`What about the bugs?'
`As you know, when you organize a set-up like that they need to have, within a reasonable distance near by, equipment to record what is said as soon as a voice- activated bug picks up conversation. Nield is going to conduct a discreet search of the surrounding area. There must be a van or some such vehicle with the recording equipment. Nield has orders to locate it but not to risk being seen. These people, whoever they are, kill.'
`Why are you using Dr Rabin?' Paula called out.
`Didn't you notice? The severed arm you found in that freezer appeared to have been expertly amputated? At least I thought so, with my limited medical knowledge.'
`And where does that lead us to, if anywhere?' she asked.
`If Rabin agrees with my theory, it leads me to tracing some unknown top surgeon who performed the amputation.'
`And I'm going to check out tomorrow Mrs Goshawk who has a house for sale in Brockenhurst. Or so our friendly estate agent in Moor's Landing, Mr A. Barton, told us.'
Having said that, Paula fell fast asleep.
A little earlier, inside Leopard's Leap, Brigadier Burgoyne, wearing a smoking jacket and navy blue trousers, was pacing his living-room after his return from identifying the body of Irene Andover. Lee Holmes, who had put on a form-fitting green dress with a gold belt, stood in front of a wall mirror, brushing her blonde hair.
`So Tweed is staying at Passford House,' Burgoyne remarked, his expression bleak.
`That's right,' Lee confirmed again, 'and I had to call several hotels before I thought of Passford. Maurice, why are we going there to dinner?'
`To check up on him, of course. I wish to God he'd go back to London, leave this area. He's a danger every moment he lingers.'
`You mean he could interfere with your plans,' Lee said in a mocking tone.
`Of course that's what I mean!' Burgoyne exploded. `If they're there for dinner you latch on to Tweed, get out of him what you can.'
`You want me to seduce him if necessary?'
`I don't like your tone. Just do the job I've given to you. I'll concentrate on Miss Paula Grey.'
`Exerting your irresistible charm on her, I presume?' 'I don't like sarcastic women.'
`You don't seem to mind them after the lights go out,' she retorted as she used her lipstick. `When do we leave for Passford House? You seem edgy – was it having to identify Irene's body?'
`I've seen enough dead bodies in my time.' Burgoyne's expression was even more saturnine. `But you were cool enough and I think Stanstead noticed.'
`I'm ready. Are you?'
'I've been ready for ten minutes while you've been tarting yourself up.' His tone became commanding. `We take the Jag., of course. Mustn't risk them seeing the Bentley. And I've just thought of a good tactic. Pop round to The Last Haven and ask Fanshawe to join us. Good camouflage.'
`I don't have to ask that Claybourne bitch as well, do I?' `Of course you do. Be polite. Make the effort. Just for once…'
Pete Nield, clad in a grey boiler suit he'd fetched from his Sierra, crawled slowly through the undergrowth close to Andover's estate. He wore the boiler suit to protect his city clothes – and the grey colour was neutral in the dark.
He had parked his car by the copse Newman had used during the previous day. His hands were protected with gloves and he pressed down the undergrowth ahead of him slowly. The ground was covered with dead leaves, crusted with frost. One false move and the crackle of those leaves would be heard yards away in the uncanny stillness of the bitter night.
His boiler suit was unzipped to his waist: he could grab the Walther out of his hip holster in a millisecond. He pressed down another tangle of undergrowth and froze. A hand had descended on his right shoulder.
`Friend,' a familiar voice whispered. Harry Butler's.
Nield was flaming. He could have shot him by mistake. But his greatest annoyance was that Butler, turning up out of nowhere, had tracked him without making a sound. He'd tell him. Later. There were other matters which had priority. As Butler crouched beside him Nield aimed a finger, pointing.
`Good work,' Butler whispered. 'Think you've found them?'
`Look for yourself. Listen, for Christ's sake…'
Twenty feet beyond where Nield had pressed down the undergrowth a large camper was parked. It stood on a narrow track and what Nield regarded as amateurish camouflage had been attempted. Uprooted undergrowth had been piled on the roof, piled against the vehicle's sides.
A large tall aerial speared up towards the branch of the fir tree it was parked under. The noise Nield had heard was the metallic rattle of the aerial being retracted. It telescoped slowly until it was almost level with the roof.
Nield had no doubt they were looking at the vehicle acting as the recording station for all the voice-activated bugs placed inside Prevent. The interior would hold all the sophisticated recording equipment registering on tape everything said inside Andover's house.
A burly man, no more than a silhouette in the dark of the Forest, appeared as the rear doors opened. Holding a long pole, he dropped to the ground and used the pole to sweep the roof clear of the undergrowth camouflage hopefully concealing them from aerial observation. He then moved all round the camper, removing the undergrowth piled up against its sides. Walking back to the rear, he disappeared inside, and the doors were closed quietly.
`They're leaving,' Nield whispered. 'We'd better hurry back to my car. Just a minute – how did you get here?'
`In the Cortina after making my delivery to Rabin in London. You tail the camper, I'll guard your rear…'
`Just one point, Harry,' Nield said as they reached their cars. 'If you ever creep up on me like that again it will give me great pleasure to break your bloody neck. I had the Walther in my hand when you first spoke.'
`Point taken. Now let's get on with the job. Wonder where that camper will lead us to?'
Tweed was just washing his hands and face in Room 2 at Passford House when he heard a gentle tapping on his door. He opened it cautiously, keeping one foot behind it. Then he stood back as Paula, who had stayed on the ground floor to warn the head waiter they'd be arriving soon for dinner, came in, closing and locking the door behind her.
We have company,' she said, breathing heavily. `That's nice. Who is honouring us tonight at this hour?'
`I peered into the bar before coming upstairs. Burgoyne is there with his blonde beauty, Lee Holmes…' `Maybe I can look forward to a lively evening?'
`Stop joking. With them are Willie Fanshawe and Helen Claybourne.'
`Right. You and I will go in for a drink, see just what happens. Could you pop along to Newman's room – warn him. Tell him the situation. I suggest he goes into dinner without us.'
`You find it strange – that quartet turning up?'
`I find it odd that Burgoyne – after identifying Irene's dead body – then trots out for a drink. To say nothing of Lee Holmes. We'll just leave the initiative to them, see what they do…'
Ten minutes later they entered the bar at the front of the hotel. A comfortable room, oblong in shape, it had the bar at the far end along one of the shorter sides. Lee Holmes jumped up immediately, swung her long legs as she walked up to Tweed, holding a glass. She ignored Paula.
`Mr Tweed, how marvellous, this gives us a chance to plan our liaison in London.'
She gave the word 'liaison' a certain seductive emphasis. Taking hold of his arm, she led him towards the bar.
`And my glass is empty.'
`So what are you drinking?' Tweed paused as they passed a window table where Burgoyne sat with Fanshawe and Helen Claybourne. 'Do you mind?' he enquired.
`The best man always wins,' Burgoyne said sardonically. He did not look pleased, Paula noted. 'Don't mind me,' the Brigadier added with a final slash. 'I'm just part of the furniture.'