Colin Forbes - Terminal

`I think, Bob, I should explain Dr Kennedy's presence,' Beck said as he drove along the motorway. 'One of my men – Leupin, in fact, who is sitting behind me – was watching the Bellevue Palace when he saw her leaving. He asked her to wait and called me. It is only two minutes by car from my office – using the siren,' he added with a ghost of a smile.

`I told you on no account to go anywhere, Nancy… Newman began.

`Please!' Beck interjected. 'Let me finish. Her help back there at the gateway was invaluable. She told me she had received an urgent phone call from the Berne Clinic. Her grandfather had taken a turn for the worse. I persuaded her to come back with me to the hotel and I called Dr Kobler. He said they had made no such call, that Jesse Kennedy was fast asleep. We still don't know who tried to lure her out. I was on the way to the Clinic myself and she agreed to come with me in the police car. I thought it best to keep an eye on her…'

`What took you to the Clinic tonight of all nights?' `I have someone inside,' Beck replied cryptically. `Who?'

`You, as a foreign correspondent, are in the habit of revealing your sources?' Beck enquired in a mocking tone. `We drove past the main gateway to that second gate…'

`Which was open,' Newman commented.

`I opened it myself. In the boot is a pair of strong wireclippers I used on the padlock chain. Quite illegal, of course, but we could see that poor woman fleeing for the gate. Afterwards, I locked it again with an identical padlock I had taken the precaution of bringing with me.'

`You seem amazingly well-organized,' Newman remarked.

`I know the file on Hannah Stuart backwards. I told you of a certain witness I can't use. Afterwards, I paid a visit to that gate from the laboratory and noticed the type of padlock used. I was banking on a second opportunity – although I did not foresee the consequences would be so tragic.'

`What are you going to do?'

`First, you must realize everything I have told you has to be in the strictest confidence. I am walking a tight-rope – I explained that to you also. Now, we are proceeding with the ambulance to the morgue. I have already alerted poor Anna Kleist who will lose yet another night's sleep. But I wish her to hear Dr Kennedy's diagnosis. And you should be thanking her for being there – not chastising her!'

`You are grateful for her help?'

`Yes!' Beck settled himself more comfortably behind the wheel. They had passed the turn-off to Belp and would soon be approaching the outskirts of Berne. He glanced in his rear-view mirror before continuing. 'Dr Kennedy completely neutralized any authority Lachenal might have asserted by her diagnosis of asphyxiation and possible cyanosis. That made it potential homicide. That put it in my court. That check-mated Lachenal…'

`There is some borderline between yourself and Military Intelligence, I gather?'

`Yes. Tricky on occasion. Officially we always cooperate. We are both concerned with the security of the state. A very flexible phrase. If Lachenal could have made out a case that it concerned counter-espionage the dead woman would have been his. Once it became homicide, even suspected, I had him.'

`I suppose as regards Nancy I should really thank you… `You really should!'

Newman glanced in his own wing mirror and then turned as though to speak to Nancy. The ambulance had dropped back to give reasonable clearance. Some distance behind it was a red streak, a Porsche. He wondered whether Beck had seen it.

`I hate the stink of these places,' Newman remarked without thinking as they sat round a table drinking coffee. 'And an empty stomach doesn't help…'

`There you go again!' Nancy flared in a sudden rage. `Anything to do with a medical atmosphere and you're off – and maybe that includes doctors, too?' she ended savagely.

`We are all tired,' Beck intervened. He clasped Nancy's hand affectionately. 'And we have all had a series of most unnerving shocks.' He glanced at Newman. 'Maybe the best solution would be not to take him with you when you visit patients,' he suggested humorously.

They were sitting in the ante-room of the morgue and they had been quarantined there for a long time. At least, that was how Newman termed it to himself. There was the usual smell of strong disinfectant. The walls, painted white, were bare. There was the minimum of furniture. The single window was frosted glass so there was nothing to look out at in the street beyond.

`Anna does a thorough job,' Beck remarked to break the new silence which had descended on their conversation. am sure she will be here soon…'

Dr Anna Kleist, the pathologist, had been waiting to examine the body of the unknown woman as soon as they arrived. Beck had made brief introductions between Nancy and Kleist, who had asked no questions before she disappeared. Newman had just stood up to stretch his legs when the door opened and Anna Kleist appeared. She addressed herself to Nancy.

I'm so sorry to keep you waiting so long. I think I am now in a position to have a preliminary discussion as to how this unfortunate woman died…'

Tweed came into Geneva on Flight SR 837 which landed him at Cointrin at 21.30 hours. He moved swiftly through Passport Control and Customs, ran across the reception hall, clutching his small suitcase, and hailed a cab. He gave the driver a good tip and he was lucky. Green lights all the way along empty streets to Cornavin Gare.

He caught the 21.45 express by the skin of his teeth, panting as he sank into his first-class seat and the train glided out of the station. His short legs were not built for such sprints.

Reaching Bern Bahnhof – or Berne Gare – at 23.34, he took another cab to the Bellevue Palace and registered.

`Take my bag up to the room for me,' he told the porter and turned back to the receptionist, speaking in French. am the executor of the estate of the late M. Bernard Mason who, you doubtless know, was drowned in the Aare. My London office phoned you about this…'

`Yes, sir, we have a note…'

`Thank God for that.' He paused. 'M. Mason was also one of my closest friends. Can I see any papers he left in the safety deposit? I don't want to take them away – you can watch me while I scan them briefly. Something to do with his estate…'

`M. Mason did not have a safety deposit box…'

I see.' Tweed looked nonplussed. 'Could I make a rather unusual request? I would like to look at the room he occupied. That is, if it is still vacant…'

`I do understand, sir. And it will be quite possible.' The receptionist produced a key. The room has been cleaned and all his personal effects impounded by the Federal Police…'

`Naturally. May I go up alone? Just to look…'

`Certainly, sir. The lift…'

`I know where the lift is. I have stayed here before on several occasions.'

Tweed took the lift to the fourth floor and stepped out. The mention of the Federal Police worried Tweed as he inserted the key, opened the bedroom door, went inside and closed and locked the door. That suggested Arthur Beck. Still, they had no reason to suspect Mason had been anything but the market researcher he had registered as under the heading Occupation.

He stood for a moment just beyond the threshold, a mark of respect, and then the inhuman emptiness of the room hit him and he muttered, 'Sentimental old fool…' The thing now was where would Mason have hidden his report?

Tweed had no doubt Mason had compiled a written report on Professor Armand Grange – for just the appalling eventuality which had overtaken him. Mason was a professional to his fingertips. Had been, Tweed corrected his mental comment.

First, he checked the bathroom and the separate lavatory – without much hope. Chambermaids, especially Swiss chambermaids, were notoriously proficient in their cleanliness. He found nothing in either place.