Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

`There have been more of these murders, if I may ask?' he enquired in his deliberate manner.

`Yes. From what you say you can tell me something?'

`A girl called Carole Langley. A little over two years ago. She was foolish but she didn't deserve such a ghastly end. She was walking home from a party – out near the Wash. Had a quarrel with the boy friend who drove her there. So she hoofed it. That was her fatal mistake. Her body was found by a patrol car sent out in the middle of the night – after a call from her parents worried that she hadn't got home. I was on duty myself that night, just like tonight. I went out with the car. I'll never forget what I saw by the light of my torch. Butchered was the word you used. Carole Langley was slashed to pieces, then raped.'

`You apprehended the killer?'

`No. It's still on file. Don't think we'll ever solve that case – not unless we get a repeat performance, which God forbid.'

`And she was a blonde?'

`Yes, she was. A very attractive girl. She came to a police dance once. Not the sort you'd forget. Lively personality. A hideous waste…'

`Any suspects?'

`To start with, yes. The boy friend was immediately at the top of the list. But a dozen witnesses placed him at the house where the party had taken place until six in the morning. We hauled them in for drugs – marijuana. That was why Carole left.' Cresswell smiled drily and mimicked Cockney. 'And they say virtue is rewarded. There ain't no justice.'

`What do you think?' Tweed probed.

`Could have been someone from miles away. The A17 from Boston runs close by. A commercial traveller, as they used to call them. Anyone.'

`Can you look up the exact date?'

`Don't have to. July 14. Two years back as I said.'

`You have a good memory…'

`Bastille Day. I'm a history buff. Read nothing else.' Cresswell's eyes studied Tweed shrewdly. 'You come up to Norfolk out of the blue. Ask me a lot of questions. And the type of murder I have on my books sounds similar to something you're investigating. Have you found anything up here?'

`What time did the Langley killing take place?'

`Between two and four a.m. – that was as close as the quack could place it. He's probably right – it fits in with when she left the party and when the parents phoned us.'

`Thank you for your help.' Tweed stood up and put on his Burberry. 'If you don't mind, I haven't eaten for hours and they're keeping dinner for me at The Duke's Head.'

`Nice hotel.' Cresswell rose to accompany his visitor to the door. 'You didn't answer my question. Have you found anything up here?'

`I regret to say, no. Not a clue…'

Tweed arranged for a call at 5.30 a.m. By six o'clock he was on the road, driving south-west away from the flatlands and into rolling, hilly country with woodlands. As he sat behind the wheel he saw nothing except the road ahead. His expression was grim. He was facing a situation far worse than he had ever anticipated, far worse than he had encountered since he had first entered the service. A bloody nightmare.

It was 8 a.m. exactly when Tweed walked into his office at Park Crescent. Monica looked up from her desk in surprise as he took off his raincoat, hung it up and walked quickly behind his own desk.

`You're early. I didn't expect you until just before nine.. `Have any of the others arrived for the meeting?'

`Not yet. I've asked George to tell me on the quiet as each of them clock in. How is Paula?'

`In a very strange mood. Something's worrying that girl. I wish I knew what it was…'

He told her briefly about his visit to the farmhouse, his later meeting with Inspector Cresswell at the King's Lynn police station. She sat very still, taking in every word.

`You do see what it means,' he ended. 'Taken in conjunction with what has been happening way out at Travemunde?'

`There can't be any connection between all these horrible murders. The one in Norfolk must be a coincidence…'

`How far can you stretch coincidence? All four of them – Lindemann, Grey, Masterson and Dalby – were at the meeting I held in Frankfurt six months ago. Later, when they had presumably gone to bed, a Dutch girl was hacked to pieces and raped. Two years ago, on the night of July 14, the same four were having dinner at Hugh Grey's farmhouse out near the Wash. I gather the party went on late…'

`How late?'

`I don't know. There was a limit to the questions I could put to Paula, but we'll have to find out. That same night – or in the early hours of the morning – this poor girl, Carole Langley, was cut to pieces and raped. Now the same thing has happened twice at Travemunde. And I'm in an impossible position – after my visit to Dr Generoso.'

'Why?'

`Do I have to spell it out in words of one syllable?' Tweed snapped. `To expose the odd man out I need to exert unrelenting pressure on all four, hoping I can make the rotten apple crack. But Generoso warned me that more pressure can cause a schizo to increase his activities – to commit more murders.'

`You sound irritable,' Monica commented. 'Have you had your breakfast?'

`Just coffee from the thermos you gave me – supplied by the hotel. They gave me sandwiches but I can't drive and eat…'

Monica reached for the phone, gave the doorman a brief order, replaced the receiver. 'They're getting fresh sandwiches from that place round the corner. You eat before you preside over that meeting…'

`There isn't time…'

`I'm postponing it until 9.15. You eat first.'

`That might be a good idea,' Tweed mused more calmly. 'If they have to wait twiddling their thumbs it will make them wonder what is happening.'

`Can I sum up?' Monica suggested. 'Stick to the facts – as you're always telling me. The facts are Ian Fergusson travelled to Hamburg to meet Ziggy Palewska. Only the four sector chiefs knew of his journey, his destination. So one of them must have informed the other side. That is a fact. All the rest is speculation. How could any of the sector chiefs reach Travemunde in time to commit those two murders? Why in heaven would they go there to do their grisly work – knowing you were in the area?'

`There could be a reason, which I don't want to reveal yet – in case I'm wrong. My theory is so bizarre. But coming back on the plane from Hamburg I studied a road map I bought at the airport. Any of them could have driven to Schleswig- Holstein. That means they'd have to be out of touch with their sector HQ.'

`Even Harry Masterson? All the way from Vienna?'

`Yes. The autobahns. There's one from Salzburg through Munich. And Harry drives like Jackie Cooper.'

`Why this concentration on driving? There are airlines…'

`People can be seen at airports. An unlucky chance meeting with someone who knows you. No, it would be by road…'

He waited as George brought in a wrapped packet of sandwiches and a pot of coffee on a tray. Monica produced plates, shoved ham sandwiches in front of him, a paper napkin, then poured the coffee. She wouldn't allow him to talk until he had eaten.

`That does feel a lot better,' he admitted.

`You're hopeless on an empty stomach. Now, just before you start the meeting, what are we going to do?'

`First, you check with all four European HQs – Frankfurt, Copenhagen, Bern and Vienna. Find out where each sector chief was during the past two weeks. After the meeting,' he went on briskly, 'I'm giving the four of them a week's leave.'

`Not for their health, I'm sure…'

`I want to visit them at their homes, see their surroundings. I've just done that with Hugh Grey's place – although I also need to see him at his flat in Cheyne Walk. The only way I can get a clue as to who it is hangs on the psychological approach.'

`Which means?'