Colin Forbes - Precipice

Newman, thankful only that the moonlight showed him the footpath, which here and there had patches of ice and sharp stones protruding above the snow, continued his ascent. To his right a panoramic view was opening up of the snowbound rooftops of Sion which, at that hour, looked like a dead city. He glanced at it only once and then concentrated on reaching the top, thinking of poor little Archie at the mercy of a professional killing machine.

At the summit, some distance above where Newman ran, Archie pulled up the collar of his coat against the freezing cold. He was standing in the shadow of the Chapel, an ancient building which looked like a ruin by the light of the moon. Left-handed, he adjusted the cigarette stub in the corner of his mouth. It gave him a certain comfort.

He was at the top of the path and in front of him, a few feet away, there was a break in the outer drystone wall where it had crumbled. He wriggled his toes inside his shoes to try and bring back the circulation.

Out of the shadows behind him a waiting shadow emerged silently. The first Archie knew of his presence was when a powerful arm was wrapped round his neck. He sagged back against the figure.

'You've talked too much,' a reedy voice said in English. 'Now you'll never talk again.'

Archie's left hand clawed out the small automatic in his pocket, quickly pressed the muzzle against the lower part of the strangling arm, just below the elbow. He pulled the trigger. The arm relaxed, there was a groan of pain, the arm fell away from him. He took two steps forward carefully, near the gap in the wall, swung round.

He held the automatic in both hands now, aimed at the stomach of the figure which had straightened up. They stood looking at each other for a few tense moments.

'You can't shoot me again.' said Bill Franklin in his normal voice.

'I can empty the magazine into your stomach without a second thought,' Archie said. 'Now, turn your back to me or I'll pull the trigger again.'

On Franklin's face disbelief and fear were mingled. He turned round, stood with his back to Archie.

'Now step backward a few paces so we are not so close.' said Archie, moving to one side.

Franklin was moving backwards, as ordered, forcing himself to move his right arm, flexing the fingers of his right hand, waiting for the chance to throw himself at Archie, to knock the automatic to one side.

At that moment Newman appeared at the top of the path in a rush. He stopped, stunned as he gazed at the scene unfolding, remaining perfectly still so as not to distract Archie. He had never felt so taken aback in his life.

'I told you to take several paces.' Archie ordered. 'I'm about to press the trigger nonstop if you don't do what I told you to do.'

There was something in the quiet tone of Archie's voice which scared Franklin. He noticed that the automatic levelled at his stomach was steady, showed no sign of even a quiver. Newman gazed in fascination as Franklin obeyed the order.

His second step took him through the gap into space over the precipice below. He yelled, fell, grabbed with both hands at the edge of the path, his fingers clawing at, holding on to two small rocks protruding above the snow.

'Help me!' he screamed. 'For God's sake have pity.'

'It depends on whether you tell the truth.' said Archie. 'First, you are The Motorman?'

'Yes! Craig paid me a lot of money.'

'To kill, among other victims.' Archie continued, 'the bartender, Ben, at Bowling Green in Wareham?'

'Yes! Yes!' Franklin yelled desperately.

'And Rico Sava in Geneva was another victim?'

'Yes! I can't hold on much longer…'

'And Anton and Karin Marchat here in Sion.' Archie went on remorselessly.

'Yes! Yes! Yes…'

Franklin's right hand slipped off the rock. He held on with his left hand, sweat pouring down his face, freezing into small beads of ice almost at once. His right hand reappeared, clutched again at the rock.

Time to go.' said Archie.

'You can't leave me here!' screamed Franklin. 'I can't hold on much longer.'

'Those people you killed horribly were my friends.' Archie told him.

He started to walk back down the path and Newman followed him. They descended in silence for some time. Newman could not think of anything to say – he was still stunned by what had happened. Of all people – Archie.

'He'll have dropped by now.' Newman said as they arrived at the bottom of the path.

Philip was standing on the far side of the road in the moonlight, staring up. They joined him, looking up to the summit. A tiny figure was still hanging there, suspended over the almost sheer precipice, which had occasional outcrops of huge boulders. No one spoke after Newman had told Philip: 'It's The Motorman up there. Guess who he is. It's Bill Franklin

He had just spoken when the hanging figure began its fall. Franklin plunged down, struck an outcrop with a force which made Newman wince, was bounced off and then turned as he completed his fall, landing on the snow a hundred yards from where they stood with an unpleasant crunching sound.

'Why didn't you finish him off up there?' Newman asked.

'I'm not a sadist,' Archie replied, 'far from it. But he made many people suffer, the friends and relatives of all those people he murdered, I believe in crime and punishment.'

'How on earth did you know The Motorman was Bill Franklin?' Newman asked Tweed. 'I thought I heard you call out as I rushed away from the airfield.'

It was late the next day and Newman was driving Tweed to the airfield with Butler and Paula in the back. Butler had insisted on being discharged from the hospital in Sion, overriding the doctor.

'A chance incident,' Tweed explained. 'I was with Professor Grogarty, a tall well-built man, in Harley Street. He was stooped over and suddenly straightened up. It struck me that Keith Kent is of medium height – as Grogarty looked when he stooped. But when Grogarty straightened up he was the height of Bill Franklin. We know The Motorman, whenever described, stooped. It was his way of disguising that he was tall. Simple.'

'Simple.' Paula called out, 'but you noticed it, unlike so many people would have done – and drew the right conclusion. I'm still flabbergasted that it should have been Bill. He seemed such a nice chap.'

'Which is what people say after the event about a lot of killers.' Tweed reminded her.

The rest of the day had been full of frenetic activity. Butler had had the bullet removed from his thigh at the hospital. The doctor had said it was just a deep flesh wound, that he had been lucky. Butler had spun him a yarn about how he was checking his Walther, not realizing it was loaded, and had shot himself. Paula had explained Arthur Beck, Chief of Federal Police, was a friend and this had satisfied the doctor. Plus the fact that Beck had arranged for an ambulance to meet the jet when they arrived in Zurich.

Tweed had been on the line from the Hotel Elite, where he had moved to, calling Beck. Which was how they knew Brazil was still at the Baur-en-Ville in Bahnhofstrasse. Tweed was determined to arrive in the city before Brazil left it.

All Sion was talking about the avalanche on the Kellerhorn.

Prior to Tweed leaving the airfield, he had witnessed a second avalanche roaring down from the summit. The second tidal wave of rocks and shale had buried the bodies of Brazil's men. Searching the mountain through his field glasses, he had seen no sign of any of the casualties. He doubted that they would ever be discovered.

'No need for that ambulance when we get to Zurich.' Butler called out. 'I feel fighting fit.'

'You will go in the ambulance.' Paula told him sternly. 'I'll be coming with you. We're not going to risk any infection setting in. So pipe down.'