Blood Storm

As she was talking he heard keys turning in three locks, then the clanging removal of four chains. The place was a fortress. Eventually she opened the door and he slipped inside. He was relieved when she turned only one key, leaving it in the lock.

'Better come in and join me with a drink,' she suggested as she stared him up and down. 'And you may smoke.'

Tweed was intrigued to see how much like Viola Marina looked. The resemblance was striking – she too had thick blonde hair, though hers was trimmed shorter – but there was a hardness Viola had lacked.

She wore a short white dress which hugged her excellent figure. The eyes were again blue but hers were cold. Leading him into a flamboyantly furnished living room, she sat on a very long wide sofa, patted the place where Tweed should sit close to her. He chose a chair further away from her. She crossed her legs, began swinging her right leg. On a glass-topped table before her was what Tweed would have called a complete bar, laden with bottles and glasses.

'Drink.' It was almost a command accompanied by a flashing smile. 'Scotch on the rocks, gin, brandy? Come on, I can't call out the lot.'

'I don't drink on duty.'

'On duty! You come to see me of all people at this hour on duty? Come off it.'

The leg was still slowly swinging up and down. Tweed had trouble not glancing at it. In her brazen way she was as attractive as poor Viola had been. He decided he'd preferred her twin sister.

'On official duty,' he emphasized.

'Oh, I see. You don't do it when you're official. Well at this hour you're off duty. Want to see the bedroom?'

'No thanks. It's comfortable in here.'

'Then we could use the sofa. It's wide and long enough. I should know by now.'

'Miss Vander-Browne…' His voice now had an edge to it. 'I would have thought it would have been a shock when you heard the horrific way your sister had died.'

'I'm sure she asked for it.'

Tweed drew in a breath. The sheer cold-bloodedness astonished even him with all his experience. His voice became tougher.

'After being raped. By a man – or a woman. Her legs were chopped off at the knees, her arms at the shoulder, then her head…'

'Oh, do stop it. You're spoiling what could be a pleasant night for you. Take your mind off it.' She became coy, which was even more sickening. 'I assume you have five hundred pounds on you? The fee always comes first.'

'Had you heard from your late sister recently?' he demanded.

'Why would she be in touch?'

'Because I have evidence she had been hoping to make it up with you.'

She hesitated for the first time. She poured herself a fresh drink, swallowed half of the glass's contents. Then she lit a cigarette with a steady hand. A granite heart, Tweed thought. But for the first time he saw a sign of nervousness.

'She did call you, didn't she?' he persisted abruptly.

'Yes, she did. About ten days ago. All lovey-dovey. Couldn't we meet and talk things over? I said "What for?" and slammed the phone down on her.'

'That was so very nice of you, in view of what's taken place since. Did you both have any of the same clients?'

'We might have done. I'm not sure.'

'I need some names.'

'What sort of names, for Christ's sake?'

'Mutual clients' names.'

'Tweed, I've just told you I don't know. She might have told one of them my name, hoping for a big fat commission.'

Tweed drank some of the wine she'd poured for him. He needed it to take the foul taste out of his mouth.

'You were sisters,' he continued grimly. 'What was she like?'

'The oh-so-bright one,' she said sarcastically. 'Came down from Oxford with a double first. I left Cambridge with nothing. Except useful contacts with men which have been profitable up to the present. All men are alike – which is something I did learn at Cambridge…'

'Wrong!' Tweed snapped. 'Some men are, I agree, but many are not fodder for your night activities. Why do you need the money?'

'That's a damned personal question.' She reared up, then pulled down her dress tighter over her chest, in case he hadn't noticed her assets. 'All right,' she continued viciously, 'we both had a rich uncle who left us each a legacy. Enough to live a normal life but not enough to buy things at Escada. I like to buy good clothes. They make all the difference when I entertain the occasional rich man.'

'Occasional?'

'Viola gave me the idea.'

Tweed lost his temper. 'You filthy liar. I've a good mind to take you down to the Yard for a proper interrogation.'

'I do have friends there.' She reached out a hand towards him. He evaded it. His normal controlled temper returned. He spoke softly.

'You have absolutely no regrets as to how your sister died?'

'None at all. Why should I? It eliminates some of the competition.'

Again Tweed was stunned by the cold-bloodedness of this woman. She was watching him, hoping to revel in his shock. His expression remained normal, neutral. He took out a pad and his pen. She frowned, then tucked both legs under herself, swivelled round so she was facing him with an inviting smile.

'I need your full name, telephone number, mobile number. I'm waiting.'

She frowned, probably annoyed that he had not reacted to a pose which had trapped other men. Without speaking she reached over to a small gold box, took out a printed card with a red rim round it, handed it across to him. He was careful to take hold of it by the edge. It was carrying her fingerprints. He stood up.

'I shall probably see you again.'

'Of course you will.' She gave him a lascivious smile. 'I know you will. When you think about me.' She jumped up. 'Back in a sec. Must rush to the loo.'

As soon as she was gone Tweed poured the rest of his wine into a large plant pot nearby. Taking out a handkerchief, he dipped it in her glass, slipped on a latex glove, used the handkerchief to wipe off his fingerprints. He was very quick. When she returned she'd changed her outfit. She was now clad in a transparent nightdress, belted at the waist, the hem ending above her knees.

He headed for the door, concealed the latex glove with his back to her, turned the key, slipped the glove into his pocket after pulling open the door. Marina called out something to him but he was outside on the landing, heading down the first flight of stairs. He paused, looked up.

'Be very careful who you let into your apartment. Don't forget what happened to Viola…'

In looking up as she slammed the door he saw Paula and Marler peering down from the fourth floor. They joined him as he unlocked the car, slipped behind the wheel. He looked up at the building.

'Tart can't see us,' Paula told him. 'The only window overlooking the street has frosted glass. I gather you didn't enjoy the interview.'

'Cold-blooded little snake.'

Tweed was crawling so as not to wake up sleeping people. As he turned into the main street he saw an old shabbily dressed woman lifting her head out of a large rubbish bin she had been exploring. He pulled in at the kerb, got out, his voice friendly.

'Doubt if you'll find anything worthwhile in there.'

'Never can tell, sir. Me mate once found a real pearl necklace. Took it to the police,' she went on in her heavy Cockney accent. 'I'd 'a done the same. Takin' stuff like that can get you inta the police station if you tries to 'ang on an' sell it to an 'andler. You bin up to see Lady Muck? You'se smart, takin' a woman and a man with you. For an 'our with a man what's loaded she wants a fortune. And 'er so high-and-mighty.'

'You've seen men go up to see her?' Tweed enquired.

'Loads of 'em. When it comes to those not so well off she's mean as muck. So, Lady Muck.'

'Sounds as though you've met her.'

'I 'ave. She comes out one evenin' and I'm skint. Asks her for something to buy meself a meal. Know what she says?'