unsettling.
9
The huge United Airlines Boeing was well out over the Atlantic. Flying first class, Tweed with Paula and Newman were comfortable and their flight was half empty, so they could talk without risk of being overheard.
Knowing Tweed's dislike of flying, Paula had insisted he took a Dramamine pill in the departure lounge. It was dark outside and Paula rarely looked through the window by her side. This, she decided, was a good chance to report what had happened the day before.
'I collected that volume Dr Seale suggested. It's with me. The funny thing was that while I was waiting for ever to get into the library who should walk down the steps? You won't guess. Dr Abraham Seale. He chatted with me for a short time. Was very nice.'
'He couldn't have been,' Newman remarked, speaking across Tweed. They were sharing a spacious three-seater.
'During tea with Marienetta,' she went on, 'she sug gested we collaborate on investigating Holgate's murder. As you know she is a trained detective.'
'I should watch that,' Tweed warned.
'She's a very clever woman,' Newman remarked.
'I should still watch it. What about Black Jack Diamond?'
She told him everything that had happened, had been said, since she'd left Brown's. Tweed looked perturbed when she told him about Shadow.
'You must be very careful while we're engaged on this case. All of us must be. The killer is ruthless and cunning.'
'Case?' queried Paula. 'Anybody would think you were back at the Yard.'
'In a way I am, in my thinking. Surprising the way all that experience comes flooding back. I can do without DNA and all the rest of it. If you just listen to people they'll tell you what they're really like without realizing what they are doing. It's called egotism. And we may already have met the killer.'
'You have a suspect?' Paula probed.
'No. It's far too early.'
A following wind landed them ahead of schedule. Even so it was a rush to find and board the commuter flight which would take them north to Portland.
Earlier Tweed had warned them both to leave all the talking to him. Paula had queried the wisdom of travelling under their own names. Tweed had told her this was a very tricky expedition they were undertaking, that if their stealthy trip to Pinedale was discovered later it would be safer if they had travelled using their real passports.
As the commuter aircraft took off from Boston, Paula peered out into the night. Below them the city was a galaxy of lights and a few ships on the Charles River showed up at their bows and sterns. Otherwise the Charles was a huge black snake making its way inland.
It took them less than an hour to fly to Portland. The further north they went the more plantations of evergreens Paula saw spreading out below, their green nearer to black in the moonlight. Then they were descending with white surf bordering the coast to her right. Several fishing vessels were moored in the harbour.
'Who are we contacting?' she asked.
'My CIA friend, Cord Dillon, told me over the phone we should reach the Chief of Police, Andersen, as soon as we left the airport here. Bumpity-bump. We're down.'
Andersen led them out of the headquarters building into the night. To escort them the short distance to the waiting police car he had thrown on a shabby old fur coat. Paula understood why. As in Boston, the air was raw, a biting cold which froze her face, but it seemed even worse in Portland.
No one had known anything about the hire car Monica had ordered. Andersen had said it didn't matter - he'd a police car and driver who could take them down to Pinedale but they would have to find transport to bring them back.
'I guess you folks chose the wrong time of the year to come over here,' he commented. 'And the forecast is for a big storm to come in from the Atlantic.'
'Seems very quiet,' Paula replied, 'here in town.' 'Folks are battening down for the storm.' Andersen was a businesslike giant, well over six feet tall. He had expected their arrival,
9
The huge United Airlines Boeing was well out over the Atlantic. Flying first class, Tweed with Paula and Newman were comfortable and their flight was half empty, so they could talk without risk of being overheard.
Knowing Tweed's dislike of flying, Paula had insisted he took a Dramamine pill in the departure lounge. It was dark outside and Paula rarely looked through the window by her side. This, she decided, was a good chance to report what had happened the day before.
'I collected that volume Dr Seale suggested. It's with me. The funny thing was that while I was waiting for ever to get into the library who should walk down the steps? You won't guess. Dr Abraham Seale. He chatted with me for a short time. Was very nice.'
'He couldn't have been,' Newman remarked, speaking across Tweed. They were sharing a spacious three-seater.
'During tea with Marienetta,' she went on, 'she sug gested we collaborate on investigating Holgate's murder. As you know she is a trained detective.'
'I should watch that,' Tweed warned.
'She's a very clever woman,' Newman remarked.
'I should still watch it. What about Black Jack Diamond?'
She told him everything that had happened, had been said, since she'd left Brown's. Tweed looked perturbed when she told him about Shadow.
'You must be very careful while we're engaged on this case. All of us must be. The killer is ruthless and cunning.'
'Case?' queried Paula. 'Anybody would think you were back at the Yard.'
'In a way I am, in my thinking. Surprising the way all that experience comes flooding back. I can do without DNA and all the rest of it. If you just listen to people they'll tell you what they're really like without realizing what they are doing. It's called egotism. And we may already have met the killer.'
'You have a suspect?' Paula probed.
'No. It's far too early.'
A following wind landed them ahead of schedule. Even so it was a rush to find and board the commuter flight which would take them north to Portland.
Earlier Tweed had warned them both to leave all the talking to him. Paula had queried the wisdom of travelling under their own names. Tweed had told her this was a very tricky expedition they were undertaking, that if their stealthy trip to Pinedale was discovered later it would be safer if they had travelled using their real passports.
As the commuter aircraft took off from Boston, Paula peered out into the night. Below them the city was a galaxy of lights and a few ships on the Charles River showed up at their bows and sterns. Otherwise the Charles was a huge black snake making its way inland.
It took them less than an hour to fly to Portland. The further north they went the more plantations of evergreens Paula saw spreading out below, their green nearer to black in the moonlight. Then they were descending with white surf bordering the coast to her right. Several fishing vessels were moored in the harbour.
'Who are we contacting?' she asked.
'My CIA friend, Cord Dillon, told me over the phone we should reach the Chief of Police, Andersen, as soon as we left the airport here. Bumpity-bump. We're down.'
Andersen led them out of the headquarters building into the night. To escort them the short distance to the waiting police car he had thrown on a shabby old fur coat. Paula understood why. As in Boston, the air was raw, a biting cold which froze her face, but it seemed even worse in Portland.
No one had known anything about the hire car Monica had ordered. Andersen had said it didn't matter - he'd a police car and driver who could take them down to Pinedale but they would have to find transport to bring them back.
'I guess you folks chose the wrong time of the year to come over here,' he commented. 'And the forecast is for a big storm to come in from the Atlantic.'
'Seems very quiet,' Paula replied, 'here in town.' 'Folks are battening down for the storm.' Andersen was a businesslike giant, well over six feet tall. He had expected their arrival,
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