Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

`Kuhlmann here…'

Listening to the phone in his bedroom, Tweed detected a note of disappointment. He sat down in his dressing gown and identified himself.

`Your Kurt Franck wasn't at the Movenpick,' Kuhlmann informed him. 'Yes, he's registered here. He came into the bar for a quick drink just before he left. Time 20.00 hours. Half an hour before you walked out of the Jensen. No go…'

`Why not?' Tweed asked.

`Said to the barman he was going out to meet a new girl friend. I checked his dress. He was wearing jeans and a white polo-necked sweater. No shabby two-piece suit. And then I checked the parking lot. He doesn't have a motor-bike. Travels around in a hired BMW. Yellow job..

Did you say yellow?'

`I did. Why?'

`Nothing. I didn't catch the word first time…'

'So it looks like he's out on the town – maybe for the whole night. Not our boy, I'd say. At least today is ending quietly. Be in touch. If anything develops…'

Thirteen

The phone began ringing in Tweed's bedroom. He swore in the bathroom, his face covered in lather, put down the old- fashioned razor he'd used for years, grabbed a towel and ran into the bedroom. Always when he was shaving. The bloody phone. He lifted the receiver.

`Hugh Grey here. Not too early for you, I'm sure. Bright as the proverbial lark, eh, Tweed?'

Grey sounded horribly buoyant and Tweed could just imagine his plump face, the ruddy flush of his skin, the eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. It was a bit much, first thing in the morning.

`What can I do for you?' Tweed asked, wiping soap off his chin.

`I've heard about last night. A nasty experience for you. Not what you're used to…' A reference to the fact that Tweed's place was behind his desk. 'Can I send in the troops?' Grey went on energetically, 'I like to be supportive. Some back-up. OK?'

'No,' said Tweed. 'Thank you, but no,' he said emphatically. `And I'm quite all right, thank you. Leave things the way they are. Anything to tell me?'

'Not over the phone. Business is very active. Results expected shortly. I'll keep London informed. Don't forget – you need anything, call HQ at Frankfurt. Keep chipper. 'Bye for now. My three minutes is nearly up…'

Tweed put down the phone and sighed. The jargon got on his nerves. Can I send in the troops? What did Grey think he was? A bloody field marshal commanding an army? He went back into the bathroom to finish his shave.

He knew the real purpose of the call. To inform Tweed that he was on the ball. Grey must have an informant inside Lubeck – maybe even inside police HQ at Lubeck-Sud. He'd heard about the scuffle in Kolk damned fast. But Lubeck was on the border – an obvious place to watch closely.

He told Newman about the call over breakfast at an isolated table. The reporter finished chewing a piece of roll before he commented.

`How did Grey know you were here?'

`Oh, they all know. I'd much sooner the two of us handled the problem on our own – but I had to let Howard know where they could contact me. New boys, only six months as sector chiefs – I have to be available if something tricky crops up. Hugh Grey is just so bouncy first thing…'

`You have to admit he's efficient. This is his sector. The fact that he knows what's going on so quickly is a tribute to his organization…'

`You're right, of course. Well, we have something positive to look forward to this afternoon. Dr Berlin's party. Diana is late for breakfast.'

`She told me she was sleeping on the Sudwind last night. It saves her driving back and forth. We get there a bit early and pick her up off the cruiser before crossing to Priwall. She's going to introduce us to people at the famous party. I'd like to get there really early,' Newman went on, 'if that's OK by you. I want to interview Ann Grayle at greater length. That lady talks…'

`Endlessly. And we have company. Kuhlmann has just walked in. Something tells me we have a busy day coming up…'

The breakfast room at the Jensen was at the back of the hotel. You helped yourself from a buffet. Kuhlmann took a plate, piled on four rolls, a quantity of butter, three canisters of marmalade and sat down.

`I've been up all night,' he announced. There was a pause as he broke a roll in two, plastered it with butter and marmalade, consumed it rapidly and ordered coffee. 'A litre of it…' He looked fresh and alert, his thick black hair was neatly combed, but his chin was a black stubble. It reminded Tweed of Harry Masterson who, by midday, had a blued chin, the five o'clock shadow at noon, as Masterson called it. 'I should grow a beard,' he often joked, 'but then anyone could pick me out a mile off…'

Kuhlmann devoured his roll, swallowed a whole cup of coffee, refilled it. Newman lit a cigarette, studying the German. His sixth sense told him Kuhlmann had news.

`Why up all night?' he asked. 'Get anywhere with Franck?' `Forget Franck. Another blonde has been carved up and raped. Sometime round midnight…'

`On Priwall Island again?' Tweed asked quietly.

'No. On the beach at Travemunde Strand. Incredible. That he was able to get away with such butchery on an exposed beach…'

`Who was the victim?'

`An Iris Hansen. A Dane from Copenhagen. Personal assistant to a senior civil servant. So now Bonn has the lines buzzing between there and Copenhagen – and the calls are still coming in from Stockholm about Helena Andersen. The poor devil of a pathologist had just finished putting Andersen's remains together when we presented him with another parcel of meat. His phrase. He worked through the night. Out at Travemunde panic has turned to frenzy. Men are going out buying hunting knives, rolling pins, anything that can be used as a weapon…'

`Two murders,' Newman mused. 'Both blondes…'

`Three,' Kuhlmann amended. 'The Dutch girl at Frankfurt six months ago. It's the same killer. He proceeds with his grisly work in the same way. Don't ask me to go into details until I've settled my breakfast. You should have seen the Hansen girl lying on the beach. She, too, must have been attractive…'

`Must have been? Past tense,' Newman queried.

`He slashes their faces, cuts off… Never mind. You can always go and see her in the hospital for yourself if you're thinking of following up the story. Want me to sign a chit?'

`Not just now. Thanks all the same. Is there any connection between the three killings?'

`The connection I need is who was in Frankfurt six months ago and is here now.' He looked at Tweed. 'The two names the computer has come up with so far are you and Newman.'

`Except that you know both of us were in the middle of Lubeck at 10.45 p.m. I thought you said Iris Hansen was killed round midnight…'

'I did. We parted company about 11 o'clock. At that hour it is a fast drive to Travemunde. No traffic. Twenty minutes and you're in Travemunde Strand.'

`So both of us are suspects?'

'I have to report all the facts to Wiesbaden.' Kuhlmann took his time demolishing the last roll, then his wide mouth broke into a cynical grin. 'But the night man here on reception told me when I came in this morning you both went to your rooms at 11.10. He happened to check the clock. No one can get out of this place without passing him. You both have watertight alibis…'

'How very fortunate,' Tweed replied coolly. 'And now you've had your fun, maybe I could ask a favour? I need a totally safe phone to make several calls.'

`Police HQ, Lubeck-Sud,' Kuhlmann said promptly. 'It's outside town. There's a room there with a scrambler phone. I'll drive you there now. And you've got that look on your face.'

'What look might that be?'

'A very worried man. Something disturbing has struck you.'

Lubeck-Sud. Not at all what Newman had expected. A huge modern fourteen-storey complex of buildings, joined together and with a black central tower. All perched on top of a small hill, looking down on slopes of trim green lawns decorated with rose beds.