Rhinoceros

'That Paula is something else again. She paints a perfect picture of a man. So much so, it struck a chord with me. Oskar Vernon. Oskar with a 'k'. Very distinctive appearance. Known to us, as we say.'

'In what way?'

'Bit of a mystery man. Loads of cash, dresses in an outlandish way, but very expensively. Suspected of being the mastermind behind an international money-laundering operation. Also of smuggling refugees in a big way. We have two million Turks in Germany. Two, I wouldn't mind, but two million…'

'Arrest him.'

'No chance. No evidence. Works through a chain of men which runs down a long way from him. Powerful, ruthless, smart.'

'Works on his own?'

'Don't think so, but could be wrong on that. He travels the world, knows a lot of powerful men. Don't ask me for names. Haven't got any. If I had a photo I would be certain this is Oskar Vernon. Spends a lot of time in Britain and in the States.'

'Nationality?'

'Travels on a British passport but I'm damned sure he's not English. Could have come from anywhere.'

'Otto, I might just be able to get you a photo of him.'

'That would decide it. Tweed, if you're up against him be very careful. Several agents who tracked him ended up in hospital.'

'Going back to the Turm. What we saw was a real dogfight. A lot of bodies. Lying on the pavement. Injured, I'd say. I suppose you've got them?' Tweed asked.

'Like hell I have. By the time we arrived there was blood on the pavement – and nothing else. If you're right about Vemon he'd have foreseen that might happen, would have organized transport to move the evidence fast. Very fast.'

'He did.'

'You watch not only your back, but your front and both sides. Don't make one mistake about Oskar. One is all he needs…'

Tweed put the phone down. He relayed everything Kuhlmann had said. Paula looked thoughtful.

'Could he possibly be Rhinoceros?' she suggested.

'Go along and see Newman. Explain the situation. If Oskar is still at the Renaissance Harry might get a photo of him. But he'll need your camera. Then please stay in Newman's room until I call you. I have to interview Lisa,' Tweed said.

'You'd better be careful with her too. She's clever.'

'Maybe too clever by half…'

Tweed checked his watch after Paula had left. Lisa was due in two minutes. Sure enough, she arrived on the dot. Tweed asked her to sit down, offered a glass of champagne.

'Yes, please.' She smiled warmly. 'I won't drink too much. I think there's nothing more disgusting than a woman who is drunk.'

She wore the same clothes but had put her hair up. Round her forehead she wore a green bandanna, had added lipstick and a touch of mascara. Seated in an armchair, she stretched her bare arms along the sides. Newman would have said she looked very sexy. It was water off a duck's back to Tweed, who was in a grim mood. He sat facing her across a small table.

'Lisa, there are some questions I have to ask. About your background. That is, if you want to stay with us.'

'I do…'

'Where were you educated?'

'I won a scholarship to Roedean. I did make friends but I found the atmosphere too rarefied. Then later I won another scholarship, this time to Oxford…'

'Studying?'

'Languages. French and German. I was the odd one out – I didn't mix much. I concentrated on work. Too many of the others fooled around. I got a Double First.'

'Impressive.' Tweed smiled, his manner deliberately becoming more relaxed to gain her confidence. 'When you left Oxford?'

'Became an air hostess, so I could travel. If you obey the rules, keep to your schedule, you see damn-all. I missed several return flights so I could explore places. New York, Singapore, Paris, here – Hamburg. They put up with my missing flights back for a while because I was good at the job. Then they chucked me out. That covered about two years.'

'After that?'

'Went to New York, joined a security agency for a couple of years.'

'Doing what?'

'Tailing businessmen suspected of embezzlement. I learned quite a bit about accountancy to do the job properly – studied in my apartment at night.'

'Did you know Mark Wendover before you met him in London?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'I said, did you know Mark Wendover before you met him at my office in Park Crescent?'

'No.'

Tweed was sure that if she'd been attached to a polygraph – a lie detector – the machine's needle would have jumped. For the first time he felt she had told a lie. Nothing in his expression changed. He went on switching the questions' subject matter.

'What was your father's job?'

'He was in the Intelligence Corps. Shortly after he was transferred to Cyprus he was shot in the back. My mother flew with him on their way home. The plane crashed and my father was killed. My mother survived, later remarried.'

'Must have been a terrible shock for you.'

'Yes.' She paused. 'It was. But by then I was an air hostess, so I was reasonably mature, had been around, had learned to fend off unwanted attentions from men. I carried on with the job for a few months before they threw me out.'

'Where were you born?' Tweed asked quietly.

'Place called Pinner in Middlesex. Lived there for a long time. Until I went to Roedean. Address – Shoals Cottage, Orchard Tree Road.'

Tweed smiled. She had anticipated his next question. He was taking no notes. Writing things down inhibited the subject he was interrogating.

'You got on well with Helga, your late sister?'

'I did not. We fought like cat and dog. Since she was older she thought she could boss me about. To be fair, I think it was simply her temperament. My mother had married a German professor in Freiburg, went to live with him there. Don't know why she did that.'

'So,' Tweed smiled warmly, 'we got through that without a tantrum.'

'I really am sorry about that. I occasionally get worked up. Usually when I'm tense. But not in an emergency.'

'And you can handle a Beretta,' he said casually.

'Well.' She chuckled. 'I don't shoot myself in the foot with it.' She reached for the glass of champagne Tweed had poured for her earlier. 'And I'm familiar with the Walther and the Browning.'

'Wi'ere did you learn all this?'

'By chance. Had a boyfriend who was mad keen. He took me to a shooting club in London, showed me what he could do – which was no more than passable. Gave me a Beretta. I scored six bull's-eyes and three inners. He said it was a fluke. We went back the following day. I scored five bull's-eyes and an inner. He said beginner's luck. So I tried again. Six bull's-eyes. We went back to my flat off Ebury Street, had the emperor of a row, which he started. Couldn't stand a girl beating him at anything. End of friendship. Some men are like that.'

'And now you're working for Rhinoceros?'

She chuckled again, re-crossed her legs, sipped more of her drink.