She grabbed for her Browning as Newman, Smith amp; Wesson in his hand, used his other hand to hold Tweed back. Paula caught up with them.
'Strebel is so careful about security,' she whispered.
'Exactly,' Tweed responded in a grim tone.
'You're not armed,' Newman reminded Tweed. 'We'll go ahead, check the lie of the land.'
Paula had slipped off her gloves, held the Browning in both hands as she followed Newman into the ante- room. It had the same long-uninhabited feel she had sensed last time. But there was one difference. The heavy oak door to Strebel's office was open several inches.
Tweed had followed closely on their heels. He stood for a moment, fists clenched out of sight in his trench coat pockets. Newman, on the hinge side of the door, reached out his left hand, pushed it hard. It swung open slowly, noiselessly on its well-oiled hinges. There was a terrible silence pervading the atmosphere, a lack of life. Paula, awaiting a signal from Newman, was pressed against the wall on the other side of the door.
Tweed, standing very still, watched the door expose more and more of the room beyond. There was something theatrical about its movement. Then he had a clear view of the interior of the room.
Without hesitation, Tweed marched straight inside. Newman, inwardly cursing what he regarded as fool- hardiness, jumped in after him, stopped. Paula, Browning aimed for instant firing, stood in the open doorway, slowly lowered the angle of her gun until the muzzle pointed at the floor.
'Dear God, no!' she exclaimed in anguish. 'Not again.'
'Yes, again,' Tweed said in a voice which held no emotion. 'Exactly what I expected. Except for the method of execution…'
Theo Strebel lay back in his chair behind the large desk. His jacket was open, revealing his white shirt front. A large red rose shape decorated the white shirt to the right. Over the heart. A red rose which blossomed and spread slowly as Paula watched, almost hypnotized.
Tweed walked swiftly round the desk. He felt the carotid artery, shook his head.
'He's dead,' he said simply. 'Shot through the heart. One bullet, I suspect. And I blame myself. I was so looking forward to having that drink with him. Some people – a rare few – make an instant impact on you – he was one of that rare breed. Such a bloody waste.'
Paula had seldom heard Tweed swear. And he had spoken with a ferocity that startled her.
'Where's the flaming phone?' Tweed demanded.
'Why, for Heaven's sake, blame yourself?' she enquired.
'Because the murderer arrived while we were talking to Theo Strebel.' He looked at Newman. 'You gave me the hint and a faint alarm bell rang. I was fool enough to ignore it.'
'What hint?' Newman, puzzled, asked.
'When we were leaving here before you said someone started to come in through the front door. You thought they'd seen you and changed their minds. That was the murderer. He'd just committed one and was on his way here to kill Strebel.'
'Committed one?' queried Paula.
'Yes. The garrotting of Klara. I only realized Strebel was probably in great danger when I said aloud that the murderer was exterminating everyone who might provide information. I shouldn't have delayed our departure by questioning that awful woman. But on the other hand she did say something very significant, and Strebel was by then probably already dead.'
'What was very significant?' Paula asked.
'So where is the phone? I must call Beck…'
It was Paula who found out where Strebel hid his phone. Wearing her surgical gloves, she began opening drawers in his desk. Hauling open a deep drawer at the bottom, she lifted out a telephone. She dialled police headquarters, then handed the instrument to Tweed who was wearing gloves. He asked for the Swiss police chief, giving his name.
'Tweed here, Arthur…'
'I have news for you,' the familiar voice broke in. 'I have at long last received the expert's report on that cigar ash specimen you gave me. Whoever smoked the cigar has expensive tastes. It is a Havana.'
'Thank you, I have another specimen for you to check – but that can wait. There have been two more murders
Two more?' Beck's tone was ironical. 'You know then about the killing of a certain Helen Frey?'
'Yes, we can talk about that when we meet. One victim is
Klara, the girl who had the apartment opposite Helen Prey's. The other is a private detective. I'm speaking from his office now. A Theo Strebel…'
'Strebel! Oh, no, not Theo. He worked in the police force just before I got the top job. I wouldn't have thought anyone could have murdered Theo. You said you were at his office?'
'Yes. The address is-'
'I know it. I'm on my way there now…'
25
Paula sat in the front passenger seat next to Butler as he drove them up the steep hill to Eve Amberg's villa. Nield was in the back. The two men had discreetly followed Tweed to the Altstadt address when he had first visited Theo Strebel.
Before Beck arrived at Strebel's office, Tweed had given Paula careful instructions as to the information he wanted her to obtain from Eve Amberg. He had warned her not to mention the murders of Klara and Strebel, had then taken her down into the street to find a taxi. Relieved to see Butler and Nield, he had left her in their safe hands while he waited with Newman for Beck.
'Shouldn't you have phoned her first to make sure she is in?' Butler suggested as he pulled up in front of the wrought-iron gates.
'I did think of that but Tweed was anxious for me to get clear before Beck arrived.'
'Makes sense – under the circumstances,' Nield remarked.
On the way Paula had told them about the two murders. They had listened in silence as she put them concisely in the picture.
'A pretty grisly experience,' Butler had commented when she had finished. 'The murder count is climbing. Tweed could be next if he's not careful.'
'Bob stayed with him. Tweed will be all right. Now, if you don't mind, I'll go in by myself. I shouldn't be long
Tweed had made that point – that she should talk to Eve on her own.
'She may tell you more on a woman-to-woman basis…'
Pushing open one gate, Paula walked past an Audi parked in the drive, bonnet pointed towards the garage, caught a whiff of petrol in the fresh clear morning air. She hauled on the ancient chain bell-pull and the door was opened almost at once by Eve Amberg.
The Englishwoman wore denims, a padded windcheater and a knitted blue woollen cap. Her titian hair cascaded down her back. She gave Paula a warm smile, invited her inside, took her into the living room.
'I was just going shopping. Hateful task but it has to be done. Just before I left a Swiss woman friend called on the phone. She's nice but once she gets talking her mouth is glued to the phone. Goes on and on. Would you like some coffee? It's bitterly cold out there.'
'No, thank you just the same. Am I throwing your whole schedule out of gear? I tried to phone but the line was engaged,' she lied to cover up what might appear to be lack of manners.
'Not at all.' Eve pulled off her woollen cap, took her guest's coat, laid it neatly over a chair and sat down facing Paula. 'It's a relief for me to talk to someone English. The shopping can damn well wait.'
Tweed is still trying to find out who committed those terrible murders – the ones at Tresillian Manor and now Helen Frey. We went to see her yesterday.'
'What happened to her was horrific. I read about it in the paper. What was she like? I am still wondering
