Then she may well spot Paula following her,' Monica objected.
'You think so? Before Paula left here she altered her hair style. I loaned her a pair of glasses with blank lenses. It's amazing how a pair of glasses alters a person's appearance. On top of that she left early enough to call at Simpsons in Piccadilly- to do some shopping.'
'What shopping? You can be so exasperating. You're enjoying keeping me in suspense.'
'She went to buy a white raincoat, one with a large collar which buttons up to the neck. You may have observed it is drizzling on and off. In that outfit Jill will never recognize her.'
'And what's your motive in this devious – typically devious, if I may say…'
'You just did.' Tweed grinned.
'Devious ploy I was going to say if you'd let me finish just one sentence.'
'I'm suspicious of the glamorous Jill Kearns. She may be acting on her husband's instructions. I'm giving her enough rope – two days of it – to hang herself.'
'You don't trust anyone, do you?'
'Especially not attractive blondes who flatter me, try to make out they think I'm the cat's whiskers.'
'Maybe for her you are.' Monica doodled on her notepad. 'She may be just what you need…'
She stopped speaking, feeling she'd gone too far. Tweed's wife had left him several years ago, had walked out to take up living with a Greek shipping magnate. Last heard of in Rio. Tweed showed no sign of having heard her.
'Now we're on our own, let's check the facts we have so far, what we're doing. I'm a good listener as you know.'
He relaxed in his chair, hands clasped in his lap, eyes half-shut. Monica began her survey of recent events, reciting from memory.
'Object of the exercise – to track down the killer of Harry Masterson…'
'I'm going to get that bastard,' Tweed said half to himself.
Monica paused, surprised by the vehemence of his tone, then went on. 'Harry was going on holiday, bored stiff with the idea. He sees the ad Christina Gavalas placed in The Times, signing herself Irene. Intriguing reference to the Greek Key, which is a mystery to us still. Christina tells the story of the murder of Andreas and Stephen during the war. Harry gets interested, fools her into thinking he's a detective. Together they visit Exmoor. OK so far?'
'Go on.'
'Harry visits each of the three men, one of whom the Gavalas family Is convinced is the murderer. Robson, Barrymore and Kearns. Harry is probably the shrewdest interrogator we've ever had – so maybe he spots the bad apple. He then, God save his soul, lays a trap. He tells each of the three he's flying to Greece. Which he then does with Christina. Harry is killed at Cape Sounion.'
'And,' Tweed added, 'by the time Paula and I do the same run Harry did – visit those three on Exmoor – they've all been on holiday and have simians. Which means one of them could have been to Greece while Harry was there.'
'What I just can't see is who could have tricked Harry and pushed him over that three-hundred-feet cliff.' Monica shivered. 'The big question is who could have gained Harry's trust?'
'Christina is the obvious answer. The obvious is often correct.'
'There is an alternative,' Monica mused. 'Someone else Harry had no reason to fear but who got the better of him.'
Tweed opened his eyes, 'That's a new idea you have there. Someone he met in Greece?'
'Doesn't seem likely,' Monica disagreed. 'Next thing, Newman and Marler go out to Greece, make contact with Christina, who seems to have changed sides. But that could be another ploy, this time to trap Newman. That woman worries me. I sense she's clever.'
'Not clever enough to fool Newman,' Tweed assured her.
'She may have fooled Harry. I gather she's very attractive.'
'Harry,' Tweed recalled, 'was a great one for the girls. After his wife divorced him because he wasn't home every night, Harry made hay, was a devil with women.'
'Bob Newman is single again,' Monica reminded him.
'After that brutal murder of his French wife in the Baltic.'
'No woman ever fooled Bob,' Tweed insisted. 'He might pretend to go all starry-eyed over someone like Christina – but he'd be fooling her. Go on with your summary.'
'Newman and Marler contact Christina. They hear about this old villain, Petros – obsessed with tracking down his sons' killers over forty years afterwards. An impossible mission…'
Theoretically,' Tweed interjected. 'But his son, Anton, does find his way to Exmoor – and locates all three ex-commandos. Petros must be a man with a deep peasant cunning. Obsessed, I agree. An impossible mission? Maybe not. And those three on Exmoor are scared of something. Look how Paula and I found all three were living inside fortresses. As I said to Paula, they're like men waiting for Nemesis.'
'Next development,' Monica continued, 'we get all this weird data from Newman. And weird it is – Andreas' skeleton hanging inside that old silver mine. Macabre. Petros is obsessed.'
'No proof it is Andreas. Probable, yes. Certain, no.'
'Plus the strange trip to the island of Siros. Dimitrios and Constantine – according to Christina – tried to shoot Newman. And,' she pressed on, 'this is the hairbrained place where the three commandos landed – with a German lookout point perched in that monastery above them. Back to the present day, we have the murder of Giorgos – who worked for the Grande Bretagne and spied on Newman and Marler. Also macabre – ending head down in a cask.'
'I think the solution lies in Greece.' Tweed, suddenly alert, walked over to the window and gazed towards the trees of distant Regent's Park.
'Looks like it,' Monica agreed. 'That's further reinforced by this peculiar Seton-Charles character hurtling off to Athens. That might mean nothing- except for the devious route he took to London Airport. Harry and Pete handled that cleverly. But what do they do now?'
'They're already doing it. While you were out when Butler called from London Airport I sent them both back to cover Exmoor. Robson, Barrymore and Kearns are still holed up there. Change of tactics again. Butler and Nield will have gone back to checking on that curious trio. Later, I'll fly out to Greece. I want to question Petros.'
That could be dangerous. Newman nearly got killed venturing into Devil's Valley.'
'Sometimes you have to take chances.' lie was pacing restlessly. 'Harry was murdered at Cape Sounion. That's close to this Devil's Valley. And some swine murdered Sam Partridge on Exmoor. That Greek, Anton, was floating about when it happened. Two scores I have to settle. Someone is going to pay the price.'
Monica again was disturbed by the ferocity of his language, his bitter tone. She spoke quietly.
'Be careful. Don't get obsessed – like old Petros. You're losing your normal sense of detachment. You always said that was the fatal mistake…'
'Stop nagging me, woman.' Tweed stared at her. 'I'll work it out in my own way without your advice…'
He stopped, appalled at Monica's expression. She looked like a woman who had been whipped across the face.! n all their long relationship he had never spoken to her like that.
'I'm dreadfully sorry,' he apologized. 'I do rely on your judgement – maybe more than you've ever realized. I feel like a man walking in a fog, a tired man,' he admitted. He stuffed his briefcase with tape recordings and files. 'I think I'll spend a couple of days in my flat, sitting in an armchair, thinking. I need something to happen which points the way. '
'It always does.' Monica smiled. 'Now you're following your usual method. Don't worry. You're under pressure.
I'm amazed you haven't blown your top before. And there's a lot of personal feelings you've had to grapple with. Go home, get some rest – or would you like some coffee first?'
Tweed said thank you but he wanted to get straight off. He put on his shabby Burberry, squeezed her shoulder and walked out with his briefcase. Monica stood up, went to the window to watch him walk round Park Crescent through the net curtains. She was frightened. Tweed was acting like a man obsessed with his problems.
He left the building. He paused on the front steps to button up the raincoat, glancing all round the Crescent in
