Colin Forbes - Deadlock

'You go back to England much?' Newman had ventured.

'Never! Don't pay a penny tax in any country. Advantage of having a floating home. Never stay in one country more than five months. Bradley keeps the log. Ready to show any bloody snooping tax inspector. I can spit in their faces – often feel like doing just that. Have to excuse me. A lock coming up. A bit tricky the navigation sometimes. Like to skipper my own tub…'

Left alone, Newman thought it was a queer set-up. Almost as though Ralston was trying to perpetuate his old Army atmosphere. A tall slim girl with a good figure, wearing a formfitting red dress with a mandarin collar, came into the saloon, sat beside Newman.

'I'm Josette. If I wait for his lordship to introduce me we will never meet.'

'You spend a lot of time aboard?' Newman asked.

'I live on the boat. It's like that. You do realize why he invited you aboard?'

'You tell me.'

'To keep an eye on you, of course. He wonders what you're up to. Brand asked him to keep a lookout for strangers,' she whispered. 'Brand pays him a fee, of course. He's mean over money, the colonel. Except with drink. He's never drunk and never sober. I don't think I'm staying with him much longer.' She pulled at her dark hair, staring straight at Newman. 'Do you need a friend?'

'Let me think about it.' Newman paused. Was this a trap? Had Ralston sent her to get him to talk? He didn't think so. They were inside the lock now. Beyond the portholes concrete walls loomed.

'Ever met a man called Klein?' he asked.

'Yes. A friend of yours?'

'Never met him.'

'He's creepy. He's travelled with us several times. And he was very interested in the bargees – and their craft. Asked the colonel a lot of questions. Especially about one called Joseph Haber. Was he married? Did he have a family?'

'And is Haber married – and has he a family?'

'Yes. A wife who lives near Celle, a small village up in the Ardennes. They have a son called Lucien, I remember. It seemed odd to me why this Klein should be interested in things like that,'

"This Klein just travelled back and forth with Ralston?'

'Not all the time. He spent several days at the home of the millionaire banker, Peter Brand…'

'Change the subject,' Newman whispered as Sergeant Bradley marched in from the opening behind the bar.

Josette had good bone structure, a well-shaped face and her expression was dreamy, but she was quick-witted. 'I think the Meuse is the loveliest of all the rivers,' she said in a normal voice. 'You really should see the section in France called Les Dames de Meuse.. .'

'Colonel wants you on deck,' Bradley told her. 'He's just noticed you'd disappeared.' He poured more coffee into Newman's cup. 'Next stop Profondeville, sir. We dock there and call on Mr Brand's place.'

Tweed missed catching the express to Brussels as he'd planned. He made one last phone call to Lasalle to tell him he was leaving Paris. The Frenchman said he had further information and could they meet?

Inside the DSI chief's office Tweed sat drinking coffee while Lasalle explained.

'After our interview with that Corsican villain, Calgourli, I checked with the police chiefs of all major cities. I wanted data on any unusual happenings. I may have come up with something in Marseilles.'

'That's a long way south…'

'Wait, my friend. You recall Calgourli referred to his rival in Marseilles, Emilio Perugini? This is confidential -we have a snout inside Perugini's organization. A man called Klein visited Perugini at his Cassis villa – these rats live high. Through Perugini Klein hired a very hard case called Louis Chabot. Freelance type…'

'What type?'

'Bodyguard, killer – you name it. The Marseilles police report Chabot has disappeared from his normal haunts. Vanished into thin air was the phrase used. And he's an expert on explosives, also a professional scuba diver. The qualifications Klein laid down to Calgourli.'

'Sounds like a member of the team Klein is forming.'

'Wait!' Lasalle repeated. There's more. Chabot had a girl friend, a bar girl called Cecile Lamont. Her body was dragged out of the sea. The screws of a large liner sailing for Oran sliced her clean through the middle…'

'You think Chabot…'

'No, I don't. He was fond of the girl – and his record has no trace of him ever attacking a woman. The post-mortem showed how she died – before she was thrown into the sea. Her throat was cut from ear to ear.'

Tweed sighed. 'That's getting to have a familiar sound. And it sounds like Klein. He's a ruthless bastard,' he said with feeling. 'You can see the pattern. He never leaves anyone alive who could help us. Did you check with Interpol – get them to put Klein through the computer?'

'Yes. Result, a blank. I asked my colleague for any other recent murders. I don't think this is relevant, but they've found a Swiss Nestle truck driver dead in the Ardennes near Clervaux. Turkish driver on his way to Brussels with a delivery from the Nestle factory at some place called Broc…' He paused, seeing Tweed's expression. 'What's the matter?'

This Klein is a ghost.' He took a map from his pocket of Western Europe. 'Can we spread this out on your desk? I'd like to see if we can track this ghost…'

Tweed talked as he made crosses on the map, starting with Broc in Switzerland, moving on to Geneva, Basle and Clervaux as he explained the events in Geneva and Basle. The murder of the Swiss research genius in watch-making, the bullion robberies in Basle.

He made more crosses on Marseilles and Paris. Then he drew a route line through the crosses, with off-shoots to Marseilles and Paris. Standing up, he tapped the map with his felt-tip pen.

'You see?'

'He appears to be moving north, always north. Where the hell is he heading for? And why the cross on Dinant. That takes us into Belgium.'

'My thanks to you there – for putting me on to Lara Seagrave.' Tweed produced a tissue-wrapped package from his coat pocket, showed Lasalle the couque. 'Lara gave me that in Smiths' tea-room. Speciality made in Dinant. I think Klein has reached the Meuse. I've sent Bob Newman to poke around in that area. And I think the bullion stolen from Basle travelled this route aboard a barge…' He traced a route south of Basle, along the Canal de la Marne et Haut Rhin, continuing up the Canal de l'Est, crossing the border with Belgium and stopping at Dinant.

'That gold,' Tweed went on, 'I'm convinced was the money which originally financed Klein's operation. You heard what he offered Calgourli. Now, I need the fence who handled the bullion – converted it into hard cash for Klein. I may know who the fence is. What I need now is a link between the fence and Klein.'

'What's the significance of the Nestle truck and its Turkish driver? The Belgians are convinced it was murder. They've asked for the assistance of Chief Inspector Benoit in Brussels since the Belgian capital was its ultimate destination.'

'Like you, Benoit never gives up,' Tweed mused, studying his map. 'Any idea where Lara Seagrave is now?'

'Antwerp,' Lasalle said promptly. 'While she was here The Parrot followed her to Cherbourg. Same procedure as down in Marseilles and Le Havre. She took a lot of photographs of the harbour area. I'd have arrested her, grilled her by now if you hadn't asked me to hold off.'

Thank you. She could just be our only lead to Klein. How do you know she's in Antwerp? North again. And it's beginning very much to look like Belgium.'

The Parrot followed her when she took a train to Brussels, then another to Antwerp. I've already called Benoit to tell him. After all, The Parrot is on foreign soil. Benoit was very cooperative, has permitted The Parrot to continue tracking Seagrave. He's given my man back-up. What the blazes could be the target? We've had these persistent rumours of a hijack of a ship.'