side of the low bed. Paula used her shoulder, the full power of her body against the door. It flew outwards. She nearly lost her balance, recovered. She heard the thud of Coral being pushed over backwards, sprawling, the back of her head striking the wooden floor.
Paula nearly went into shock when she saw the white apparition. A long surgeon's gown, surgeon's cap over the whole head, surgeon's mask from the bridge of the nose downwards, enormous goggles, dead eyes staring through them at her, in the right hand a large meat cleaver. Lord, it had been quick. Over Coral's mouth a scarf tied as a gag. Coral's eyes open.
The white apparition saw Paula, darted quickly round the bed towards her, meat cleaver raised high to strike, to slice down the middle of her skull. She held her ground, Browning held steady, both hands gripping it. She fired once, twice. It was still coming. Maybe had body armour. She elevated the angle of the muzzle, fired three times at the head. It stopped, stood still for seconds, fell towards her, cleaver still in its hand as the body crashed to the floor.
The cleaver blade thudded an inch into the floor. People rushed into the room. Tweed first, then Buchanan and the team, headed by Newman.
Paula was still standing, the muzzle of her Browning now shuddering. Gently, Tweed removed the weapon from her and dropped it into an evidence bag.
Stooping down, he used a latex-gloved hand to wrench off the mask and the goggles in one careful movement. The head and face of Nelson Macomber stared up, lifeless, its complexion red as the setting sun after a summer's day.
Paula ran to the far side of the bed where Coral was stirring. She grabbed a dressing-gown off a chair, helped Coral to her feet, helped her to don the dressing-gown, removed the gag. Despite protests she guided her out of the bedroom, into the living room and closed the door. She handed Coral some underwear, then outer clothes. She stopped Coral reaching for a full glass of champagne.
'Plenty of water first. Then coffee…'
Epilogue
Four weeks later
Tweed was in his office with Paula and Bob Newman. A general election had taken place. There was an air of relief at Park Crescent. The government had fallen, the opposition had taken over power.
'What was the main reason for their defeat?' Paula wondered.
'This.'
Tweed held up a month-old copy of the Daily Nation. The headline above the first of many stories by Drew Franklin was enormous.
NEWLY APPOINTED CABINE'I MINISTER MASS MURDERER
Below it the text described vividly the scene in Coral Flenton's flat when Paula had shot Nelson Macomber dead as he was about to carve Coral up. This attempt was linked with the horrific killings of Viola and Marina Vander-Browne. A police report from Commander Buchanan left little doubt Nelson Macomber was the murderer of both women.
'And this,' said Tweed, holding up another copy of the paper printed two days later.
NELSON MACOMBER'S 'CABAL' PLANNED PRISON STATE, GB
The text described in detail the prisons built on Black Island with photos of the torture chamber. The smuggling in of the Tatra mountains Slovaks was also described, illustrated with a photograph of their brutal chief, Radek.
A few days later the same paper, with Drew Franklin's by-line, printed the devastating report Tweed's Director, Howard, had handed to the now resigned Prime Minister. Also there was a copy of the draft bill proposing the creation of State Security. A draft which had been destroyed.
'I do wonder,' Newman said with a cynical smile, 'how Drew obtained all this information, including photos Paula took.'
'I really have no idea,' said Tweed as he gazed at the ceiling.
'You know,' Newman went on, 'when you're telling a whopping great lie you always gaze up at the ceiling.'
'I was watching a spider.' Tweed looked at Paula. 'How is Coral now?'
After the shooting of Nelson, Paula had taken Coral back to her flat. There she had called Professor Saafeld who, after examining the body of Nelson Macomber, had rushed to the flat.
After checking Coral carefully he had suggested moving her to a private clinic where she could stay until she had recovered.
'Bloody hell! No clinic, thank you,' Coral had burst out.
'She could stay here with me,' Paula suggested firmly. 'I can watch over her.'
'Might be a much better idea,' Saafeld had agreed. 'She is only in a mild state of shock. The young can recover quickly from almost anything. I leave her in your safe hands, Paula.'
*
As if on cue, as Paula recalled this scene, Coral walked into the office with a springy step. She wore a new close-fitting white jumper and a white skirt. The outfit emphasized her blaze of red hair. She was smiling nervously as she looked at Tweed.
'Is it all right if I go on a short holiday with Pete Nield? He's such a nice man and wants to take me to a fabulous hotel by the sea in Dorset.'
'He's practically been living at my flat,' Paula said drily.
'He can take a fortnight off,' Tweed told her.
Coral rushed across the room, talking as she moved, threw her arms round Paula. 'You've been a real brick, looking after me. I do want us to keep in touch.'
'A long dinner, then, when you get back. My bet is Pete is waiting downstairs for you in the visitors' room.'
'Yes, he is. But before I do…'
She rushed at Tweed, hugged him so hard he was almost out of breath. She then administered the same treatment to Newman, waved a hand and was gone.
'I did work it out eventually,' Tweed said to Paula, linking his hands behind his neck. 'The newspaper on Coral's desk announcing Nelson's promotion, Coral dancing with delight. That killer had charm and she'd fallen for him, so she was the next victim, not the Parrot.'
'Which I'd worked out earlier.' Paula frowned. 'You took your time getting to me.'
'I know. I was wrong, you were right. I'm so sorry. In future you tell me when I slip up. Don't forget.'
'I won't. You'll get sick of me reminding you.'
