Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

He also knew why Grey had taken this course of action. For his protection! Cobblers! Grey was ambitious, had wanted to grab as much of the credit as he could if Tweed had pulled off some coup. Monica had been right – Hugh Grey was after his job. At least he was efficient. And he'd owned up to having Tweed followed. That was a plus for Grey. It was the sector chief who tried to win the game by concealing information from his superiors who was a menace.

Later he'd omitted to inform Tweed about the taking of photos after he'd been ticked off on the dyke. Again understandable. Why add further blots to his copybook? Tweed realized Diana had not said a word recently. He stopped the car. 'Like to take a last look at it before we drive back to what passes for civilization.'

He lowered the window and the salty air was blown into the car by a breeze. He scanned the vast flatlands, the few dwellings dotted along the roadsides, separated from each other by miles. The great dyke edged the skyline. Now he'd switched off the engine the only sound was that of the whispering grasses, bending in the slight wind.

`You're very quiet,' he remarked.

Sensing his mood, that he wanted to drink in the atmosphere, she had switched off the radio when he stopped. It had been playing tango music.

`Hugh Grey made a pass at me while we were talking. He took me down a gulley leading towards the dyke. I told him to go to hell. He wasn't pleased.'

`Hence your flushed face when you arrived back?'

`I tried to conceal it – because of his wife. Paula and I didn't take to each other. Now I think I know why. He chases women and she knows it. We were like a couple of cats, circling round each other while you were out with Grey.'

`I'm sorry. On both counts. I'd hoped you'd enjoy the trip.' `Don't get into a fuss.' She laid a hand on his arm. 'I've enjoyed the scenery.'

`What did you think of Grey? If you can stand back and forget his outrageous behaviour?'

`Full of his own self-importance, but that could be me just being catty. Very able at his job, I'd guess. Good at operating on his own, capable of taking responsibility. Perhaps a bit impulsive at taking too many initiatives. Ambitious. In a few years he may quieten down. He apologized all the way back to me. I think he was frightened I'd give the game away to his wife. When do we eat?'

'As soon as we can. Somewhere on the way back.' He started the engine and drove off. 'Do switch on the radio again.'

She turned the knob. They were playing another tango. Diana leaned back against the head-rest, half-closed her eyes, began humming the tune softly. Tweed came to the end of the winding country road, turned left on the A17 leading to King's Lynn. He had a call he wanted to make.

`What is that music?' he asked.

`Jealousy. A tango that goes back to the twenties as far as I know. Paula's theme tune,' she added wickedly. 'We played it a lot back in the old Kenya days at parties. Don't mind me. I'm indulging in a bout of nostalgia. And you're looking very thoughtful.'

`Paula said something significant to me. A chance remark and I'm damned if I can recall it. Do you mind waiting in the car at King's Lynn?'

`Of course not. Looking for somewhere to eat?'

`No. I'm calling at the police station. I have to make an urgent call to the office.'

`Open all hours,' Inspector Cresswell said with a wry smile as Tweed sat opposite him. 'Last time you came I was on night duty. What can I do for you now?'

The short, dark-haired inspector didn't appear to have moved since Tweed last saw him. Except that this time he was smoking a briar pipe. It went with his stolid careful personality.

`Have you got any further with your enquiries into the murder of that girl Carole Langley?'

`You have a good memory for names. I expect it's your job. No fresh developments is the short answer. The file continues to gather dust. What about you?'

`Same answer. No fresh murders, thank God. By the way, when you were investigating the case when it was fresh, did you call on a friend of mine? A Hugh Grey at Hawkswood Farm. Gedney Drove End area – roughly.'

`I know the place.' Cresswell sucked noisily at his pipe. A wet smoker. 'As a matter of fact, I did. Called personally. Had a girl staying with him. They've married since. But you'll know all this.'

`Of course. Any joy?'

`Not a thing. They'd gone to bed early.' Cresswell chuckled but it was not a dirty laugh. 'They're inclined to do that in the early days. Neither of them had heard a sound. No cars passing their place in the early hours. Of course, if by then they were asleep…'

`So, no lead there.'

`Or anywhere else.' Cresswell watched Tweed over his pipe. `It's stretching things a bit, isn't it – to try and link up a murder in East Anglia with yours across the water?'

`It's stretching things a lot,' Tweed agreed as he stood up. `I'd better be getting on. Thought I'd just call in on you as I was in the area.'

`Very good of you. Maybe we'll see you again.'

`Always possible. Thank you. And goodbye. For now.' Tweed was relieved as he left the station and climbed behind the wheel. Despite his exuberant bonhomie, Grey had a careful discretion. Obviously he'd not said a word to Cresswell about the party, about the identity of his guests – and persuaded Paula to go along with him. That was important. A murder investigation leading to the heart of the SIS at Park Crescent would have been embarrassing, even dangerous.

I asked a passer-by,' Diana said, 'if there was a good place to eat here. She suggested The Duke's Head.'

`The Inspector told me the food was awful there,' Tweed lied. There was always the chance one of the staff would remember his last visit to Paula, something he wanted kept secret.

`There's a place at Woburn Abbey on the way back,' he said as he started the motor. 'And, if we can manage it, we'll pay a call on Master Guy Dalby this evening.' He frowned as he drove round the town, following the one-way system, which tripled the distance. 'I do wish I could remember what Paula said. It was a bit odd…'

Tweed had left Diana at Newman's flat for a few hours, driving on to Park Crescent. tie entered his office, closed the door and stood quite still. Monica sat behind her desk, her head stooped over a file. In Tweed's favourite arm chair Howard lounged, one leg propped on the arm.

`I've waited for you,' he said, which struck Tweed as the unnecessary remark of the year.

As always, Howard was faultlessly dressed. He wore a new navy pinstripe suit, inevitably Chester Barrie from Harrods. His spotless white shirt was bisected by his blue club tie. The cuffs were shot well clear of the sleeves. Gold chased cuff links shaped like slim barrels dangled from the cuffs. The black shoe at the end of his propped leg, which was swinging gently, gleamed as though made of glass.

`Is there a problem?' Tweed enquired as he sat behind his desk.

`Oh, nothing much. Just the fact that one of our four European sector chiefs has to be a rotten egg. Probably in the pocket of Moscow for years. A man you promoted, a man I brought into the Service originally.'

Tweed's expression showed nothing of his astonishment at this statement of co-responsibility. Monica's head shot up in sheer disbelief, then bent over the file again.

`Do you propose to return to Germany again?' Howard asked.

`Possibly. Depends on how things develop.'

`Come to ask you a favour, Tweed. To extract a promise from you.'

`What promise?'

`That when you return you take back-up.' Howard adjusted the plain navy blue display handkerchief in his breast pocket, swung his leg on to the floor and leaned forward. 'I suggest Harry Butler and Pete Nield. Both speak German. Both are good men to have in a tight corner.' He waved a large pink hand in a sweeping gesture. 'Don't care how you handle it. Take 'em with you. Send them on ahead. Up to you. As a favour to me,' he repeated. 'We're right in the shit on this one, aren't we?' He glanced towards Monica. 'Excuse my language.'