.' Tweed smiled. 'I want to know whether your pathologist considers only a top-flight surgeon could have carried out that amputation.'

`You're going to track them through him,' Paula said.

`I am going to work night and day on every possible lead. There is something enormously menacing behind all this. It could well be a race against time.'

`What about Newman?' Benoit asked. 'He said he would see you in Brussels.'

`He has the car. At this moment he will be driving at top speed through the night. He drives like you, Benoit. So, he might just be waiting for us at Midi.'

`I doubt that,' Benoit said.

They fell silent and Paula closed her eyes as the train stopped at Leuven, then thundered on west again. Tweed had his eyes wide open. He seems tireless, thought Benoit. The pace of his investigation is accelerating.

The morgue was noticeably colder than even the outside world. A white-coated man with greying hair and an authoritative manner, introduced as Dr Leclerc, glanced at Paula and then at Benoit.

`It's all right,' Benoit reassured him in French, 'Miss Grey has seen dead bodies before. You might say it is part of her job.'

Behind Benoit and Paula stood Tweed and Newman, who had been waiting for them in his hired Mercedes when they'd arrived at Midi. Leclerc, a small, well-built man wearing rimless glasses, pulled out one of the rows of large metal drawers. A sheet covered what lay inside. Tweed and Newman stood on one side while Paula joined Benoit on the other. Leclerc drew back the sheet. Paula stifled a gasp. She looked across at Tweed, spoke in French.

`Cyanosis.'

`The lady has had some experience,' Leclerc remarked. `I have not started work yet but the cause of death does appear rather obvious, subject to my examination.'

The cab driver's lips were blue. His whole bony face had a bluish tinge. Paula bent forward, peering at the side of the neck.

`Come round here, Tweed. I think you can see where the fatal needle was inserted.'

`Again the lady is correct,' Leclerc agreed.

Tweed bent down alongside Paula. A small reddish bruise disfigured the side of the neck. Paula was frowning. Tweed caught her expression.

`Yes?'

`That's an odd place to reach easily. I suppose from the back seat his passenger could have inserted her instrument, but it seems unlikely. The driver would see it coming. On the other hand, suppose she pretended to take a liking to him, put her arms round his neck, one hand concealing the needle – in whatever form it is disguised. During the embrace the driver would be off his guard. Then would be the moment she could press in the needle.'

`You think the murderer was a woman?' Leclerc sounded surprised.

`Just an idea,' Paula replied evasively.

`But possibly the right one,' Benoit intervened. `Tweed, you wanted to interview the two policemen who found the cab driver. They are in the next room.' He noticed Leclerc had raised his eyebrows at the suggestion. `Tweed,' he explained, was once the youngest Superintendent of Homicide at Scotland Yard.'

`That was a little while ago,' Tweed said wryly. 'Now, I would like to see those two men…'