Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

`You were all of that.'

`We'd had a long meeting.' Grey turned to Tweed. 'Remember? Eight hours non-stop. Crisis time.'

'I do recall it, yes,' said Tweed and continued eating.

`That was the night that attractive blonde girl was raped and murdered,' Newman remarked. 'They found her floating in the Main the following day. A horrific one, that.'

`Which caused the hold-up when we were leaving Frankfurt Airport,' Tweed said. 'The most thorough interrogation I've ever been subjected to. Made me realize what it's like to be in the other chair. Hugh, talking of Frankfurt, you'll be on your way back there today, I take it?'

`Trying to get rid of me?' Grey smiled broadly. 'You're saying you can cope on your own?'

`I might just manage.'

`Found out anything about Fergusson? Can I be of assistance?'

`No to both questions.'

`Dead end?' Grey poured himself coffee.

`It was for Fergusson…'

`You do sound grim this morning. Not at all chipper…'

`Under the circumstances, I'm hardly likely to feel chipper, as you put it. And I did ask you about your future movements.'

`Sorry. Wrong mood. Under the circumstances. Frankfurt here I come. This afternoon. I get the feeling I'm de trop – as the French so delightfully put it.'

He paused, stared at Tweed expectantly, as though waiting for contradiction. None came.

`Ziggy Palewska was cremated at four this morning.'

Kuhlmann made his announcement standing in Tweed's bedroom, hands clasped behind his back, cigar in the corner of his mouth as he watched both Tweed and Newman who were sitting in arm chairs. The man from Wiesbaden had appeared as soon as Hugh Grey left the dining-room.

He had asked for a quiet word and they had taken him up to the bedroom. Tweed stared back at the German whose expression was bleak. Newman kept his own expression blank and left Tweed to do the talking.

`What the devil does that mean?'

`His place of business – if you can call it that – went up in flames. That heavy wooden door you pushed to get inside to see the Pole last night jams. Palewska was trapped inside. Burnt to one black cinder. An accident, the state police are saying…'

`But how could it happen?'

`You tell me. You were there a few hours earlier. Notice anything especially inflammable?'

`There were two drums of petrol in one corner,' Tweed said slowly. 'The room was full of stuff which could catch light – once a fire started. But how would it start?'

`I thought you might tell me. People who live in that stinking alley say he used to turn up the hi-fi full blast. Had a passion for Louis Armstrong, they say. The eye-witness descriptions make a good horror story…'

`What kind of a horror story?' Newman asked, feeling he should say something.

`Imagine a fiery inferno. Flames shooting sky-high. And that bloody hi-fi still blasting out Louis on his trumpet. Turned as high as it would go, they said. Any comment?'

`I don't think so,' Tweed replied. 'You tell us…'

`Place was lit by oil lamps. So, the vibrations topple one of those oil lamps by the petrol drums. There was a big explosion which was probably one – maybe both – of the petrol drums. People who work nearby told me the oil-lamps alone worried them. When he had that hi-fi going they'd sit talking with Ziggy, watching the damned lamps shivering on top of whatever he'd perched them on. The thing which puzzles me is those petrol drums – a neighbour saw them earlier that evening. Never seen petrol in there before.'

Kuhlmann sat down and waited. He expected a reaction – and he had seen both of them leaving Ziggy's place the same night. Tweed grunted, cleared his throat.

`What are you saying was the cause of this new tragedy?'

`State police call it an accident – subject to the report from the arson brigade. That's the second so-called accident involving you in less than twenty-four hours. First Fergusson, now Mr Ziggy Palewska. Maybe we have a specialist in town.'

`A specialist in what?' Tweed asked.

`Murder made to look like accident. I've already put that modus operandi through the computer. I'm waiting for the result.'

`We were there, as you say, earlier in the evening. And I did notice the petrol drums…'

Tweed gave Kuhlmann a brief outline of their visit, omitting a great deal. No reference to Lubeck or Dr Berlin. Kuhlmann never took his eyes off him as Tweed spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

`So,' the German said, `there was a definite link between Fergusson and Palewska? Why would Fergusson fly to Hamburg to see a man like that?'

`Because he has been one of my contacts over the years. You realize there is a limit as to how much I can tell you?'

`No limit on murder.' Kuhlmann pointed his cigar at Tweed. Fergusson was murdered – that I know. Fergusson had visited Palewska an hour or two before he's found floating. Now Ziggy goes up in smoke. That's a direct link if ever I met one. Who was that man who joined you for breakfast'?' he asked suddenly.

`Hugh Grey. I neither expected or wanted to see him. He's a nuisance…'

`His face is familiar. Care to enlighten me a little more on Mr Hugh Grey?'

`Not really.' Which was a pointless answer. Tweed was aware that Kuhlmann would also put Hugh Grey through the computer. But he was playing for time. 'Someone else you might put through that computer of yours,' he suggested. 'A blond giant – over six foot tall. Ziggy told me he was the man who brought those petrol drums. No name, so I don't know where you'd start…'

`With a fuller description.'

`I asked Ziggy for that myself. The blond wore a woolly sailor's cap, large tinted glasses and a silk scarf pulled up over his chin. Oh, yes, he had a large nose…'

`That's one hell of a description. Tell me everything else Ziggy said about this blond.'

Tweed told him. Kuhlmann took out a well-used notebook, wrote a few words in it, put it back in his pocket and stood up.

`You'll be staying in Hamburg – both of you?'

`Is that a request?'

`A question…'

`We shall be staying in North Germany for the moment. More than that I can't be sure of…'

`Stay here long enough and one of you could end up having a very nasty accident…'

`What is it with Kuhlmann?' Newman asked when they were alone. 'Two major crimes – if he's right – have been committed in Hamburg. Surely the Hamburg state police should be handling the case? And he looked very pleased about something when he left.'

`Normally the Federal Police wouldn't get within a mile of it,' Tweed agreed. 'But from something he said at the morgue he's pally with the local police chief. That helps the Federals a lot in Germany. Also, I suspect he hasn't told us all he knows. And that look of satisfaction stems, I'm sure, from the arrival on the scene of that blond giant who visited Ziggy. He thought he smelt of East Germany – I'm sure Kuhlmann has the same idea. That would bring in Wiesbaden overnight. And Otto is one of the best men they have. He's supposed to have the ear of the Chancellor – an open sesame to anywhere in the Federal Republic…'

`Before Kuhlmann marched into the dining-room, I was going to ask you, is Hugh Grey as big an idiot as he seems.'

`No. It's a pose which has fooled a lot of people. He finds it useful. Abroad he's a foreigner's idea of a typical Englishman – so they underestimate him. At home, when he's playing politics with Howard, his old boy network act goes down well.'

`A regular stinker, as they used to say. Now what do we turn to next? Visit Martin Vollmer at Altona, that contact Ziggy phoned you about early this morning?'

`I think we'll give Vollmer a miss. I want to get out of Hamburg today, poke around on our own for a bit. This is a dense area…'

`Dense?'

`Office jargon for a zone crammed with enemy agents. The Old Guard used to call it a full pack – they played a lot of cards. I suggest we pack our bags, pay the bill quietly and catch the 11.15 Copenhagen Express for Lubeck.'