Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

She jumped to her feet, holding her handbag. The figure was silhouetted against the glow of light from the Maritim Hotel, the lamps along the promenade. Difficult to see. She shaded her eyes with her left hand. Her eyes narrowed. She drew back her right bare foot, dug it deep into the sand and kicked upwards, sending a sand spray into the newcomer's eyes.

She nearly escaped, but a hand grasped her arm, a leg looped round her ankles and she fell over backwards. Sprawled, she stared up and opened her mouth to bellow at the top of her voice. One hand closed her mouth, the other hoisted a broad-bladed knife as a body hit her prone form heavily. She fought back, clawed at his face, tried to knee him in the groin. Her raised knee flopped, lifeless. He had slit her throat from ear to ear. He hoisted the knife again, plunged it between her breasts, jerked it downwards savagely. Blood seeped into the sand.

Ten minutes later Ted Smith, her English boy friend, came running down the beach, holding a bottle of wine. He skidded to a halt, stared down.

`Oh, my God! No! No…!'

Newman and Tweed enjoyed a late and leisurely dinner with Diana at the Jensen. The restaurant was full and Harry Butler sat at the window table by himself. It must be his turn for night duty, Tweed thought. Nield would be over at the Movenpick, catching up on sleep.

He let Newman and Diana do the talking. They'd finished the dessert when Diana placed a hand over Tweed's. She winked at Newman.

`He's gone into a trance. He does that, you know…'

`Leave him alone,' Newman chaffed her. 'He's thinking. It doesn't come easy.'

The waiter came to the table a few moments later. He told Tweed a Mr Kuhlmann was on the phone. Tweed excused himself, went out into the lobby and said he'd take the call in his room. On the way up in the elevator he checked the time. It was midnight.

`That you, Tweed? Imminent you said. You were too bloody right. Blessed with second sight?'

Kuhlmann sounded disturbed, which surprised Tweed. The German was always so cool, detached.

`What's happened?' he asked.

`Another murder. Out at Travemunde Strand. On the beach. Almost the same place where the Swedish girl, Iris Hansen, was butchered. This one is something else again.' He paused. Tweed could have sworn he heard Kuhlmann gulp.

‘Go on. I'm listening…'

`American girl this time. Sue Templeton. I knew her. She helped me track Franck. A blonde again. Of course. And I could hardly recognize her. That maniac had a field day this time.'

`Know when it happened?'

Tweed's voice was steady, almost off-hand. Inwardly he was feeling sick. Pressure. So Dr Generoso had said. Pressure will make him crack. And I've applied the pressure…'

`Just about 10.30 this evening. What? No – no trace of the killer. Hold on, Tweed. Someone's handed me a signal for you.' Brief pause. 'It's for you – from Walter Three. Signal reads, power cruiser Nordsee under way. Proceeding to north. Tracking. Signed Walter Three…'

`That's it? I must go.'

`They'll be talking about this latest killing in Lubeck now,' Kuhlmann warned. 'The victim's English boy friend who found the body ran back to the Maritim and blabbed all over the reception hall. And I must get back to the beach.'

Tweed paused half way inside the restaurant. A waiter was chattering to a group at a table near the entrance. He caught a snatch of the conversation.

`An American girl… cut to pieces… raped… spread all over the beach…'

Tweed walked down to his own table at a normal pace. Diana was sitting rigidly, her right hand clenching her napkin in a ball. Newman looked at Tweed with a bleak expression.

`Have you heard? Out at Travemunde?'

`It's beastly, horrible,' Diana burst out. 'Another poor blonde girl…'

Tweed put an arm round her shoulder, glanced across at Butler's table. 'Better get to bed,' he suggested.

He saw Butler leaving his table as he escorted her from the restaurant with Newman at his heels. They rode up in the elevator in silence. Diana unlocked her door, said Good Night, closed it. Tweed took Newman by the arm.

`We have to move fast. Everything's happening. Go over to the Movenpick. Wake up Pete Nield. Kick down the door if necessary. He's to get dressed, pack his case, pay his bill and be back here in ten minutes. Pack your own case. I'm going up to pack mine. I'll pay your bill. I want to be out of here in fifteen minutes. Now, I must have a word with Butler…'

`Where are we going?'

`Travemunde. I want you to drive there like hell. It's all exploding as I predicted. See you…'

He beckoned to Butler who had just stepped out of the elevator, took him along to his room and closed the door.

At that hour, with Newman driving, they made record time to Travemunde. At Tweed's instruction Newman parked the Audi near the police station. With Newman on one side and Nield on the other, Tweed explained as they walked along the waterfront.

Nield, you're a qualified radio op. Are you rusty?'

`Hardly. I'm a radio ham in my spare time. That is, what spare time I get. Why?'

`Can you handle the latest transceiver aboard a power cruiser?'

`I'll give it a try.'

`What are we up to?' Newman asked.

`Heading for the Sudwind. I've told you about the signal Kulhmann gave me. We're going to follow the Nordsee in the Sudwind. I trust one of you can navigate at night?'

`I'll give it a try,' said Newman. 'What about the Sea King?'

`Casey's trying to track the Nordsee. My bet is it has Dr Berlin at the helm, that he's heading for the Skagerrak. His ultimate destination could be England. I think he's taking that huge drug haul with him. Lysenko's audacity has gone overboard. It does happen. A man holds a job too long – thinks he can get away with anything. Although, using Balkan is clever, I admit.'

`Who is Balkan?' Nield asked.

`Here's the landing stage,' Tweed said, ignoring the question. `We have water to drink.' Newman was carrying a large plastic canister Tweed had obtained from the manager of the Jensen.

Tweed led the way, feet clumping rapidly along the planks of the landing stage, carrying his suitcase in his right hand. He was about to cross the gangway on to the Sudwind when Newman rested the container on the stage and grasped him by the arm.

`Let me check. I'm armed.'

`You didn't take that Luger with you…' Tweed glanced at Newman… on your recent trip?'

`Of course not. I gave it to Toll. He put it in a safety deposit box at a local bank, left the receipt and a letter in a sealed envelope for me at the Movenpick. I collected it a few days ago.'

Newman opened his jacket, revealed the hip holster. A pro had once told him never to use a shoulder holster. 'Takes half an hour to drag the thing out,' he'd warned. Newman extracted the Luger, took out the torch Stahl had given him and went aboard the darkened vessel.

Tweed glanced round. The waterfront was deserted. Lights showed in the portholes of some of the moored craft, including Ann Grayle's sloop. There was no wind, the air was stuffy, the sky above studded with enormous stars. Nield followed his upward glance.

`A clear night – should be good for radio transmission. And I'm armed, too.' He produced a Walther automatic. 'By kind permission of Kuhlmann. Harry has another one.' He looked at the Sudwind as Newman reappeared.

`Come aboard,' Newman called out. 'All clear.'

`You go aboard,' Tweed told Nield, handing him his case. `Get everything ready for immediate departure. I have a call to make from the local police station. Back in five minutes.'

He got through to Monica quickly. She sounded relieved to hear his voice. She's holding the fort all night long Tweed thought.