shuddered. 'Call Anne.' (
'Not yet. I'm hoping Saafeld can cover the throat once he gets her to the morgue. It's awful that Anne will have to identify her.'
13
An hour later Tweed was driving back to Park Crescent alone. Buchanan had arrived before he left, together with a team of technical experts. Fortunately, by some miracle, Professor Saafeld had arrived a few minutes before. He was insistent that he should see the corpse before 'the clodhoppers mess up the evidence,' as he impolitely put it.
Paula was with Anne at Champton Place. Tweed had called Pete Nield and told him to get over fast. He had decided Peter, a calm, sympathetic man, would be the best company to stay with Anne when she came back from the morgue, after being driven there by Saafeld.
He crawled back, his car edging forward by inches. He had run into rush hour. Reaching the peace and quiet of Park Crescent, he parked and studied George, who unlocked the door. He was standing quite upright; seemed to be moving normally.
'You saw the doctor?'
'Yes. He was in the area. Apparently I have an open cut near a rib. When Gallagher threw me back I hit the sharp edge of a cupboard. He treated it with antiseptic, then put on a large bandage. He left a report about it. Here it is.'
'I'll keep that. Gallagher will already be wondering whether he went too far, whether I'll be reporting the incident. Let him wonder. You feel OK?'
'Ready for Gallagher to come back. He won't catch me off guard next time.'
Tweed ran up the stairs to his office. Some of his staff were present. Monica was at work at her computer. Newman was seated, reading a newspaper. In his forties, he was well built with fair hair and a strong face, which women stared at when he walked into a restaurant. Thugs in the street took one look at Newman and gave him a wide berth.
Marler, reputed to be the best marksman in Western Europe, occupied his normal position, standing up, leaning against a wall, smoking a long cigarette. In his late thirties, five foot eight tall and slim, he wore a smart blue suit, a pristine white shirt, a Hermes tie. His movements were deceptively slow, deliberate, his face good-looking, his expression sardonic.
Tweed took off his overcoat, slung it on a hanger and slipped behind his desk. Tersely, he brought his staff up to date, starting with the strange case of Michael's amnesia, continuing with the drive to Post Lacey, the skeletons on Dartmoor, Abbey Grange and the mixture of characters there, including the servants. As he continued, Monica was watching him.
Of medium height, with a strong build, Tweed was ageless, with alert eyes behind his horn-rimmed glasses. He had been the sort of man you passed in the street without noticing him, a feature he'd found useful in his work. Now, since returning from the murderous training course at the Surrey mansion, he seemed more dynamic, his tone of voice more commanding. He definitely seemed younger, she thought.
'So that's it, up to date,' Tweed concluded.
'You're missing bits out,' Marler drawled in his upper- crust voice. 'The bullet fired when you and Paula were west of the Gantia plant. Someone doesn't like you investigating this case.'
'Well, there was that too,' Tweed admitted.
Marler brought an Ordnance Survey map to his desk, unfolded it, gestured.
'Could you mark the location of that ambush?'
'Yes, why?'
'Just locate it for me, please.'
Tweed bent over, pen poised. 'This is a good map. I'd say it was about here.' He made a cross. 'A very good map,' he repeated. 'I noticed an isolated hill to our left about a hundred yards back in the field. Has a single fir tree on the top.'
'That should do me. I'm off now. See you gremlins.'
'Hold on.' Newman had risen to his feet. 'You might tell us where you're going.'
'Curious, old chap? You may have been a famous newspaper correspondent, but you don't need to know everything.'
Tweed sat back, amused. Although great friends these two were often mocking each other. It
'Not yet. I'm hoping Saafeld can cover the throat once he gets her to the morgue. It's awful that Anne will have to identify her.'
13
An hour later Tweed was driving back to Park Crescent alone. Buchanan had arrived before he left, together with a team of technical experts. Fortunately, by some miracle, Professor Saafeld had arrived a few minutes before. He was insistent that he should see the corpse before 'the clodhoppers mess up the evidence,' as he impolitely put it.
Paula was with Anne at Champton Place. Tweed had called Pete Nield and told him to get over fast. He had decided Peter, a calm, sympathetic man, would be the best company to stay with Anne when she came back from the morgue, after being driven there by Saafeld.
He crawled back, his car edging forward by inches. He had run into rush hour. Reaching the peace and quiet of Park Crescent, he parked and studied George, who unlocked the door. He was standing quite upright; seemed to be moving normally.
'You saw the doctor?'
'Yes. He was in the area. Apparently I have an open cut near a rib. When Gallagher threw me back I hit the sharp edge of a cupboard. He treated it with antiseptic, then put on a large bandage. He left a report about it. Here it is.'
'I'll keep that. Gallagher will already be wondering whether he went too far, whether I'll be reporting the incident. Let him wonder. You feel OK?'
'Ready for Gallagher to come back. He won't catch me off guard next time.'
Tweed ran up the stairs to his office. Some of his staff were present. Monica was at work at her computer. Newman was seated, reading a newspaper. In his forties, he was well built with fair hair and a strong face, which women stared at when he walked into a restaurant. Thugs in the street took one look at Newman and gave him a wide berth.
Marler, reputed to be the best marksman in Western Europe, occupied his normal position, standing up, leaning against a wall, smoking a long cigarette. In his late thirties, five foot eight tall and slim, he wore a smart blue suit, a pristine white shirt, a Hermes tie. His movements were deceptively slow, deliberate, his face good-looking, his expression sardonic.
Tweed took off his overcoat, slung it on a hanger and slipped behind his desk. Tersely, he brought his staff up to date, starting with the strange case of Michael's amnesia, continuing with the drive to Post Lacey, the skeletons on Dartmoor, Abbey Grange and the mixture of characters there, including the servants. As he continued, Monica was watching him.
Of medium height, with a strong build, Tweed was ageless, with alert eyes behind his horn-rimmed glasses. He had been the sort of man you passed in the street without noticing him, a feature he'd found useful in his work. Now, since returning from the murderous training course at the Surrey mansion, he seemed more dynamic, his tone of voice more commanding. He definitely seemed younger, she thought.
'So that's it, up to date,' Tweed concluded.
'You're missing bits out,' Marler drawled in his upper- crust voice. 'The bullet fired when you and Paula were west of the Gantia plant. Someone doesn't like you investigating this case.'
'Well, there was that too,' Tweed admitted.
Marler brought an Ordnance Survey map to his desk, unfolded it, gestured.
'Could you mark the location of that ambush?'
'Yes, why?'
'Just locate it for me, please.'
Tweed bent over, pen poised. 'This is a good map. I'd say it was about here.' He made a cross. 'A very good map,' he repeated. 'I noticed an isolated hill to our left about a hundred yards back in the field. Has a single fir tree on the top.'
'That should do me. I'm off now. See you gremlins.'
'Hold on.' Newman had risen to his feet. 'You might tell us where you're going.'
'Curious, old chap? You may have been a famous newspaper correspondent, but you don't need to know everything.'
Tweed sat back, amused. Although great friends these two were often mocking each other. It
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