Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

`We are close enough now to tell you. She was the nursing sister at the hospital for tropical diseases where Dr Berlin arrived twenty-odd years ago when he returned from Africa – because he was afflicted with a rare tropical disease, they said.'

`Go on.'

`Karen Piper – that is her name – was attached to the private ward Dr Berlin occupied. Eventually she became what you would call in England the matron. What she will tell you will come as a great shock. Now, if you insist, we change places.'

They had turned on to the broad highway when Falken made his remark. 'I have a feeling we are going to be lucky in Leipzig.'

`Why then,' asked Gerda, 'does my woman's intuition tell me we are driving into terrible danger?'

No way could they approach Hawkswood Farm stealthily, parking the Cortina some distance from it and walking the last few hundred yards, as they had with Masterson's Clematis Cottage. The flatlands of the Wash spread away from it in all directions.

`Where is the sea?' Diana asked as Tweed stopped the car by the picket gate.

`Over there, beyond the dyke.'

At ten o'clock in the morning the great bank shimmered in the haze. The sun was high in a vault of cloudless blue. It was going to be another hot day but the air was fresh with a tang of salt from the invisible Wash. The funnel and superstructure of a small cargo vessel appeared, seemed to glide along the top of the dyke.

`Heading for King's Lynn,' Tweed said as he opened the door and alighted at the same moment as Hugh Grey appeared round the side of the farmhouse, a Labrador panting at his heels with its tongue out. Wearing an immaculate check sports jacket, powder blue slacks, a striped shirt and a plain matching powder blue tie, he looked extremely fit.

`Welcome to World's End,' he called out to Tweed, looking at Diana with interest.

Tweed made brief introductions as the raven-haired Paula opened the front door and stood very still. Grey took Diana by the arm as though she might stumble and Tweed saw Paula's mouth tighten. She shook hands with Diana with an expressionless face and led the way into the farmhouse. Oh Lord, Tweed thought, she's taken agin her already. Grey made no pretence of concealing that the reverse was the case with him.

`I was just taking Charles for walkies,' he announced, pink- faced like a cherub. 'Fancy a breath of fresh air, Diana? We can have coffee when we get back…'

`That would be nice.' Diana clutched her handbag under her arm and smiled warmly.

`We'll expect you in a couple of hours then,' Paula remarked, her face still blank.

`Oh, we shan't be that long, darling. Just taking Charles for a short trot.'

It would be Charles, Tweed thought as he settled himself in the same arm chair he'd occupied on his previous visit. The name somehow went with any dog Grey would own.

`Expect you when we see you,' Paula replied. She was pouring coffee from a brown earthenware pot. The front door banged shut as she went on. 'This is fresh coffee, Mr Tweed. You just happened to arrive when I'd made it.'

`It smells very good…'

`And who is the femme fatale you brought with you this time?'

The coffee cup wobbled in the saucer as she handed it to Tweed. She nearly spilt some but he took it from her in time. She was trembling. Whether with fear or fury he couldn't decide. Had their arrival coincided with the mother and father of a row?

He didn't think so. Grey was good at concealing his emotions, but he'd seemed perfectly normal when he appeared. None of the little signs Tweed could have detected if there had been trouble. Puzzled, Tweed sipped his coffee, working out his reply. The ploy that Diana might be coming to work for them didn't seem tactful, considering Paula's reaction of instant dislike.

`She's the sister of a friend,' he said. 'She's got a bit of holiday and has never seen this part of the world. You like sporting prints, I see.' He glanced at the framed pictures on the walls.

`I hate the bloody things. Makes the place look like a pub. Hugh says they go with the farmhouse, give the place the sort of atmosphere visitors will expect.'

She spoke as though Hugh had arranged the whole farmhouse like a stage set. Decorated with the right props. Tweed recalled he'd lived here with his first wife. Perhaps Paula had tried to effect some changes and he'd resisted her ideas. He found the theory unconvincing. But she'd given him the opening he was looking for.

`Somebody – can't remember now who it was – referred to that party you held here about two years ago. The date July 14 sticks in my mind…'

Over the rim of her cup her face froze. She stared back at him, her eyes very still. 'You do have a good memory, Tweed. I suppose you need it in your job. It was Hugh's birthday. We had some of his colleagues here. Harry Masterson, Guy Dalby and The Professor – Erich Lindemann. It was quite an evening. Broke up in a quarrel. They'd had far too much to drink. And they all drove home afterwards. Lucky none of them were stopped by the police. Except for Lindemann, of course.'

`Why Lindemann?'

`Didn't you know? He's teetotal. Never drinks anything but fruit juice and coffee. Bit of a dry stick. Doesn't drink, doesn't smoke. Hasn't any interest in women.'

`You mentioned a quarrel,' Tweed probed gently.

`Oh, yes. I'd better set the stage for you. Harry Masterson drank half a bottle of whisky, then went on to wine and liqueurs. Guy – Dalby – sat quietly consuming a large quantity of white wine. Frankly, Hugh was well away, too. They left very late – we have nowhere to put people up. I did suggest they could kip down in the sitting-room here, but they refused. Near the end of the meal Hugh – he's ambitious, you know – started asking his guests what they expected out of life. Fishing for information. We weren't married then, just living together. Harry got very aggressive, Guy was argumentative. I went to bed and left them to it.'

`When did they eventually leave?'

`Between about one and two in the morning. All separately. You seem very interested in a two-year-old party…'

`It was the quarrel which intrigued me.'

She jumped up. 'God, I've forgotten the cakes. What a rotten hostess I am. No. You must try them. Please. Home-made. I'd like your opinion. New recipe…'

She disappeared beyond the door into the kitchen. He sat holding his cup while she was gone. What was the girl's name? The one Inspector Cresswell at King's Lynn police station had told him had been brutally murdered. In the early hours of the morning of July 14. Carole Langley. That was it.

He looked up as Paula came back with a plate of macaroons and offered them. He took one to be polite and she sat down again.

`As you see, they're macaroons, not cakes. I'm not with it this morning. I nearly burnt myself making those.'

`Very good. I like the flavour. Oh, you referred to my companion as a femme fatale…'

`Which was very rude of me. The point is I drove up to town yesterday afternoon to meet Hugh. We were in Knightsbridge about fourish and saw someone just like her. Hugh said, "I do believe that's Diana Chadwick." When I asked who she was he said she was a friend of one of his staff at the Frankfurt office.'

And you didn't believe him, Tweed thought. All part of your hiring Portman to investigate your husband. He understood now Paula's hostility. Bringing that woman into my home, taking her out for a walk on your own as soon as she sets foot over the threshold.

She offered another macaroon and he took one.

`These are really excellent. Stick to your new recipe. We were talking about your party. I'll bet you didn't get a lot of sleep that night.'

`You're right. I lay in bed tossing and turning, listening to them going at it hammer and tongs. Again, except for Lindemann. He never said a word…'