'And second?'
'Within a short time of the massacre a massive bomb destroys Park Crescent. Diabolical synchronization?'
'Not plausible,' she argued. 'I still maintain that no one could have timed the two events so close together.'
'I suspect the whole plot was triggered off by the arrival of Joel Dyson two days ago from the States. That conjures up a very powerful network with a long reach. Also, how many people knew the location of SIS HQ? The top-flight security services in Europe – and America.'
'You make it frightening,' Paula commented.
'You should be frightened. It must take a vast network to organize all that. Which is why we're spending a day or two in Padstow. Right off the beaten track.'
'So it could be unfortunate,' Cardon suggested, 'that by chance Jennie Blade lives in Padstow.'
'It doesn't help,' Tweed agreed, 'but I've booked rooms at the Metropole – which is in a strategic location. I stopped there overnight with Newman a few years ago.'
'And Philip,' Paula teased Cardon, 'you seem to have fallen for the golden lovely.'
'Fooled you, didn't I?' Cardon chuckled. 'She was pretending to take a fancy to me, that she thinks I'm the best thing since sliced bread. I wondered immediately: 'What's this girl really after?''
'Didn't know you were a cynic about women.'
'Not a cynic,' Cardon told her cheerfully. 'Just a realist. Are you offended?'
'Not in the least. Now I think you've got your feet on the ground. And what on earth is this ahead of us?'
Tweed had slowed. In his headlights red and white cones barred the way with a large notice. It carried the word DIVERSION and an arrow pointing to the right up a narrow lane. It was raining now and between the wipers he had set in motion Tweed saw men in yellow oilskins and peaked caps. A burly individual waved a red lamp and walked towards the driver's side of the car as Tweed stopped, keeping the engine running. In the back Cardon had his Walther in his right hand, inside his windcheater.
'Sorry, buddy,' the burly man with the lamp shouted as he came closer. 'There's been a multiple pile-up on the A30. Go this route and you're back on the highway a short way to the west…'
Accent and language were muffled American, Tweed noted.
Tweed,' Paula whispered, 'I've checked the map and the only turn-off to the right is a dead end. That is, before we reach the A30. The lane he's diverting us to leads close to another tor with a stone quarry close by.'
'Could I see some identification?' Tweed asked through his open window.
'What the bloody hell for?' The man's face turned ugly. He was reaching inside his slicker as he went on. 'You can't get through…
'Don't do it!' Paula warned.
Her Browning automatic was pointed past Tweed at the man outside. He withdrew his hand as though he'd burnt it. He was looking uncertain and then turned to signal to the other men when Tweed reacted.
Ramming his foot down, he shot forward, scattering cones like ninepins. Men jumped out of the way and a missile of some sort landed on the bonnet, burst, spread a light grey-coloured vapour.
Tear-gas!' Tweed snapped.
He closed his window, driving with one hand, maintaining his speed. A glance in his rear-view mirror showed him the Sierra roaring after him. He heard two reports.
Shots had been fired. Nothing hit his vehicle. A quick second glance in the mirror showed him the Sierra rocketing up behind him: no apparent damage.
Thank you, Paula,' Tweed said. 'I was suspicious but you confirmed it. A multiple pile-up? On the A30 in February and at this time of night? And a road crew with an American foreman? The whole set-up was phoney, stank to high heaven.'
'So what had they waiting for us up at that dead end?' Paula mused.
'A dead end – for all of us,' Cardon suggested.
'You have a macabre sense of humour. It doesn't bear contemplating – out in the middle of that moor…'
She started checking her map again. Tweed was driving at speed, lights undipped, swerving round corners. He was anxious to reach the main road.
'What worries me,' he said, 'is how did that gang of thugs know we would be travelling along that road at this hour? Again it suggests a powerful, well-organized network. I get the feeling our every move is being monitored.'
'We're close to the A30,' Paula warned. 'As to how they could know where we were – Buchanan told us your presence down here was reported by all the media. They could have flown down from London to St Mawgan Airport – arranging in advance for hire cars to be waiting. And this is where they stole the equipment from
Tweed had slowed down, paused at the T-junction on to the A30 to look both ways. Yards to the left, road repair equipment was stacked on a verge, flashing lights illuminating cones and other material. Tweed drove out, turned right to the west, his headlights showing a great belt of the road descending a long hill. No other traffic in sight. The rain had stopped but the road surface gleamed in the moonlight.
'You could be right, Paula,' he remarked. There would be time for the opposition to fly down from London. But these are people who can move like lightning. I still find it puzzling why the anonymous call was made to the media. I'm going to pull in here, have a word with Pete Nield, make sure they're both all right.'
Paula saw a lay-by was coming up. Tweed signalled, pulled off the main road into it. He stopped, still keeping his engine running as the Sierra drew in behind him. It was Butler who got out of the car, used a torch to check the side of his vehicle, then walked up to Tweed who had lowered his window.
'You handled that well, Chief,' he commented. 'Nothing like a reception committee to welcome us to Cornwall.'
'I heard shots,' Tweed replied.
'You did. One bullet went wide. The other ricocheted off the side of the Sierra. I just found the point where it dented the metal. Maybe time we moved on…'
They were driving again through the night along the deserted A30 when Paula made her suggestion.
There are only three people who could have cooperated with the killer who committed the massacre,' she said.
'Gaunt or Jennie Blade,' Tweed anticipated her. 'And we saw two people on High Tor. But who is the third?'
'Celia Yeo, the young red-headed girl who was helping in the kitchen.'
'Why pick on her?'
'Because I ask questions. After the police doctor had examined the staff he remarked that the one who had got off lightest from being coshed was Celia. Said he was surprised she had become unconscious – so slight was the bruise on her head.'
'Not very conclusive,' Tweed objected.
There's more. I talked to Cook when Celia was outside in the scullery. Apparently the girl she recently replaced was knocked down by a hit-and-run driver, had both legs broken. Celia turned up at the manor offering her services the following day, which Cook thought was rather odd.'
'Still not sufficient to convince our jovial Chief Inspector, Roy Buchanan,' Tweed persisted.
There's more still. I had a little chat with Celia on the quiet. She's a mulish type, hard as nails, and has avaricious eyes. That girl would do almost anything for money. And she lives in Five Lanes – where the real postman came from. I think I'll drive over there and talk to her again. Her day off is tomorrow. And I saw her sneak back across the grounds with a scarlet tea towel in her hands. She said she'd hung it out to dry – it was still dripping water. She could have hung it from the branch of a tree at the edge of the estate to signal to the killer - signal to him that Amberg had arrived. I don't think she'd known what was going to happen.'
'Bit of a far-fetched theory,' Tweed commented.
'Hold on, Chief,' Cardon called out. 'Paula has made a pretty solid case for your so-called far-fetched theory.'
'If you say so,' Tweed responded impatiently, concentrating on his driving. 'One thing I insist on, Paula. You're not going back to Bodmin Moor on your own.'
'Maybe Bob Newman will come with me – if he's reached Padstow.. .'
