staring at the three of them without pleasure.
'Bit late on the case, aren't you? Place has been given a real search. Nothing.'
'I'm getting a sense of what the atmosphere was like when it happened. Not exactly bustling with people. And, in case it has slipped your memory, I am the chief investigator.'
'What's the girl messing about at?' Hammer asked rudely.
'The girl is a woman. She appears to be checking the street in case something was dropped by the murderer. Did you people do that?'
'Waste of time. Front door was closed when we arrived. Which suggests she knew the killer. Doesn't it?'
'Possibly. On the other hand if she was expecting him -or her – she could have come down to let him in. You hadn't thought of that – or had you?'
Hammer grunted. He was ignoring Tweed, watching Paula as she searched the cobbled street with her torch. She bent down as her beam reflected off something. A diamond ring was slotted inside a crack in the cobbles. She put on latex gloves, picked it up.
'Nothing that matters, I'm sure,' Hammer said aggressively.
Paula walked back to Tweed, showed him the ring by the light of her torch. Tweed recognized it. Viola had worn the ring on the third finger of her right hand when they'd dined together at Mungano's. During their visit to Saafeld at his mortuary he had noticed a mark on the finger where she had worn the ring. The killer must have wrenched it off the severed hand. He must have dropped it when leaving the building.
Hammer grunted again, stalked off towards his car parked in the shadows. Tweed took out a transparent evidence envelope, dropped the ring inside and placed it inside his pocket.
'Could that be important?' Paula asked. 'So much for the chief inspector's careful search. It's eerie round here,' she added. 'It rather frightens me.'
'Then I suggest we go inside this house of horror. I've got the front-door key from Hammer. A plodder, not the most distinguished chief inspector I've known…'
They entered. Paula noticed the lock was a Banham. Not easy for anyone to pick. Tweed felt around, switched on the light as Marler closed the door. They were in a long wide hall with tasteful paper on the wall. Ahead of them a staircase rose, built of mahogany with matching banisters. On the first-floor landing Tweed, latex gloves on his hands, opened a door to his right.
'The bedroom,' Marler said. 'Where it happened,' he added quietly. He found a switch and lights came on all over a spacious tastefully furnished room.
Paula's eyes instinctively went to the tall frosted-glass window overlooking the street. There were few signs of blood and she guessed one of Saafeld's technicians had scraped it for DNA samples. A waste of time. Commander Buchanan had told Saafeld the blood was all Viola's.
A double bed stood in the centre of the room. A white sheet covered the entire bed. Paula lifted a corner. Underneath was only the mattress. The sheets and blankets had been taken away for examination. No sign of blood on the mattress, but that wasn't surprising. On the floor on the far side of the bed a chalk mark outlined where Viola's body had been killed and cut up. Faint brown stains where the residue of her blood seeped into the wooden floor. Paula continued moving slowly round the room.
'This is probably useless,' Tweed remarked. 'It will have been searched by experts.'
'I never trusted experts,' Marler said, standing by the closed door.
Tweed was opening drawers, closing them. Paula stood still, clasping her own latex-gloved hands. Where would a woman hide something? She lifted up the lid of a musical box. It began to play a romantic tune, which disturbed her. How many times had Viola sat listening to its melody? She found it very sad.
Inside the box was a selection of expensive jewellery. She emptied it out into one hand, placed it on top of the dressing table where the box had rested. Tweed looked at it as she made her comment.
'Well, the motive certainly wasn't robbery. Not that we ever thought it was. This is very expensive jewellery.'
'Shouldn't have been left here,' he said, and turned away to continue his search.
The base the jewels had rested on was a thick blue cushion. Paula extracted a nail file from her shoulder bag. She pressed the tip gently down the side of the cushion, eased it up. Underneath was a folded sheet of paper. She opened it, read the wording inside.
Marina. Call her and try and make it up. There followed the address and phone numbers Coral Flenton had provided. She showed it to Tweed. He pressed his lips together as he studied it.
'We've found something the police missed,' he told Marler.
'I told you I mistrusted so-called experts.'
Tweed showed him the note in neat handwriting. Marler raised an eyebrow.
'It's a fresh lead.' said Tweed. 'I'm going over to see her when we leave here.'
'At this hour?' said Marler.
'I think, like Viola, Marina is a night bird. Surprise can throw people.'
'Then we're coming with you,' Marler told him. 'Not going to have you wandering round on your own at this hour.'
'All right. But you must both keep out of sight. She won't say a word if she's overwhelmed with three people. Let's get moving.'
26
Paula found it eerie being driven through Mayfair at this hour: not a soul about. There was an unsettling silence when Tweed turned down a cul-de-sac. He parked by the kerb and they got out together. The heavy silence seemed to press down on them.
Marina's flat was situated in one of the old terraced houses lining both sides of the street. The atmosphere reminded Paula of a stage setting for a menacing play. Tweed had gone up the steps, was about to press the button which had a card alongside inscribed Marina Vander-Browne, when Marler tugged his sleeve.
'Front door is open,' he whispered. It was the sort of street where you automatically whispered.
Beyond the heavy front door was a narrow hall, an equally narrow staircase leading upwards.
Tweed whispered: 'Follow me. According to the card she's on the third floor.'
They began to climb up three staircases covered with a red carpet. When they reached the third floor Tweed looked up. Above them was another floor. Marler gave Tweed a strange-looking whistle, inserted an earplug with a wire disappearing inside his coat.
'Paula and I will wait here, out of sight. Any trouble, you blow it. She won't hear it but I will.'
Tweed moved close to the speakphone outside a heavy door. He pressed the bell. Waited. Nothing. He pressed it again. At head height the door had a closed flap over a Judas window. It opened suddenly. A woman's face was staring at him as he held up his folder.
'Investigating the murder of Viola,' he said tersely. 'Could I come in and have a word with you?'
'At this hour?' Through the bars over the opening he could see she was fully dressed. Smoke was drifting up from a cigarette. 'Who are you, anyway?'
The voice was cut-glass. She repeated her question, this time less politely.
'It says who I am on the folder you can see. SIS. I am Tweed.'
'Oh, him. Bloody good job I stay up late. Don't get up very early in the morning. Can't burn the candle at both ends.'
As she was talking he heard keys turning in three locks, then the clanging removal of four chains. The place was a fortress. Eventually she opened the door and he slipped inside. He was relieved when she turned only one key, leaving it in the lock.
'Better come in and join me with a drink,' she suggested as she stared him up and down. 'And you may smoke.'
Tweed was intrigued to see how much like Viola Marina looked. The resemblance was striking – she too had thick blonde hair, though hers was trimmed shorter – but there was a hardness Viola had lacked.
She wore a short white dress which hugged her excellent figure. The eyes were again blue but hers were
