Paula sucked in her breath as she saw their stomachs were bare. The target for the axes. Fitch walked past her, then bent down to be close to her ear.
'Not loud enough. I'se turning up the sound.'
Still close to her ear he giggled. Giggled again. That was what did it.
He pressed the switch lower and the walls seemed to tremble under the diabolical blast of sound. The assault on her ear drums. He bent down again, giggled in her ear. He walked away from her to sit on the cheap wooden chair he'd sat on near Tweed, his back to her. She turned sideways, forced her right hand down inside her leg despite the pain of the cuffs, grabbed the Beretta out of its holster.
She aimed at Fitch's back. First bullet in his shoulder. Fired again. Second bullet in the centre of the back, close to the spine. Swinging round she emptied her gun at the projector, the sound system. The pictures died. An uncanny silence.
It all happened so quickly. She swung round. Tweed had heaved his whole body against the chair, toppling chair and Fitch over sideways. The thug slid to the edge of the chute, legs vanishing inside it, hands desperately clinging to the lip of the hole.
Tweed forced himself upright. Stiffening his legs, he stood above Fitch's terrified face as Paula staggered alongside him. Fitch was screaming. Nothing like the screams the poor women in the film must have uttered, Paula thought.
'Help me! Please! Help me,' Fitch gasped.
Tweed raised one foot. Stamped it down hard on one of the hands supporting him. The other hand let go. Fitch was plunging down the circular metallic chute, both hands flat against the metal, desperately hoping for support. There was none. They heard a faint gurgle as he sank below the torrent of water surging towards the Thames. Then only rushing water.
31
Tweed drove back with Paula to her apartment. He had told her he would sleep on her sofa in her living room and, relieved, she had thanked him. Both were suffering a reaction but there was something else that had to be done. To safeguard her, Tweed took Paula with him.
Arriving back at her place, they both wore gloves before climbing into the Ford that Fitch had left parked behind the house. Luckily Fitch had left the ignition key on the front seat, ready to come back and make a quick getaway. Again, luckily, on first leaving the warehouse, they had found the ignition key to Tweed's car left in the same place. Fitch had not wanted to waste any time at either end.
Tweed drove Fitch's car while Paula drove his, keeping close behind him. Tweed found a deserted side street in the East End, left the Ford there, moved behind the wheel of his own car and drove it back to the concealed area behind her flat. Earlier they had freed each other from the handcuffs.
After all this they were very tired. Tweed had a brief snack Paula prepared him before she went to her bedroom. She should sleep like a babe, he felt sure as he perched on the sofa with coffee, his Walther on the cushion by his side.
Any fear that he might drop off to sleep disappeared as he took out his cartridge-paper notebook. In it he listed every single person connected with the murder case – and anyone else who had been involved in their enquiries.
It was a murky dawn when Paula, to his surprise, came in fully dressed.
'Didn't expect you for ages,' he greeted her.
'Had a strange dream. Don't know why. I was alone in the office when the door opened. A man came in, gripped a meat cleaver. As he came towards me I was scared stiff. His weird eyes staring at me through those weird glasses. I tried to scream and nothing came out. Then I woke up.'
'Who was it?'
'Benton Macomber. In those funny glasses.'
Tweed did not have to check his list to know that among his long list of suspects was Benton Macomber. He told her dreams were a poor substitute for fact and she agreed. Then she said she'd made breakfast because afterwards she was going off to see someone.
'Who might that be? It will be very early.'
'Coral Flenton. I know she gets up at unearthly early hours. I'll probably be just in time to share a cup of coffee with her.'
Later Tweed drove Paula down to Covent Garden so she could see Coral. He was careful to park in a slot before he reached her flat entrance, but at a point where he could see it. Paula had entered the place a few minutes before Tweed saw someone.
The Parrot, wearing a long coat with her hair obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, suddenly appeared and stopped on the other side of the street opposite the entrance. She opened a newspaper, pretended to read it. It was obvious to Tweed she was watching Coral's entrance. Why?
Inside, when Coral, fully dressed, had let Paula in, she had showed pleasure at the arrival of her visitor. In the living room she had offered coffee, which Paula had accepted.
'What about breakfast?' Coral asked.
'I've had some. What about yourself?'
'Finished it half an hour ago. It really is lovely to see you. Did you get my note?'
'I was just going to thank you for it,' Paula replied, seated in an armchair opposite her hostess. 'You sounded so excited. A new boyfriend? Or shouldn't I ask?'
'It's a secret. I've changed my mind about telling you. I'm sorry, but I'll let you know if it works out. Now I'll show you the rest of my safe harbour.'
Across the hall was a door leading into a fairly large bedroom. A double bed with a headboard occupied the bulk of the space. The floor was polished wood with a rug on each side where you would step out in the morning. A tasteful dressing table was perched against the far wall.
'Check the closets,' Coral urged. 'I should say wardrobes but you'll see why I used the American term.'
Paula opened one of the two double doors, which had to be pulled hard to overcome a tendency to stick. She was surprised. The depth and width of the 'closet' was spacious. She walked inside, like entering a small room. Three coats suspended on hangers caught her attention. One a camel hair, another a smart evening coat, the third a smart raincoat. Coral chuckled and gently pushed the door almost closed. A light came on inside. Coral opened the door.
'The wiring's set up the wrong way. The light should come on when you open it. I'm getting it fixed.'
'Nice coats,' Paula remarked as she stepped out.
'Expensive.'
'The new boyfriend?' Paula chaffed her.
'Not yet! My aunt married a rich man a few months ago and generously sent me a very fat cheque. I blew it on those coats.'
'You're on top of the world, then.'
'Not entirely.' Coral's expression changed.
'Why? Is anything the matter?'
'I'm bothered about a man who stalks me. I'm walking along a street and I know he's behind me. I look back and he's gone. It's bothersome.'
'Description?'
'I never see him. I just know he's there. Must sound a bit silly. Maybe I've got too much imagination. Women do sometimes get this idea in their head.' She laughed. 'It probably comes down to vanity.'
Paula studied her. The Parrot was an attractive woman but older. That could upset some women. Coral was younger and a stunner. About five feet three inches tall, she was slim and her red hair piled on top of her head was seductive. Her features were perfectly moulded: a fine forehead, her eyes large above a perfect nose and a full mouth. Yes, some older women could come to hate her.