'Tell me, please.'
'"You should do an honest day's work like other people." I nearly laughed in her face. Honest? When you knows 'ow she makes 'er livin'? Make you want to spit.'
'So you see who goes in there sometimes?'
'If I's workin' this big bin, I do. One man came out pulling up his trousers. Couldn't get 'em round 'is waist. I heard something plop. Called out to 'im., "Think you'se just dropped something, sir." He just rushes off to 'is car 'idden up an alley. So I walks over and you'll not believe what I found on pavement.'
'What was that?' Tweed asked with a smile.
'A wallet. Kind a man keeps in his back trouser pocket. Inside was three hundred nicker. I belt down the street, waved it at him as he drives towards me. Bastard never stops, damn near drives over me. I thought, right, mate. So I keeps the three hundred nicker. Was I wrong, sir?'
'I think you were very sensible. Do you often see the men who visit the lady?'
'Lady? Got that wrong, didn' you? Yes, if it's this time o' night I've seen a few. Chap who dropped his wallet was a short, fat little man.'
'I'd like to ask you a question, if I may.' Tweed took out the photos of the Cabal that Marler had taken in Whitehall. 'Recognize any of these men?'
She produced an ancient pair of spectacles. One of the arms was bent. To see the photos she had to cock her head sideways. She took her time with each photo.
'No, not 'im. Not 'im either.' She paused. 'Bingo. I know this one 'as visited 'er. Sure as I'm standing 'ere.'
She handed the photos back to Tweed. He turned round, stared down the street they had just left. Black hole of Calcutta except for the street lamp opposite Marina's entrance. He turned back to the Cockney woman who had put away her glasses.
'Are you sure you could see clearly at this distance? I do want you to be sure, please.'
'Got long sight without me specs, ain't I? Street lamp down there 'elps a lot. It was 'im.'
'I'm very much obliged for you talking to us.' Tweed took out his wallet, handed her a ten-pound note. 'Get yourself a decent meal. Not your usual places.'
'Gawd bless you, sir. I'm skint. Honest I am. Don't know what to say.'
'Don't say anything. May I ask you your name, in case I'm in the area and want to ask you something?'
'Why not? Annie 'Iggins. That's me. You take care, sir.'
Tweed was silent as he drove them back to Paula's flat. He waited while Marler, with Paula's key, checked the place out. He returned in a few minutes.
'All clear. That sofa in the living room looks inviting. So I'll park myself on it while Paula gets a good sleep.'
Paula got out of the car. She did not close the door. She leant in and stared at Tweed.
'That's right. Keep us all in suspense. Who did Annie Higgins identify as the visitor to Marina?'
'Noel Macomber.'
27
Tweed was driving back to Park Crescent when the mobile phone Paula had left on the seat beside him. started buzzing. He cursed, and pulled in. Paula must have been very tired to forget it. He answered.
'Yes?'
'You have a visitor. She's very anxious to talk to you…'
The line went dead. Tweed was puzzled. She? He couldn't imagine which woman it might be. So many were cluttering up his investigation. Coral Flenton, Marina Vander-Browne, the Parrot. He sat still for a moment, switched off the mobile. At this hour? He checked his watch: 2 a.m. Only one way to find out.
His mind churned as he completed his journey. This was the most difficult case he'd ever tackled, even including those when he was at the Yard. He just had no idea who was the chief suspect.
Parking his car outside the Crescent, he pressed the bell in the agreed sequence, walked inside when George unlocked and opened the door. He took off his coat as he darted up the stairs. He felt very alert. Opening his office door he found two people inside.
Monica working her word-processor. The Parrot seated in a chair facing his desk, a cup of coffee close to her. She swung round, gave him a warm smile. He could still see she was worried, even frightened. As she had been on her first visit to him which seemed ages ago.
'I do hope you'll excuse my calling at this barbaric hour,' she began in a soft husky voice, 'but I needed a safe refuge. Someone in a car was stalking me on my way home to Hammersmith. No one else was about…'
She trailed off as Tweed nodded, settled behind his desk which meant he was facing her directly.
'Whereabouts were you, and what was the make of the car?' he asked, his manner businesslike.
'It was in Whitehall that I first saw it. I didn't think a lot of it until it kept following my route, so I veered off here hoping someone would still be in the office. As to make, I'm hopeless on car makes.'
'What made you sure he was stalking you?'
'He had his headlights on full beam and drove close behind me. At times I was almost blinded by the lights in my rear-view mirror.'
'Was it Nelson, Benton or Noel?'
'I've really no idea. Don't even know it was a man. I just couldn't see the driver. May I take off my coat? It's warm in here.'
'Go ahead.'
At that moment Howard, Tweed's Director, opened the door. In his early fifties, Howard was as always wearing an expensive Chester Barrie suit, grey with thin stripes, pristine white shirt, and elegant Valentino tie. His shirt cuffs were shot from beyond the sleeves, decorated with gold cufflinks.
His large clean-shaven face had a pink complexion. His voice, like Marler's, was upper-crust. He exuded authority. When he saw Tweed's guest he paused, looked at Tweed, then at the Parrot.
'Sorry if I've interrupted something. At this hour I'd have expected to find no one here except Monica.'
'Howard, Director of the SIS,' Tweed introduced. 'This is Miss Partridge, who came to tell me of a development.'
The Parrot was still gazing at Howard. Tweed had the odd sense of reading her thoughts: Would this be a good catch? Probably loaded with money. Wonder if he's married?
Stop it, he told himself. Your imagination is running riot. She continued gazing at Howard with a ravishing smile. He nodded to her, then turned to Monica as he made his request.
'Could you let me have the first twenty pages of the report? I need to double-check something.'
Quick-witted, Monica collected twenty pages and handed it to him. He thanked her, then left. Howard already had the draft of the whole report in his office. He had used that as an excuse to get out of the office while Tweed dealt with his visitor.
'I think your Director is a most impressive man,' the Parrot remarked.
During this interlude the Parrot had taken off her coat. She was wearing a blue dress. It was supported by thin blue straps slung from her shoulders, leaving her arms completely bare. She lifted one hand to push back a lock of her thick brown hair from her face.
'Now I'm scared stiff about driving home. Would it be asking you too much to escort me to my place in Hammersmith? I know it's rather a distance but at this hour of the night – in view of my recent experience.'
'Of course not.' Tweed stood up, relieved at the prospect of getting rid of her. 'You drive your own car and I'll follow close behind in mind.'
'I cannot tell you how grateful I am…'
Her bare arms stretched out as though she was determined to hug him. He ignored them, went across to Monica after asking the Parrot for her address. She gave him a plain white card. No red or gold rims. With it in his hands he nipped across behind her back to Monica, dropped the card on her desk. She picked it up, took only seconds to scrutinize the details, handed it back to Tweed.
When the Parrot stood up he had her coat in his hands. He helped her on with it, avoiding touching her bare arms.
'Your coat too,' said Monica, jumping up and taking it off the hanger she had placed it on when he arrived.