`I can't imagine why you say that,' Lachenal commented eventually.
`It's obvious,' Newman rapped back quickly. 'You referred to the civilian group being very influential – your own words. Influence suggests power, power suggests money, money suggests bankers.'
`Theories are abstract, abstractions are misleading,' Lachenal said brusquely.
Newman stood up to leave and slipped on his coat. He chose the moment deliberately. Lachenal was a brave, very able man but he was also sensitive. He had just spoken almost rudely and Newman knew he would regret it. Lachenal followed his visitor as the latter put his hand on the door handle.
`You must realize, Bob, that none of us really believe_ you are here on holiday. You have to be working on a story..
`I am here with my fiancee for the reason I gave,' Newman said coldly. 'Check up on me, if you wish to…'
`Instead of that, let us have dinner together one evening. I am truly glad to see you again. But you must admit that your reason for being here would make an excellent cover story…'
Newman paused in the act of turning the handle, looking back at Lachenal. The Swiss was one of the shrewdest, most intuitive men he knew. He took the hand Lachenal had extended and shook it.
I accept your invitation with pleasure. Rene, take care of yourself…'
Tous azimuts. That had been the key phrase, Newman felt sure as he descended the marble steps and walked out of Bundeshaus Ost. And Lachenal was genuinely deeply worried about something. Newman had the strongest hunch that if he knew what that worry concerned it might unlock the whole strange business.
Nancy came running towards him as he pushed his way through the revolving doors inside the Bellevue Palace. She had been sitting where she could watch the entrance. Looping an arm through his, she guided him quickly to an obscure corner table.
`Now we have the Swiss Army on our backs,' he told her. 'I don't like the way things are developing..
`I've got something to tell you, but what are you talking about. Who have you seen?'
`A high-ranking Swiss Army officer, an old friend. We had coffee at that restaurant across the street. Don't ask me his name. I think he was warning me off the Berne Clinic…'
`You said an old friend. If he's that he should know the one way to encourage you to go on is to threaten you…'
`That occurred to me. Curious, isn't it? Now, I can see you're agog to tell me some news…'
`There's been a phone call from a man called Beck. He says will you go and see him at once. He said it was very urgent.'
Nineteen
`Newman, do you know this man?'
Beck was hostile again. His manner was stiff. His voice was flat, toneless. His official voice. Three people stood in the morgue. The room was cold. The floor and walls were tiled. The place had all the comfort and cheerful atmosphere of a public lavatory, a spotless public lavatory.
The third person was Dr Anna Kleist, Federal Police pathologist. A tall, dark-haired woman in her late thirties, she wore a white gown and watched Newman through tinted glasses with interest and a sympathetic expression. He had felt she liked him from the moment they had been introduced.
Newman gazed down at the body lying on the huge metal drawer Dr Kleist had hauled out for his inspection. The sheet covering the corpse had been partly pulled back to expose the head and shoulders. The head was horribly battered but still recognizable – mainly from the sodden moustache. Newman suddenly felt very angry. He turned on Beck.
`Am I the first person you have asked to identify him?' `Yes…'
`Well, Beck, you had better know I am getting fed up. Why choose me? This is the second time you've dragged me to view the wreck of a corpse…'
`Just answer the question. Do you know this man?'
`He told me his name was Tommy Mason. That he was engaged on market research. Medical. Something to do with clinics – Swiss clinics…'
`You do know this man then? You were using him as a contact?'
Tor Christ's sake, Beck, shove it. I was brought here without a hint as to what was waiting for me. I've answered your question. If you want to ask me anything else we'll go straight back to the Taubenhalde…'
`As you wish…'
Beck turned away to leave the room but Newman lingered. Dr Kleist had considerately closed the drawer. A tag was attached to the handle by a piece of string, a tag bearing a number. Tommy Mason was no longer a person, only a number.
`Dr Kleist,' Newman requested in a normal voice, 'have you any idea how he died – or is it too early?'
`He was found floating…'
`Anna!' Beck broke in. 'No information…'
`And why not, Arthur?' She removed her glasses and Newman saw she had large pale blue eyes with a hint of humour. 'Mr Newman has answered your question. And remember, I am in control here. I intend to answer Mr Newman…'
`You have the independence of the devil,' Beck grumbled. `Which is why you had me appointed to this position.' She turned her attention to Newman. 'The body was found in the river. His injuries are due in part to the fact that for some time before he was found he was caught in one of the sluices below the Munster.'
`Thank you, Dr Kleist.'
As he left the room Newman hoped she would get married and leave this place before her emotions became as dead as the body she had just shown him.
He said nothing to Beck during the drive back to the Taubenhalde. Inside the building the same routine. The ascent to the tenth floor. Beck producing the key which unlocked the lift. Outside Newman gestured towards a punch-time clock on the wall.
`Do you still clock in and out morning and night? The Assistant to the Chief of Police?'
`Every time. It is the regulation. I am not exempt…'
Beck was still stiff and unbending but once inside the office he did ask Gisela to make them coffee and then please leave them on their own. Newman, his mind still focused on his interview with Captain Lachenal, made a great effort to push that into the past. He needed all his concentration on this new development. Beck stared out of the window, hands clasped behind his back, until Gisela brought the coffee on a tray and left the office.
`I'm sorry, Bob,' he said, walking wearily round his desk and sagging into his chair before attending to the coffee. 'You see, this is the second body you have been directly linked with. First, Julius Nagy…'
`You said that was an anonymous phone call to Pauli…'
`This was an anonymous phone call to Gisela. A man. Someone who spoke in broken German – or pretended to. Last night you were seen with Bernard Mason, or so the caller alleged…'
`Bernard?'
`Yes, I noticed you called him Tommy in the morgue. When we fished him out we found he carried his passport in a cellophane folder which protected it to some extent against the water. He is – was – Bernard Mason. How did you come to know him, Bob?'
`In the bar at the Bellevue Palace. I went in for a drink and he turned round with his glass in his hand and bumped into me. The contents of the glass spilt over my jacket and he insisted on buying me one to compensate. We sat talking for maybe five minutes. That's how I know him. It's also how I know the data I gave you on him back at the morgue. He told me. A chance acquaintance…'
I wonder…'
`And what do you mean by that?'
`Could he have spilt his drink over you deliberately – to contrive this chance acquaintance? Chance always worries me.'
How could he have contrived anything?' Newman demanded. only decided to pop in there for a drink at the
