The morgue was noticeably colder than even the outside world. A white-coated man with greying hair and an authoritative manner, introduced as Dr Leclerc, glanced at Paula and then at Benoit.
`It's all right,' Benoit reassured him in French, 'Miss Grey has seen dead bodies before. You might say it is part of her job.'
Behind Benoit and Paula stood Tweed and Newman, who had been waiting for them in his hired Mercedes when they'd arrived at Midi. Leclerc, a small, well-built man wearing rimless glasses, pulled out one of the rows of large metal drawers. A sheet covered what lay inside. Tweed and Newman stood on one side while Paula joined Benoit on the other. Leclerc drew back the sheet. Paula stifled a gasp. She looked across at Tweed, spoke in French.
`Cyanosis.'
`The lady has had some experience,' Leclerc remarked. `I have not started work yet but the cause of death does appear rather obvious, subject to my examination.'
The cab driver's lips were blue. His whole bony face had a bluish tinge. Paula bent forward, peering at the side of the neck.
`Come round here, Tweed. I think you can see where the fatal needle was inserted.'
`Again the lady is correct,' Leclerc agreed.
Tweed bent down alongside Paula. A small reddish bruise disfigured the side of the neck. Paula was frowning. Tweed caught her expression.
`Yes?'
`That's an odd place to reach easily. I suppose from the back seat his passenger could have inserted her instrument, but it seems unlikely. The driver would see it coming. On the other hand, suppose she pretended to take a liking to him, put her arms round his neck, one hand concealing the needle – in whatever form it is disguised. During the embrace the driver would be off his guard. Then would be the moment she could press in the needle.'
`You think the murderer was a woman?' Leclerc sounded surprised.
`Just an idea,' Paula replied evasively.
`But possibly the right one,' Benoit intervened. `Tweed, you wanted to interview the two policemen who found the cab driver. They are in the next room.' He noticed Leclerc had raised his eyebrows at the suggestion. `Tweed,' he explained, was once the youngest Superintendent of Homicide at Scotland Yard.'
`That was a little while ago,' Tweed said wryly. 'Now, I would like to see those two men…'
Benoit took them all, leaving behind Leclerc, into a small office further along the corridor leading to the morgue. Two uniformed men stood up. Benoit made introductions, using the men's first names, Armand and Marc, and told them to answer Tweed's questions.
`Have you had time,' Tweed asked, addressing Armand, who seemed to be the senior, 'to contact the cab company, to check the mileage on the clock?'
`Yes, sir. It was my first thought. Most cabbies spend their time doing local jobs – to one of the stations, to a restaurant or hotel. Short distances. This cab had been driven a long distance.'
`Could it have travelled to the Liege area and back?'
Armand thought for a moment. 'Yes, sir, it could. The gas tank was almost empty – but I'm going by the company records and the clock mileage.'
Tweed looked at Benoit. 'To me it seems conclusive. It was this cab which the murderer used to kill Andover. And there was a bullet-hole, you said, in the rear window which Paula fired through.'
`We found that bullet, sir,' Armand informed him. 'It was embedded in the rear of the front passenger seat. And it was within millimetres of penetrating the seat. If only it had struck the back of the driver's seat it might have got him…'
`Her,' the younger man, Marc, corrected.
`Why do you think it was a woman?' Tweed enquired.
`All the vehicle's windows were closed when we found it. And, incidentally, there are traces in the boot suggesting the body spent some time in there.'
`So why would it be moved?' Tweed pressed.
`We think we know,' Armand intervened. 'While it was being driven – to Liege, you suggested – the body would have to be concealed. But when the killer left the Mercedes in the Marolles some yobbo could quite easily have jemmied the boot open, hoping to find something worth taking. The body was jammed down inside the rear of the car. It was dark. So unless the door was opened it would appear empty.'
`And why do you think it was a woman?' Tweed persisted, turning to Marc.
`As I told Chief Inspector Benoit when he came to see us just before you visited the morgue, I am a non- smoker. I have an acute sense of smell. When I opened the rear door of the cab I immediately caught the aroma of a perfume – Guerlain Samsara.'
`And just how were you able to identify that particular perfume?' Tweed asked sceptically.
He was standing very erect, both hands shoved inside his coat pockets, staring straight at Marc. He suddenly realized his stance was exactly the same he'd adopted when interrogating a suspect at the Yard. Old habits died hard.
`Because,' Marc explained, 'I'd had a win at the casino in Ostend. I used some of my money to buy my girl friend a bottle of Guerlain Samsara. I should know that perfume now.'
`The cab driver could have picked up a previous passenger, a woman, before he encountered the murderer,' Tweed probed.
`I think not, sir. Samsara is a subtle perfume – expensive. Any woman passenger earlier would have opened the door to get out. She swings her legs out first – I have often observed this – and then she climbs out of the cab. With the door open even that amount of time the aroma would have gone.'
`I'm convinced. Thank you, Marc. In due course you will undoubtedly be promoted. You use your eyes as well as your nose.' He turned to Benoit. 'I think that is all. Except for that matter about the priority for Dr Leclerc.'
`Which I will tell him as soon as I have seen you off the premises. You would like an unmarked police car to take you to the Hilton?'
`I can drive them there,' Newman said.
Tweed shook hands with Benoit. It was the custom in Belgium: when you met, when you departed, and on any other occasion when the opportunity presented itself.
`Now all we need,' Newman said when the bags had been transferred to his boot, 'is a woman who uses Guerlain Samsara.'
The first people Tweed noticed on entering the Hilton were Burgoyne, Lee Holmes, Fanshawe, and Helen Claybourne playing a game of cards. He wondered how Lee had travelled to Brussels.
`We want three executive rooms for two days,' he told the girl receptionist behind the counter. 'I believe there is a special reservation room for those on the twentieth floor.'
`No longer, sir. We do have the rooms but you register here. Chief Inspector Benoit phoned us.'
She asked for a credit card but Tweed paid in cash for the three rooms in advance: you can track a man's movements by tracing credit-card transactions, if you know how. Tweed, still clutching the executive case containing Delvaux's new radar system, then asked for a safety-deposit box.
The girl guided him round a corner at the end of the reception counter, pressed a button inside, let him into a glass cubicle. He closed the outer door, she opened the inner door and led him to the deposit room.
`For that case you will need our largest box…'
Attaching the key to his ring, Tweed thanked her, went outside where Paula and Newman were waiting. Paula came close, whispered.
`You've seen who is in the lounge area?'
`Yes. I think we should make their acquaintance later. What about dinner?'
`I'm beyond it. Ham sandwiches and coffee is all I can cope with.'
`Me too,' said Newman.
`Agreed. We're all on the twentieth floor. We'll meet by the lift up there. When, Paula?'
`I'm going to treat myself to a five-minute shower. A bath is too much effort…' They walked inside one of the elevators, the doors closed, the ascent began. 'I will be ready in ten minutes,' Paula decided. 'Time me…'
Tweed found he had Room 2009, a spacious room the size of a suite. After a swift wash and change of
