'Benton Macomber, sir?'
'That's right. What can I do for you?'
'I'm Pete Nield of the SIS,' he said, showing his folder. 'I would appreciate a few words with you. I'm investigating the murders of Viola and Marina Vander-Browne.'
Benton would be in his late forties, Nield estimated. He was well built, with unusually wide shoulders which gave him a hunched appearance. His clean-shaven face was bony, the observant eyes greenish, his complexion rugged with a reddish tinge, the mouth full-lipped and sensual. He exuded an air of suppressed energy.
'I'm just going for a quick lunch,' he explained. 'Just a sandwich and a drink at an up-market wine bar at this end of Victoria Street. Why don't you join me? Later it gets busy but it will be quiet now.'
Benton walked with long strides and Nield, being shorter, had to hurry to keep up with him. He's a very fit man, Nield thought as they turned into the wine bar. Neither said another word until they were seated at a table and Benton had ordered for them both after consulting Nield.
Both drank Scotch. Benton sipped his glass, pushed it away. He smiled pleasantly at Nield.
'I drink moderately, unlike Nelson. Doesn't seem to affect his ability to think and act. What is this?' He glanced at the sheet with the dates of both murders, pushed it back.
'I thought those dates might be significant.'
'The first date is when Viola Vander-Browne was savaged and murdered. The second is when her sister, Marina, was killed.'
Nield was taken aback. Benton was so different from what he had expected. It was more like talking to a favourite uncle. He pressed on.
'Where were you on those particular nights between the hours of 11 a.m. and 3 a.m.? You have a remarkable memory,' he added.
'A phenomenal memory. Born with it, or inherited it. Who knows? But specific hours on two different nights? That's pushing it a bit. Wait a minute.'
Benton took out a pocket diary. He then extracted a pair of rimless glasses from a case, put them on. The transformation rattled Nield's nerves. Benton glanced at Nield, then looked at his diary before staring at Nield. The rimless glasses had converted Benton into something sinister. The greenish eyes pierced Nield's. Sinister was not a strong enough word.
'The night Viola died I was with a girl, Patsy, in a flat I rent in a mews off Mayfair. She left at 10.30 p.m. She'd exhausted me,' he remarked with a strange smile. 'I went to bed, slept until morning. Not much of an alibi, Mr Nield.'
'What about the second date?' Nield persisted.
'Spent the whole evening and night in my Mayfair flat. Alone. No alibi at all.' He took off his glasses and again looked normal. 'I'd appreciate it if you'd not mention Patsy, at least by name, if at all. I'm just about to divorce my wife, who is visiting her boyfriend in Canada.'
'I'll forget Patsy – unless it becomes essential to name her. I have to ask you these questions because you're one of a number of names on Tweed's list of suspects.'
'Then you'll have to tell Tweed to leave my name on it.' Benton smiled pleasantly, sipped a little more of his Scotch.
Nield drank the rest of his Scotch. He still had in his mind the evil vision of Benton wearing his rimless glasses. Which was the real man?
'Who do you think killed those women?' Benton asked suddenly.
Nield was briefly stunned by the sheer bravado of the question. Benton must have guessed the whole Cabal was on the list of suspects. He rallied swiftly, gazing straight at Benton.
'Someone powerful. Someone who lives in London. Someone who will be identified by Tweed within the next twenty-four hours.'
'I see.' Benton paused. Now he was stunned. 'You are very confident…'
'Someone,' Nield continued his counter-attack, 'who left a clue at one of the crime scenes.'
Benton called for the bill, paid it quickly, stood up, his expression grim. His mouth was turned down at the corners, all traces of the benevolent uncle absent. Without a word he strode out of the wine bar, moving rapidly.
Nield sat smiling. He ordered another sandwich. He had broken through the wall of bland innocence the Cabal presented to the world.
36
Paula, returned from her visit outside the capital, parked her car in a spot just vacated by a businessman wearing a dull black suit, the 'uniform' these days of men who worked in the City.
She walked into the side street, trotted behind Benton, who seemed in a great hurry. He said something into the speakphone, the great door slid upwards, she followed him on to the escalator. He was so absorbed by something on his mind he never noticed her. Clasped under her arm she had two carefully folded copies of different editions of the Daily Nation.
She walked into the Cabal's private room behind Benton. Two people were sitting at the triangular table. Nelson and Noel. Nelson jumped up when he saw her.
'You can't come in here,' he snapped.
'I've come to congratulate you,' she said merrily, waving the huge headline on the special edition.
NELSON MACOMBER MINISTER OF INTERNAL SECURITY
'And,' she continued, still walking towards the door into the next room, 'Miss Partridge has something to tell me.'
She had entered the next room, closed the door behind her, before Nelson, who had jumped up, could reach her. Inside, Coral Flenton was standing up, a wide smile on her face as she waved her hands in the air, then did a little dance.
'It's a wonderful world,' she sang, mimicking Louis Armstrong as she went on dancing.
The Parrot stood a distance away from her, strong arms folded under her chest. Her expression was murderous. She suddenly became aware of Paula and her expression became grimmer. She swung back towards Coral.
'Shut your face!' she screamed. 'Stop that awful row or I'll shut it for you!'
'There's a witness if you attack me.' Coral nodded towards Paula and picked up a heavy ruler. On her desk was the Daily Nation, folded to the headline announcing the new Cabinet appointment.
'I'll throttle you!' the Parrot screamed again at Coral.
'No, you won't,' a quiet commanding voice said.
Nelson had appeared from the next room. Obviously he had heard the Parrot screaming. The large man walked quickly across the room. The Parrot froze. Nelson gave the order as he passed her.
'You wait exactly where you are until I get back.'
He continued walking until he reached Paula, who had moved to the other side of Coral's desk. His manner was calm but determined. He gripped Paula's right arm, kept walking.
'This is no place for you, Miss Grey. I'm asking you to leave by the back entrance. Don't come here again.'
Still gripping her arm tightly he walked her towards a door in the rear wall. He used his other hand to press down a safety lever. He was opening the steel door when Paula reacted.
'Take your hand off me. You're hurting me.'
He kept hold of her as the door swung open. She used the tip of her left shoe to kick him hard on the shin. He grimaced, gave a grunt of pain, let go of her arm and she walked out on to I platform at the top of a flight of metal steps leading down into the street.
'Miss Grey,' Nelson called down, his tone now friendly.
'What is it?' she called back, glaring.
'In my anxiety to calm things down I gripped the wrong woman's arm. I apologize if I hurt you. Unintentional.'
He was smiling warmly. He even saluted her to emphasize his change of mood. Still pausing, she glared at him again, refusing to let him off the hook.
'Maybe you'd better learn to control your temper before you park your seat in your Cabinet chair.'
She continued descending the steps, did not look back again. So she missed the blaze of annoyance which appeared in his large blue eyes. She did hear the slam of the metal door shutting as she leaned against a wall to adjust her shoes. She had chosen the wrong footwear and had walked a lot when she'd reached her destination well outside London.