'What happened to this woman?' Paula asked.
'She was still here when I arrived. In the living room. She was having an attack of hysteria, gabbling nonstop. I phoned a private hospital, told them to put her in a private room with a tough nurse. Ambulance arrived quickly, took her away. I thought you'd want to decide the timing when the news is released. This card gives you the hospital's address.'
'Thank you. And now I think we'd better go.'
'I agree. All the police technicians have been and gone. I'm waiting for an ambulance with a special stretcher. I do need this poor woman to be taken to my place with exactly the same arrangement she is in now.'
'Arrangement,' Paula repeated on their way down the three flights. 'Horrible word.'
They reached the ground floor and Paula asked Tweed to wait a moment. Using latex gloves and a powerful torch she went inside the alcove. Tweed stood waiting, hoping she'd hurry up. It was a waste of time.
When Paula emerged after only minutes she was holding something in her gloved hand. She showed it to Tweed. It was a locket. She shone her torch on it as she opened it. On each side was a miniature photo of a woman. Viola on the left, Marina on the right.
'I found it at the entrance to a mousehole, half inside. The murderer must have dropped it when he was changing his gear back to what he was wearing underneath.'
'I wonder how he got hold of that?'
'He stole it. As a trophy. Of his exploits. The bastard.'
They were driving back to Paula's flat in silence. Tweed eventually spoke what was on his mind.
'So, according to Saafeld we may have only three or four days to identify the murderer before another woman is found slaughtered. We'd better get a move on.'
30
They drove back at modest speed to Paula's flat. The streets were silent. A light drizzle had begun to fall. Tweed was tired out, a rare state. Paula lifted a hand to hide a yawn. She too was on her last legs. It had been a long day with the grim climax in Marina's flat.
Driving along the Fulham Road, Tweed turned in to the yard, stopped outside her entrance at the front. He got out to check the inside of her place, left the key in the ignition, something he'd never normally have done. She followed him.
There were no lights in the flat below hers, which was occupied by a woman Paula had assumed had gone abroad. She was usually a night bird with her lights ablaze. She suddenly sensed someone was behind her, caught a faint whiff of chloroform. She sucked in a deep breath, held it. A cloth soaked in the liquid was pressed over her face as another arm wrapped itself round her.
Tweed was aware of nothing. A chloroform cloth was pressed over his face and he took in the full dose, sagging as burly arms caught him. They were dragged round the back, shoved into the rear of a car.
Paula had absorbed a little of the chloroform, enough to put her out of action for a short time. One man leaned in, dragged the hands of Tweed's slumped form, pulled them round his back, clamped on plastic handcuffs.
Paula, now vaguely aware of what was happening, held her hands a few inches apart, in her lap. Plastic handcuffs clamped her wrists together. She was more aware of what was happening now. Two men's voices.
'Get in Tweed's car,' said Radek. 'The friggin' fool has left keys in the ignition. Hide it where ours is parked.'
God! she thought. Fitch and Radek.
'No!' snarled Fitch. 'We leave our own car round the back. It's stolen, so are the plates. It is a Ford – like Tweed's. Take hours for anyone to think it's odd.'
'Why haul the bodies from one car to another? Get behind the wheel, Fitch, and we'll move off now.'
'Guess you could be right. I'll drive. Throw that blanket over 'em. Patrol cars drift round this time of night. Then we head straight for the warehouse…'
At one stage during the drive, which seemed to Paula to go on for ever, they stopped briefly in the East End while Radek dumped both treated cloths in a rubbish bin, then moved on.
At one convenient moment Paula stretched her cuffed hands under the blanket to check Tweed's neck pulse. It was beating regularly. He was just unconscious. Eventually the car stopped, waited while Fitch checked no one was in the area. Returning to the car, he gave the order.
'Padlock undone, doors open. Radek, you take Tweed up over your shoulder, I'll take his bedmate,' he said coarsely.
Paula was thrown over Fitch's shoulder, was carried behind Tweed up wide wooden steps, into a large room. Fitch paused to turn on a wall switch. Dim light flooded every corner of the bare room, emanating from lamps attached to the walls.
'What about the car?' Radek wanted to know.
'Forget it. Everyone round 'ere knows I drive Fords, that I'm always changing them. Position them.'
Fitch dumped Paula's limp form on the floor. She could feel all her senses returning suddenly. Radek dropped Tweed without ceremony on the wooden floor. He stood up, walked over to Paula.
'I'll check her for weapons. You do Tweed.'
'No mucking about with her,' Fitch warned, walking nearby to Tweed. 'I know you with wimmin, so watch it.'
Paula stayed slumped as Radek began to check her. His hands explored the upper parts of her body first, pressing into her chest, over the rest of her body slowly, enjoying his work. Paula had dressed quickly. The slim leg holster holding her Beretta was, unusually, strapped to the inside of the leg. Eventually he started running his hands slowly down the outside of her legs from thigh to ankle. She spat savagely in his face. He jumped.
'This one's awake,' he called out, then slapped her very hard across the face, so hard her head jerked sideways.
He stood up, spat back at her, so furious that he didn't continue his search any further. Fitch had found Tweed's bolstered Walther under his arm. He threw it across the room. It landed close to the wall.
'You won't ever be needin' that again, mate,' he told him with a grin.
Tweed's eyes were now open, staring up at Fitch who, despite his ruthlessness, didn't like the look.
'That's right,' he sneered. 'Keep the eyes open. So you can watch the picture show.'
Paula, sitting up now, pretending to sway, watched as Radek bent over the four projectors, aimed at different angles. Looked like the sort of thing you might see in a Hollywood studio. Then she saw four screens, one attached to each wall. What the hell was all this?
'You can manage on your own now,' Radek said, making it a statement. 'I am off to find some beer. Not as good as you get in Bratislava, but good enough. OK?'
'Shove off,' Fitch said rudely.
He was bent over a handle in the floor close to Tweed. He lifted a large round wooden lid, shoved it to one side on the floor. Faintly Paula heard the distant sound of rushing water a long way down in the exposed hole. She didn't like the sound of that.
'What the hell do you want that for?' Radek demanded.
'In case one of them isn't driven barmy for good they'll go down the chute. When you knows me better, Radek, you'll knows I thinks of everything. Now switch on the machines, then piss off and drown yourself in beer.'
Paula saw Fitch fix in earplugs. She was more puzzled than ever. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Radek bend over his apparatus.
'You can stay and watch if you want to,' Fitch bawled out.
'Seen them often enough. Get this lot started and I'm off looking for beer.'
He pressed levers on the projectors, adjusted the focus as pictures began to appear on all four screens. Vile pictures, Paula thought. Tweed had managed to sit up on the floor, his handcuffs behind his back, making him a prisoner.
Radek turned to the other machine, pulled a switch halfway down. A terrible ear-splitting screech filled the warehouse. Nerves on edge, Paula stretched her hands as wide as she could inside her lap. The pictures turned her stomach. A cow tethered in a field. A man with a huge axe appeared, raised it, chopped off the cow's head. Blood welled out, the poor creature's legs jumped madly, even though headless. Then it flopped. A fresh picture on another screen. A peasant woman, tied to a block of stone. A short fat man appeared, also carrying a huge axe. He rested it gently on the woman's exposed neck. Her mouth was wide open, presumably screaming. The fat man raised the axe, brought it down with a tremendous swipe, took her head right off the neck. It rolled on the ground. He kicked it towards the screen. It vanished. Paula glanced at all the screens. On each some hideous massacre was taking place. She forced down a feeling of sickness. Three women tied to a huge rock were approached by three men carrying axes. Execution was going to be synchronized.