More comfortable now, she walked left along the alley, her sense of direction taking her to the end of the side street which led to Whitehall. She stopped for a moment when she saw who was walking towards the entrance to the HQ. Tweed.
37
'What are you doing here?' Paula asked.
'I told you earlier. I want a word with Nelson Macomber.'
He stopped speaking as the steel door swung upwards and out of sight. Wearing a dark suit with a flower in the buttonhole, Nelson stepped into the street. At the top of the escalator Paula saw a crowd of staff, all clapping their hands. Beaming, Nelson turned to wave to them, then turned to Tweed.
'Heard your voice on the speakphone. I was just coming down. I'm on my way there.'
He gestured to the end of the alley. Parked by a Whitehall kerb was a long black limousine. A uniformed chauffeur stood at attention.
'So congratulations are in order,' Tweed said.
'My dear Tweed…' Nelson threw both arms round him, hugged. 'I am so looking forward to working with you.' He beamed at Paula. 'And, of course, with your attractive and hyper-efficient Paula.'
She stepped back, worried that he was going to hug her. He was a big man and the thought of those strong arms squeezing the breath out of her did not appeal.
'Well,' Tweed said amiably, 'you've got one of the two sensational headlines all to yourself.'
He produced a folded newspaper from under his arm, still gripping a second newspaper under the same arm. He opened it to show the headline announcing the Cabinet appointment. Nelson took it and studied it as though seeing it for the first time.
'Overdone it a bit, haven't they?' he said with a complacent smile.
'Oh, I don't know,' Tweed remarked. 'Pity it's swamped by the next edition they rushed out at breakneck speed.'
He took the second newspaper from under his arm. Again it was folded to the even larger glaring headline with the story below written by Drew Franklin.
BLACK ISLAND TORTURE PRISON EXPLODES IN FLAMES
Paula peeked over Tweed's shoulder as he handed it to Nelson, then studied the newly appointed minister's expression. All the joy in Nelson's face vanished like a mark wiped off a window. He stood motionless as he read the detailed text. One sentence referred to 'the body parts of the Slovak builders flying into the air…' Another referred to 'the hideous KGB-like torture chamber ready for so-called "social saboteurs". That is, ready for anyone speaking out against the government…'
'This is blatant nonsense,' Nelson squeaked.
'He has printed photos to illustrate his text,' Tweed remarked.
'This is your work,' Nelson snarled.
'Don't be silly… Minister. Drew Franklin has contacts everywhere.'
'My car awaits,' Nelson said, drawing himself up. 'You can keep that filthy rag.'
He still kept under his arm the 'filthy rag' of the Daily Nation reporting his accession to the Cabinet. Before he reached the limousine they heard him swearing at the chauffeur.
'In future I'll expect the damned rear door open as soon as you see me coming…'
'And we'll get back to Park Crescent,' Tweed said quietly, 'so I can hear how everyone got on with their interviews.'
'And I've been to Walkhampton in the Midlands where the Parrot spent her childhood and teenage years,' Paula told him.
'Tell me when we're all together to listen.'
They were driving back to Park Crescent slowly -through all the traffic in the world, so it seemed to Paula. She kept quiet. She could almost hear Tweed thinking intensively.
'I'm hoping,' he said eventually, 'that someone who has been interviewed slipped up. But don't bet on it.' He sighed. 'If Saafeld is right there is so little time left.'
The whole team was waiting when they arrived. Marler had decided to give Tweed a brief verbal version of his flight with Harry to Peckham Mallet. Monica looked annoyed since she had already typed the report of what had happened. Tweed looked relieved when Marler concluded.
'So the bomb detonated in the field. Good work, Harry. I am glad one problem has been solved. Now, I'll listen to the interviews you had with different members of the Cabal.'
He appeared to be listening intently, his eyes never leaving those of the person speaking. Yet Paula had the impression half his mind was elsewhere. The interview he showed the greatest interest in was Nield's.
'Benton is a strange man,' he commented.
'Something else on your mind?' asked Paula.
'Yes. Everyone has done well. But I'm no nearer to pinpointing who might be the murderer. I'm now going to suggest a quite different approach, since time is getting desperately short.' He paused. 'Forget the identity of the murderer. Instead, who is likely to be the next victim?'
He had startled everyone. They looked at each other, then stared at Tweed. Even Paula couldn't see where he was going.
'Before we get involved in something else,' Paula spoke up, 'I forgot to tell you what I found out about the Parrot in Walkhampton. She wasn't popular even as a small girl. The reason? She was so bright, and knew it, that she tended to dominate everyone. After prep school she went to a grammar – and was always top of the class. Oh, and her father had a shop. He was a butcher.'
'A butcher!' Newman exclaimed.
'The next victim,' Tweed repeated emphatically. 'If we know who the next victim is, we can stake out her home and wait for the murderer to appear with all his – or her -equipment in a large carrier or briefcase…'
'I see your point,' said Paula. 'A different approach. I just wonder who the next victim is.'
'The Parrot, of course,' Tweed affirmed. 'She works next to the room where the Cabal meets. She is the one person most likely to have overheard their plans. She is dangerous to the Cabal. If killed in the same way as Viola and Marina no one will connect it with her knowledge of the Cabal.'
'I do believe you're right,' exclaimed Newman.
'On top of which,' Tweed plunged on, 'we are familiar with where she lives. Her place in the side street in Hammersmith. We disguise ourselves to fit in with the scenery. We use mobiles to keep in touch with each other.'
'I've got a great idea,' piped up Harry. 'What time do we get there?'
'Before 10 p. m,' Tweed replied.
'Then,' Harry continued, 'I've time to get in touch with a pal who runs a cab. He owes me. He'd loan it to me so I could drive round the area as a cabbie. Maybe even take you one by one at intervals as a passenger.'
'That,' agreed Tweed, 'is a great idea.'
'I could be a street cleaner,' Newman said. 'They often work at night. The pavements are so crowded in the daytime now.'
Paula yawned openly for the second time. She looked at Tweed, who had been watching her. She stood up as though to stretch aching limbs.
'Will there be enough of you without me?' She suppressed another yawn. 'I nearly walked myself into the ground in that dreary city.'
'You can't go home,' Newman protested.
'I know. No one to protect me. Which is why I'll stay here with Monica until you get back.'
'Agreed,' said Tweed. 'Monica can go now to the deli with Newman. Get you both something to eat.'
'Thanks.'
Paula sat down, slumped in her chair, closed her eyes. She knew that this time Tweed had got it wrong.
38
'The Minister, Nelson Macomber, is downstairs and would like to see you.'
Tweed concealed his surprise. The rest of the team, except for Paula, had at Tweed's suggestion gone out to have a good supper. It was going to be a long night, staking out the Parrot's flat.
'Tell the Minister I welcome his visit and I'm at his disposal.'
Tweed had stood up. He walked to open the door to welcome his visitor. It was 8.30 p.m. and dark outside. Monica gave the message to George and then darted to the window, pulled back a curtain. Parked outside their entrance was a large black limousine with the uniformed chauffeur standing on the pavement. Tweed had opened the door and they heard the heavy tread of their visitor coming swiftly up.