Rhinoceros

'Have you forgotten my earlier warning? On this trip we trust no one, absolutely no one.'

Paula let it go for the moment. Back in the suite Tweed had said 'Damnit' twice. He was a man who rarely swore, even mildly. She suspected Lisa had rattled him, something very few people could do. They crossed the bridge over the canal which led from the Binnenalster and eventually reached the Elbe. Then across an eerily deserted square alongside the great Rathaus, its highly decorated towers rising up towards the moon. She was thankful for the moonlight. They walked round the far side of the building.

'What do we tell Otto?' Paula asked.

'The truth, but only as much as we have to. Not one single word about Rhinoceros…'

Kuhlmann was right – it was easy to walk past the entrance but Tweed spotted it. An arched opening wide enough for one car to pass through and, beyond, the large interior square hemmed in by the inner walls of the Rathaus. The large white star and the wording were on the left-hand wall and as they entered the opening Kuhlmann appeared, as usual wearing a civilian suit.

Once again the police chief, short, wide-shouldered, heavily built and with a large head and a wide mouth, reminded her of Edward G. Robinson, seen in repeats of old films. He threw his arms round Paula, hugged her, stared at Tweed.

'This time you could be in big trouble,' he rasped.

'I like you too,' Tweed replied.

'Come in. Bob, you look younger,' he said to Newman.

'Softening me up from the very start.' He waved a hand. 'I think that remark should have been intended for Paula.'

'But she always looks younger…'

He escorted them into a bleak room with a metal table in the middle. Four tall upholstered chairs were placed on different sides of the table. Tweed suspected this was the interrogation room – except for the chairs. During normal interrogations the suspect would be seated in an uncomfortable metal chair. A policewoman in uniform brought in a tray with a coffee pot, a jug of cream and cups and saucers. She offered to serve, but Kuhlmann waved her away. He poured coffee as his guests sat down, let them add their own cream, sat down himself.

'I've seen Dr Kefler,' he began, 'laid out on his back with a bullet – explosive – in his head. What's left of it. I knew him, liked him. Now the stage is yours, Tweed,' he concluded, folding his arms.

Tweed started with Keith Kent in London – without naming him – and then explained what had happened inside the house. How they had then returned to the Four Seasons so he could phone the police.

'What about the second body?' Kuhlmann asked, gazing at the ceiling.

'Which second body?'

If he possibly could, Tweed was determined to keep Butler out of it. Otherwise Harry could be kept in Hamburg for weeks – interrogated and Lord knew what else.

'You're saying you didn't see it?' the German asked, now looking straight at Tweed.

'Where was it?'

'Inside the enclosed docks area. At the foot of a large crane. Shot once. That was enough. I suspect he was the man who murdered Kefler. Ballistics will confirm that – we have his rifle. My reconstruction is that the killer – from the Balkans, I'd say – fired from the control cabin. We found imprints of his boots inside that cabin. Perfect view of No. 23. Where was Kefler when he was killed?'

'Standing in front of a window behind net curtains -with the light on behind him.'

'Then I'm right. The Balkan thug, I'm sure, had left his cabin, was climbing down the ladder, when he noticed someone below. He was still gripping an automatic when he was shot. Since the back of his skull was smashed in he must still have been pretty high up. Marksman's work. Is Marler with you?' he asked casually.

Paula had already realized that Kuhlmann was still the experienced, shrewd policeman, the way he had worked out the sequence of events. His question worried her.

'Oh, yes,' Tweed said agreeably, 'Marler is with us – but he wasn't when we went to see Dr Kefler. He'd had a hard day and we left him fast asleep in his room at the hotel.'

'Tweed, why did you go to see Kefler? I know you have told me but I think there's something else.'

'He gave me some papers.'

'Can I see them?'

'No.'

Kuhlmann drank more coffee. Then he folded his hands behind his neck.

'I could get a warrant for them, you know.'

'Yes, I do know. But if you took them from me you might well hinder my investigation – which could affect your investigation.'

'Which investigation?'

'The other matter you referred to on the phone – the one that brought you to Hamburg.'

'Oh, that one.'

'Yes,' said Tweed firmly. 'And I doubt that you're going to tell me what that investigation is about.'

The German grinned, broke out into peals of laughter. Then he looked at Paula.

'You know something, Paula? Talking to your chief is like getting lost in Hampton Court maze. Or playing verbal chess. Why do I always lose?'

'Well, are you going to tell him about the other matter?' she asked with a smile.

Kuhlmann pushed his chair back. He then paced slowly round the table. He looked at none of his guests and his large hands were clasped behind his back. Returning to his chair he drank more coffee, refilled his cup, looked round but they all shook their heads.

'Something very strange is happening is Germany,' he began in a quiet voice. 'A team of our special forces – like your SAS, if you like – is being assembled secretly in certain suburbs of this city.'

'More riots?' suggested Paula.

'No. I hear rumours from influential contacts…' He paused. 'This is strictly between ourselves. For no other ears. Rumours of a coming highly secret meeting between certain top international figures to be held soon and never announced afterwards.'

'London, Washington and Paris,' Tweed said, as though talking to himself.

'And one other capital in a certain country, an important country.'

'A meeting on a remote island in the Bahamas.'

Paula was startled. She was careful to remain expressionless. Tweed was really going overboard in a big way. She was careful not to look at Newman, remembering he had suggested the Bahamas when they were back in London.

'I've heard that rumour,' Kuhlmann said slowly. 'Systematically spread among key members of the press and security organs. A very clever smokescreen – to conceal the real meeting place. Someone is acting as liaison between the men who will attend that meeting. Someone I can't identify. Of course there had to be liaison lower down to start with. A risky role, that one.'

'Jason Schulz, Jeremy Mordaunt, Louis Lospin,' said Tweed.

'I did say risky,' Kuhlmann ruminated, studying the ceiling again. 'And now they're dead. They knew too much.'

'But how could this link up with the riots?' Paula wondered aloud.

'Shrewd lady.' Kuhlmann went silent for a short time. No one interrupted the silence. 'I have a theory. It is nothing more. Supposing there was a second wave of riots – far more frightening and widespread than the earlier ones. What would the public reaction be in the West?'

'Well…' Paula wondered whether she was talking too much. Oh, hell – in for a penny, in for a pound. 'The public in all the countries suffering them would want a fierce clampdown. A drastic resurgence of law and order.'

'Shrewd lady,' the German repeated. 'I mustn't keep you up all night.' He paused, stared at Tweed. 'Have you heard of the island of Sylt – in the far north of Schleswig Holstein, well north of Hamburg?'

'Yes,' Tweed replied. 'You can only reach it by rail across a large dyke. Cars can also go there – aboard the special wagons.'

'So why, I ask myself,' Kuhlmann said dreamily, 'are some of the inhabitants of large houses on Sylt being asked to leave their houses for a month. Which they are doing – due to the huge sums in compensation they have