Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

`Getting back to putting pressure on him – to crack him?'

`There you are on very dangerous ground. Supposing we are talking about an extreme case – someone who is going round killing these blonde girls at intervals in time. Step up the pressure, you could step up the killings. His method of release from tension, his way of countering the pressure. And that, Tweed, I fear, is all I can say…'

`When you send your fee to General and Cumbria please address it to me personally.'

Generoso accompanied him to the door of his consulting room. He made the remark as he opened the door.

`Take care. If you are right, you could be in great peril…'

`Paula Grey is available,' Monica announced as Tweed closed the door of his office. 'She sounded oddly pleased that you were coming to see her.'

`I don't understand that. On the few occasions we've met we have got on well, but you make it sound as though she were relieved…'

`I think she is. She runs her own business, as you know. She has a pottery works in Wisbech with a small staff of girls. She does well, I gather…'

`You had quite a chat with her then?'

`She seemed glad to have someone from the outside world she could talk to. You're going to see her now?'

`I'm driving out in a few minutes. I suppose all four sector chiefs are turning up for tomorrow's meeting?'

`I have passed the instruction. The girl in Bern said she might have trouble contacting Guy Dalby. I told her he had to come hell or high water. How did it go with Dr Generoso?'

`Disturbing,' Tweed replied, and left it at that.

It was early evening as Tweed drove his Ford Cortina (secondhand) into the outskirts of King's Lynn and turned left on to the A17 away from the town. He was heading west now, west for the lonely flatlands of the Wash.

Tweed liked driving on his own. It gave him a chance to think, to sift all the information which had been fed into his brain during his recent trip to Germany. He even whistled a little tune as he drove on and on with very little traffic about.

He had a photographic memory for routes. He only had to drive somewhere once and, no matter how remote his destination, how devious the route, he could always remember where and when to turn. He turned now, right off the main highway to Boston and on to a deserted country road.

The road was elevated above the surrounding countryside and he could see for miles, a scene of desolate solitude. Hugh Grey's farmhouse was located some distance from the village of Gedney Drove End, about a third of a mile from the vast open waters of the Wash.

He passed through a sleepy hamlet with a church standing apart from the few houses, an old church with a towered entrance gate and a general air of neglect. Then he saw the dyke, a high bank the colour of deep purple in the evening light. Below him on his left lay Gedney Marsh. Only the dyke held back the inundation of the sea. He was reminded of the countryside he had looked out on travelling with Newman on the train from Lubeck to Travemunde. He pulled up outside the farmhouse, a single-storey, L-shaped building with a tiled roof.

As he pushed the front gate he heard through the open windows music from a record player. Stravinsky's Rite of Spring. He pulled at the bell and looked round. The garden was a mess, the beds full of weeds, the lawn uncut for several weeks. He pulled at the bell again, waited for maybe fifteen seconds and the heavy wooden door opened. Paula Grey, dressed in spotless cream-coloured slacks and a pleated blue blouse with a mandarin collar, stood staring at him.

`You're earlier than I expected. Sorry, that sounds awful – do come in. Coffee? Or something stronger?'

`Coffee would do nicely. How are you?' he asked as she led him into an oblong-shaped sitting room furnished with chintz arm chairs, two settees and chintz curtains.

`Very glad of your company…'

She kissed him on the cheek and plumped up cushions in an armchair. The place was typical Hugh Grey, Tweed thought as she sat him down. 'My little place in the country,' as he referred to it. All chintz and sporting prints on the walls.

`I'll get the coffee. Won't be a sec. I'll turn off Stravinsky…'

'I like it…'

`Turn it down a bit, then.'

She did so, walked across to a desk, picked up a leather- bound notebook and slipped it into a drawer, turned the key quickly and shoved it into her pocket with her back to him. She smiled and disappeared behind a door beyond which Tweed had a brief glimpse of a modern kitchen.

He got out of the chair, crossed the room quietly and, as he had thought, the lock on the drawer had not closed properly. He slid it open, took out the notebook and skipped through the pages. A diary with entries here and there in neat handwriting. Her pen was still on the desk top.

H. says he's going abroad… Portman followed him to Heathrow. Boarded plane for Frankfurt…' Returned unexpectedly today… Portman watched Chelsea fiat all night… still no sign of other woman… paid Portman retainer and expenses in cash… H. says he is going abroad again…'

Tweed closed the diary. Paula might return at any moment. He put the diary back in the drawer, almost closed it, then took a ten-penny coin from his pocket. He fiddled with the coin, closed the drawer the last quarter-inch as the lock snapped up and was in position. When she returned with the tray he was sitting in the arm chair, gazing out of the rear windows over fields of ripening wheat towards the great barrier of the dyke.

`I'm so glad you've come to see me,' Paula said as she came in with a tray. She paused. 'Oh, it's not bad news…'

`Hugh is in fine fettle,' Tweed said quickly. 'I thought that Monica made that clear when she called you.'

`She was a bit vague, but I know with the sort of insurance you handle security is paramount. Cream?'

`I think I'll indulge – just for once. No sugar. That would be overdoing it. Hugh will be back in London tomorrow – maybe you've heard?'

`No. He's so discreet. Never talks about his work.'

Paula was about five foot nine, slim, a good figure, a brunette with her raven black hair shaped to her neck. An attractive girl of twenty-nine, she was exactly ten years junior to her husband. She had a long face, excellent bone structure and an air of independence. She crossed a very good pair of legs.

`So I should see something of my wandering husband? Or is it another quick visit?'

`I'm going to give him a week's leave. He doesn't know that yet. You can call him at the office after midday tomorrow. He has to attend a policy meeting earlier.'

`That will be nice. His week's leave. Just so long as he doesn't want to ask half England to join us for dinner. He's incredibly sociable. Never happy unless he's surrounded with friends. Most of whom I do not like.'

`Friends from the old days?' Tweed suggested as he drank her excellent coffee. She perched on the edge of her hard- backed chair, her lively grey eyes watching him. She moved agilely but with grace. Tweed felt sure she was an expert horsewoman. Very sophisticated but unspoilt, and very quick on the uptake. He'd have to watch his step.

`That's right, Tweed,' she replied, talking to him like an old friend. 'The usual problem of a second wife, I suppose – and probably mainly my fault. Tell me – if you can – what is Hugh's new job since you promoted him six months ago? Even a hint would help.'

`It's a bit confidential…' Tweed paused. 'He now has a high executive position and is responsible for some pretty big insurance policies. Mostly with individuals – some of them famous names you'd know at once if I could identify them, which I can't…'

`Insurance against kidnapping?'

`Something like that. He's also involved in delicate negotiations under certain circumstances…'