Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

`I had the dubious pleasure of seeing both corpses in the morgues. It's the same killer. So, now we check on who was in both cities at the time of the killings. Surprise, surprise! Both of you were…'

`That's a bit ridiculous,' Tweed said mildly.

`Puts me in a funny position, Tweed. Word comes from the lady at the top in London direct to Chancellor Kohl in Bonn. Would he allocate his best man to keep a fatherly eye on you…'

`Fatherly eye. Oh, for God's sake,' Tweed protested.

`Haven't finished.' Kuhlmann removed his cigar and grinned to lighten the atmosphere. 'Now I have you down on the list of suspects…'

`You can't be serious,' Newman broke in.

`I'm serious about checking who was in both places at the wrong time. All hotel registrations in Lubeck and Travemunde are now being collected up to send to Cologne. One hell of a job, but it has to be done. The Cologne computer then cross-checks with the list of people in Frankfurt six months ago. That way we should end up with something…'

`You hope,' said Newman.

`I hope,' Kuhlmann agreed. 'And now I have to get over to the morgue. The pathologist here works faster than that snail we had in Hamburg. I'll have a report by the morning…'

`When was the Travemunde murder committed?' Newman asked.

`First indications say last night. Some of the Wandervogel fanatics back-packing it through the woods found her middle of this morning. Girl by the name of Helena Andersen. Ring any bells?'

No. Should it?'

`Just that she happens to be the daughter of an ex-Cabinet Minister. So the lines are buzzing between Stockholm and Bonn. Let you know about that pathologist's report in the morning…'

Tweed had a couple of cognacs sent up from the bar after Kuhlmann left. He raised his glass to Newman, took a sip and set the glass down on a table.

`I'm getting to be a regular toper on this trip,' he remarked. `Are you thinking what I'm thinking9'

`Tell me what's inside your sceptical mind and we'll see.'

`Kuhlmann correctly placed us in the locations of both these ghastly murders. He doesn't know there is a third possible suspect to add to his list. Hugh Grey. He was in Frankfurt – that was the night he spilt whisky over my best suit. And when he came to see us at the Four Seasons in Hamburg over breakfast the topic of that murder in Frankfurt came into the conversation. I mentioned it myself.'

`The same thought crossed my mind. It could be worse than you realize. Mind you, it's a very long shot. I was there for a conference of the four newly-appointed sector chiefs. Not only was Hugh in Frankfurt. Harry Masterson and Guy Dalby attended the same meeting along with Erich Lindemann..

`But you spoke to Masterson on the phone from the, Hauptbahnhof here at midday. That was when Masterson warned you about The Cripple heading this way. And,' Newman reminded him, `Masterson was speaking from Vienna…'

`But it didn't sound like it. I told you it sounded far more like a local call.'

`Then there's Erich Lindemann.' Newman paused while he sipped at his cognac. `We only have his word he climbed aboard the express at Puttgarden. Supposing he did board the train at Lubeck just before it left?'

`Go on.'

`We didn't actually see Lindemann leave on the express when it rolled on to the train ferry prior to crossing the Baltic to Denmark. It was still in the station when I looked back as we walked out of sight of it along that country road…'

`Your scepticism is reaching unprecedented heights. Flights of fancy, Bob. To change the subject, I think tomorrow we might spy out the land at Travemunde before we attend Dr Berlin's party the day after.'

`It would be an ideal moment,' Newman replied.

`Ideal? I'm not with you…'

`That's because you're not a newspaper reporter. Think of the atmosphere out at Travemunde. A brutal, motiveless murder has occurred. Kuhlmann himself made a reference to the boat people battening down the hatches. They'll all be jumpy – but ready to talk their heads off about the murder to almost anyone. In daylight at any rate. There's a ghoulish element in human nature. I predict we'll get to know more people in a day than we would normally in a month.'

`You could be right. Well, we'll see…' Tweed's thoughts seemed to be miles away and he gave the impression of replying automatically.

`What's the matter?' Newman asked.

`Your flights of fancy. They're crazy, of course, but I find them disturbing. If by a million-to-one chance you were right it opens up vistas infinitely more horrific than the murder itself…'

`It was the same bastard – the Frankfurt maniac.'

Kuhlmann made the statement as he walked with Tweed and Newman past the crooked gate towers towards the station the following morning. He had caught them leaving the Jensen on their way to Travemunde.

`How do you know for certain?' Newman asked, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun.

`Two things. The Frankfurt pathologist's report came in over the teletype. The local pathologist checked his own findings against it. We were up all night while he did his job on that Swedish girl. His report checks with the one from Frankfurt.

It looks like the same weapon was used to carve her up.' `What kind of weapon?' Tweed asked.

`Wrong word, really. Comes to the same thing. A chef's knife is the opinion of both pathologists. The kind of knife you find in any reasonably well-equipped housewife's kitchen.'

`Not much help,' Tweed suggested.

`No bloody help at all.'

No one said anything more until they were entering the booking hall. Tweed went to the window to buy the tickets to Travemunde, leaving the other two outside a bookshop.

`What do you expect to find at Travemunde?' Kuhlmann asked.

`I'll know when I see it. This second murder is a complication we hadn't expected..

`Fourth murder,' Kuhlmann corrected. 'The Dutch girl in Frankfurt. Ian Fergusson in Hamburg. Followed by Ziggy Palewska. Now this Swedish victim. The body count is rising, Newman.'

`Reminds me of East Anglia, the area round the Wash,' Tweed said, looking out of the window.

They had left Lubeck and its suburbs behind and the local train was passing through open country. Newman looked up from a newspaper reporting the Swedish girl's murder.

`Does it? In what way?'

`Look at those long green banks beyond those fields. They are just like the dykes at the edge of the Wash. The locals in East Anglia actually call them "banks". And these flat fields below the railway line. Again, just like the Wash countryside.'

The train stopped and Tweed hurried out on to a high platform elevated above the surrounding countryside. Newman followed, closed the door, looked around and then called out to Tweed who was half-way towards the exit. They were the only passengers to alight and the train was moving again.

`Hey! This isn't the right stop..

A huge platform sign carried the legend Skandinavienkai. Scandinavian Quay. He had to walk fast to catch up with Tweed who was descending a flight of steps to a main highway below. To the east Newman gazed at a complex of docks beyond a large staging area.

By the wharf-side was moored a large white passenger liner, and close to that a huge car ferry. The rear maw was open – reminding him of Puttgarden – and a great queue of vehicles was lined up waiting to drive aboard. Private cars, campers, big trucks.

`That's the liner waiting to leave for Sweden,' Tweed informed Newman. 'You can see from the name on the hull… `Why get off at this stop?'

They were walking along a wide pavement by the side of the main highway. The verge was lined with a dense wall of trees which blotted out the view to the docks. Shrubberies of wild roses grew at the edge of the verge and it was very quiet under the sun beating down on them.