three was fed to me almost at once. After the autopsy. Again the victim was a wealthy woman driving home in the dark by herself in an expensive car across a lonely area. After viewing the corpse – like the others, she had been physically attractive – I began to think, to ask questions of myself.'
'What sort of person would these women stop for in the middle of nowhere in the dark?' Tweed suggested quietly.
'Yes.' Ives sounded surprised. 'That was my main question. I saw you once at a security conference in Washington and friends who knew you said you were good. Very good…'
Tweed said nothing. He noticed that Paula was gazing into the night and he looked in the same direction. In the moonlight the snowbound summits and saddlebacks of the Vosges showed up clearly. There were pinpoints of light in remote villages. From her expression he guessed that Paula was contrasting the beauty of the scene with the terror they had experienced among the spiralling roads, the Siberian cold and icy ravines. Ives was talking again as the express began to lose speed.
'Then there were three more similar cases – so similar it was uncanny. In three more different Southern states. He never struck in Tennessee again. Always a wealthy woman by herself and driving across a lonely area in the dark. And he used the same hideous technique in every case. He was a serial killer – six cases.'
'And never a clue?' Tweed probed. 'Remarkable. They usually slip up once.'
'He did. In the last case. He left a clear thumbprint under the handle of the car which stopped, a Lincoln Continental. I'd heard rumours that Humphries, my old chief was going to be recalled, replaced by someone new from Washington. Some sixth sense made me hide the Lincoln Continental in an old barn in the wilderness. It's still there, I'm sure. And I've got a replica of that thumbprint…'
Newman had stood up, was leaning against the end of his seat, his windcheater unzipped so he could swiftly grab hold of his Smith amp; Wesson. The express was approaching Basle Bahnhof. If anyone was going to make an attempt on Tweed it would be soon – as soon as they could jump out of the train at the station after they'd pulled the trigger. Tweed knew exactly what he was doing. He stood up to put on his coat as he spoke to Ives.
'Have to continue this conversation a little later,' he suggested. 'Cardon is strolling towards us. He'll be guarding you. And maybe you'd watch over Amberg.'
'We should be OK now we've returned to Switzerland.'
'Just how OK were you when you were dodging from one hotel to another in Zurich?' Tweed reminded him.
Tweed and Newman left the express together, walking side by side. Close behind them Paula followed with Eve Amberg. Cardon brought up the rear, a step behind Barton Ives, who escorted the Swiss banker.
French Customs and Passport Control were deserted. As they passed through the Swiss checkpoints Tweed's fears were doubly confirmed. Standing in civilian clothes behind uniformed Passport officers he saw Arthur Beck. The Swiss police chief took no notice of him. As they walked on, heading for the first-class restaurant, Harry Butler appeared. He fell into step on the other side of Tweed.
'I'm amazed you made it here so quickly,' Tweed commented. 'Mind you, the express did stop a while for no reason soon after we left Colmar.'
'We put our feet down,' Butler said tersely. 'Auto-routes help. Do you really want to go into the first-class dining-room? Pete Nield is waiting there – he's watching a member of the opposition who followed us. Head like a skull. Saw him giving orders back at the Bristol…'
49
Leaving Colmar on his way to Basle in the Renault, Marvin Mencken had been lucky. Butler and Nield, however, had been unlucky.
After killing his subordinate – who had failed in his mission to liquidate Tweed – Mencken had headed for the autoroute. He had only moved a short distance from the Bristol when he saw a gas station. At that same moment his engine coughed and spluttered.
Pulling into the petrol station, Mencken asked a mechanic to check his ignition when his tank was refilled. He was about to drive on when he saw two familiar vehicles pass – a grey Espace and a station wagon. Mencken grinned, followed them.
'You know we have a tail,' Nield warned Butler over his walkie-talkie as they proceeded along the autoroute.
'The Renault,' Butler replied. 'Can't do a damn thing about it. We've been told to get into Switzerland at the earliest possible moment. Just keep driving. Leave the problem until later…'
Reaching Basle Bahnhof, they parked their cars, walked into the first-class restaurant as two separate individuals, sat at different tables, ordered coffee. A skeletal-faced character in a trench coat walked in after them, chose a table by the wall some distance away, ordered a drink.
'I could score one off Norton,' Mencken said to himself. 'They could be waiting for the rest of their gang…'
He wasn't in the least worried that he was delaying his arrival in Ouchy. Plenty of his men were on their way to the Swiss resort. Mencken had, with his usual efficiency, arranged for Louis Sheen, the courier with the suitcase containing a huge fortune, to be driven under guard to Ouchy. That, apparently, was where the vital exchange would take place. He frowned when, some time later, Butler stood up and wandered out of the place.
Pete Nield had remained sitting at his own table. Mencken glanced at the slim man with the trim moustache who was, apparently, watching a blonde girl at a distant table.
Mencken decided his opponents had made a mistake. He'd wait until he could get Moustache on his own in a less public place. Mencken had no doubt he could make Moustache spill his guts.
'When you saw this American giving orders,' Tweed said to Butler as he continued walking slowly towards the restaurant, 'did you get the impression he carried a lot of authority?'
'One of Norton's top brass, would be my guess. I saw where he's parked his Renault just outside,' Butler added.
'First, point him out to me from the entrance. Second, you then take Ives, Paula, Eve, Amberg and Cardon to the Espace. Third, you fix our American friend's Renault.'
'What are you going to do?' asked Butler, alarmed.
'It's time Bob and I had a word with the opposition face to face. ..'
Tweed had decided it was time to stop running. He'd said in Colmar they were going on to the offensive. This seemed like a good moment to start. Butler indicated Mencken to Tweed from the door, although Tweed now recognized him instantly – the same man had walked into the bar at the Baur-en-Ville in Zurich, had stared up at Paula and himself before retreating back into the hotel. At that moment the American was watching Nield,
Hands deep inside his trench coat pockets, Tweed headed straight for Mencken's table with Newman beside him. He took out one hand, pulled back a chair at the table for four, sat facing the skeletal-faced man, who stiffened. Newman sat alongside Mencken, used his left hand to stop the American pushing his chair back from the table. His right hand was slipped inside his windcheater, gripping his Smith amp; Wesson.
'Relax,' Newman advised him. 'Take it easy, as you never stop saying in New York.'
'What's New York got to do with anything?' Mencken sneered.
He reached inside his own trench coat. Newman's right hand closed over his wrist.
'Be careful what you take out,' he advised again.
'Your nerves all shot to hell?' Mencken sneered again.
He withdrew his hand slowly. It was holding a pack of Marlboro and a lighter. Lighting a cigarette, he blew the smoke in Tweed's direction. Tweed waved it away before he spoke.
'Maybe my friend should have said Washington,' he remarked.
'Don't give me no smoke,' Mencken snapped, his manner nervy at the reference to Washington.
'I hope you don't mind our joining you,' Tweed went on, 'but you've been keeping us company for a long time. Maybe you would tell me why?'
'What the shit does that mean?'
'Manners,' Newman interjected. 'You ought to wash out your mouth more often. It means you've been
