At the Schweizerhof, after talking to Paula, Tweed was in a rush to keep his appointment with Jennie Blade. He asked Newman to phone the Zurcher Kredit to make sure Walter Amberg was still in Basle.
Newman recognized the voice of the girl who answered the phone. She was the attractive personal assistant who had shown them into the banker's office.
'Bob Newman here. I was with Mr Tweed when he called on your boss
…'
'I remember you well, Mr Newman. How are you? How can I help?' she enquired.
'Well, I just wanted to check that Mr Amberg is still at the Basle branch, that he will be there tomorrow.'
'Oh, he will be. He'll be in Basle for several days. You can count on it. And you are the second person within the hour who has asked that question.'
'Who else did? Or shouldn't I ask?'
'Oh, that's all right, Mr Newman. He didn't leave a name. I'm new here, don't yet know all the clients. The man who called had a husky growly voice. Not very polite.'
'A lot of people aren't. I really am very much obliged to you. Thanks a lot.'
Newman wondered who 'growly voice' could be, made a mental note to tell Tweed.
Newman sat in the dimly lit bar leading off the lobby, drinking a glass of white wine. He was recalling the tough interview with Beck after the Swiss police chief had arrived at Theo Strebel's office.
'I'm not easily shocked, as you know,' he told Tweed as he viewed Strebel's corpse. 'But before he left us to set up a private investigator business – you can make more money that way – he solved a baffling murder case I couldn't crack. He was a great detective and it's a great loss.'
Beck kept his voice down. The office was swarming with the forensic and fingerprint teams. The police doctor had just left after officially pronouncing Strebel dead.
They had then hurried over to Klara's apartment. Newman had come with them and was not disappointed when Old Nosy poked her vulture-like nose out of the door.
'Is there some trouble upstairs?' she asked.
'Stay in your apartment,' Beck ordered. 'I'll want to talk to you later.'
'And who do you think you are?'
'Police.' Beck flashed his folder under the nose. 'I said stay until I get round to you…
'Local Eye-at-the-Keyhole,' he remarked as he strode up the stairs. 'There's one in every district…'
The doctor had visited Klara's apartment first and by the closed door to the ante-room stood a uniformed policeman. He saluted Beck, opened the door and they went inside.
Beck stared at the garrotted woman. He pursed his lips, turned to Tweed.
'I see now why the doctor said it was a bit nasty here. Never known him make a comment like that before and he's seen everything.'
Beck leaned against a wall. He folded his arms as he stared first at Tweed, then at Newman.
'Yesterday there was a small blood bath in Bahnhofstrasse. Have you seen the papers? No? Well they report a cripple in one of those battery-operated wheelchairs blew himself to pieces with a grenade. At about the same moment an American was shot dead – holding a machine-pistol. Now would you by chance know anything about these events?'
Tweed explained exactly what had happened – that he'd been up to his neck in trying to track down who was behind the murders. Beck nodded without comment as Tweed continued, then concluded: 'I'm sorry I didn't contact you earlier.'
'And I'm damned sorry too you didn't. I do like to know what is happening on my patch, as I think they say in Britain. And my patch is the whole of Switzerland – which includes Zurich.'
'I have apologized,' Tweed said quietly. 'How close are you to discovering what is happening, to solving the murders of this poor woman, Klara, and Theo Strebel?'
'I've only just arrived,' Beck pointed out. 'You mean you have some idea of who the murderer is?'
'The pieces of a huge international jigsaw – stretching all the way from Washington via Cornwall to here – are beginning to fall into place. I'm a long way from seeing the whole picture, but I'm getting there. Your further cooperation would be much appreciated.'
'Oh, you have that. Unreservedly. You're continuing your investigation in Zurich?'
'Not for much longer. Tomorrow we leave for Basle.'
'May I ask why?'
'You just did,' Tweed told him tersely. 'Walter Amberg is reported to have gone to Basle. I need to talk to him again.'
'Thank you. I think I can hear the technical teams arriving. Let's get out of here. If you could come to police headquarters I can take statements from both of you. It will take time, I fear. Oh, while we are still alone, I have had installed at Customs at Zurich, Geneva and Basle airports a special new machine. It checks the contents of cases without the arrivals knowing. A Swiss invention.'
'You mean an X-ray machine?' Newman asked.
'Much better than that. It photographs all the contents of a closed case. I want to see what any new American arrivals are bringing in to this country…'
Louis Sheen, from Washington, arrived at Kloten Airport. He waved his diplomatic passport and prepared to walk past Customs.
'Excuse me, sir,' the Customs officer behind the counter said. 'Please place your case on the counter.'
Sheen was tall and slim, his face long and pale, and he wore rimless glasses. He put down the case, waved the passport again, spoke in a nasal drawl.
'This is a diplomatic passport. Something wrong with your friggin' eyesight? You can't examine my bag.'
The Customs officer nodded to one of his subordinates who stood on the same side of the counter as the American. The Swiss picked up the case, placed it in a certain position on the counter, which was etched with a curious mosaic design.
'Goddamnit! You can't open that case,' Sheen shouted. 'It would be a breach of diplomatic etiquette.'
'Who said anything about opening the case, sir?' asked the Customs officer. 'Could I have a closer look at that passport?'
'Your friggin' Passport guys saw it.'
'And now I would like to see it. This will only take a moment.' The officer opened the passport, walked a few steps along the counter, flipped open the pages. He handed it back, put his hand on the case as Sheen reached for it.
'Just leave it there for a moment longer. I have to check this passport number. It will only take a moment.'
'Friggin' Swiss bureaucracy,' Sheen stormed.
'It takes up a lot of our time too.'
The officer smiled, disappeared through a doorway behind him. The technician who had photographed the case through a hole in the patterned wall showed the officer the photo which was already developed. After one glance, the officer nodded to a plain-clothes policeman standing in the small room. The policeman nodded back.
When Sheen, fuming, was ushered on his way – fuming because he'd had to hold his left hand with the handcuff chain on top of the case – he was followed. Sheen was sweating as he sank into a cab.
It will take time, I fear. Beck had proved to be right. He'd had an excellent lunch brought in for Newman and Tweed at police headquarters. Each dictated a statement of considerable length and then both statements had to be typed out. By the time they had signed them the lunch had arrived. It was early afternoon. Tweed decided they might as well eat it and Beck joined them, chatting about past experiences.
It was late afternoon when a tired Tweed reached the Schweizerhof and listened in her room to Paula's account of her visit to Eve Amberg.
When she had finished, he thanked her and left for the Hummer Bar. It was dark as he walked down the side street to the direct entrance to the bar. Behind him on either side of the street Butler and Nield strolled along as though taking the night air.
Tweed pressed the bell which opened the door. He took a deep breath before walking inside to meet Jennie
