'He probably arrived downstairs,' Tweed suggested, 'then called up to each victim, 'Be up to see you in a minute.' Then he'd change into his killing gear downstairs before he came up.'
'That's how I see it,' Saafeld agreed.
'And again no sign of forced entry?' Tweed enquired.
'None at all. Which means the victim knew her murderer
– was expecting him,' Saafeld emphasized.
'So he'd used the speakphone to gain entry,' Paula remarked. 'Then he probably changed into his killing gear
– to borrow your phrase, Professor – in the alcove just inside the front door. We ought to search that thoroughly.'
'It's been done,' Saafeld told her. 'I sent Hammer down with a policeman he called an expert searcher. Firkins, I think was his name. They found nothing.'
'Hammer might miss something,' Tweed observed. 'Firkins wouldn't. I know him and he's very good.'
'They must have been related,' Saafeld speculated. 'The same name, and oddly enough very similar in appearance.'
'They were twin sisters,' Paula informed him. 'We only learned that recently.' She made herself stare at the head again. Almost a replica of Viola but even in death the face was harder.
'Roughly what time did this happen?' Tweed asked.
'Rigor mortis hasn't set in yet. Just an educated guess but somewhere between midnight and 2 a.m. Subject to more accuracy after my post-mortem. This really worries me,' Saafeld said, turning to Tweed, who had never heard him say anything like this before.
'Why?'
'I told you about blood storm. The creature committing these crimes is likely to get the urge to strike again soon now. You see, Viola was murdered about ten days ago. The intervals between his overwhelming desire to kill again will lessen considerably. His next urge to kill and mutilate could be as little as three or four days from now. It's an accelerating process.'
'Who found her?' Tweed wondered.
'A Mrs Gaskin, a real nosey-parker who came in late, lives on the fourth floor. The TV was on full blast.'
'Which would drown Marina's screams as he applied the gag. He probably turned the volume up.'
'Exactly.' Saafeld turned to Tweed. 'Paula catches on very quickly. Well, this woman heard the TV going full blast when she reached the third floor. The door to Marina's flat was open, so she came in to protest that she couldn't sleep. Walked straight in here. She gabbles. Her son is a clerk at Scotland Yard, so she called in, spoke by chance to Chief Inspector Hammer. He had the sense to call me before he rushed over.'
'What happened to this woman?' Paula asked.
'She was still here when I arrived. In the living room. She was having an attack of hysteria, gabbling nonstop. I phoned a private hospital, told them to put her in a private room with a tough nurse. Ambulance arrived quickly, took her away. I thought you'd want to decide the timing when the news is released. This card gives you the hospital's address.'
'Thank you. And now I think we'd better go.'
'I agree. All the police technicians have been and gone. I'm waiting for an ambulance with a special stretcher. I do need this poor woman to be taken to my place with exactly the same arrangement she is in now.'
'Arrangement,' Paula repeated on their way down the three flights. 'Horrible word.'
They reached the ground floor and Paula asked Tweed to wait a moment. Using latex gloves and a powerful torch she went inside the alcove. Tweed stood waiting, hoping she'd hurry up. It was a waste of time.
When Paula emerged after only minutes she was holding something in her gloved hand. She showed it to Tweed. It was a locket. She shone her torch on it as she opened it. On each side was a miniature photo of a woman. Viola on the left, Marina on the right.
'I found it at the entrance to a mousehole, half inside. The murderer must have dropped it when he was changing his gear back to what he was wearing underneath.'
'I wonder how he got hold of that?'
'He stole it. As a trophy. Of his exploits. The bastard.'
They were driving back to Paula's flat in silence. Tweed eventually spoke what was on his mind.
'So, according to Saafeld we may have only three or four days to identify the murderer before another woman is found slaughtered. We'd better get a move on.'
30
They drove back at modest speed to Paula's flat. The streets were silent. A light drizzle had begun to fall. Tweed was tired out, a rare state. Paula lifted a hand to hide a yawn. She too was on her last legs. It had been a long day with the grim climax in Marina's flat.
Driving along the Fulham Road, Tweed turned in to the yard, stopped outside her entrance at the front. He got out to check the inside of her place, left the key in the ignition, something he'd never normally have done. She followed him.
There were no lights in the flat below hers, which was occupied by a woman Paula had assumed had gone abroad. She was usually a night bird with her lights ablaze. She suddenly sensed someone was behind her, caught a faint whiff of chloroform. She sucked in a deep breath, held it. A cloth soaked in the liquid was pressed over her face as another arm wrapped itself round her.
Tweed was aware of nothing. A chloroform cloth was pressed over his face and he took in the full dose, sagging as burly arms caught him. They were dragged round the back, shoved into the rear of a car.
Paula had absorbed a little of the chloroform, enough to put her out of action for a short time. One man leaned in, dragged the hands of Tweed's slumped form, pulled them round his back, clamped on plastic handcuffs.
Paula, now vaguely aware of what was happening, held her hands a few inches apart, in her lap. Plastic handcuffs clamped her wrists together. She was more aware of what was happening now. Two men's voices.
'Get in Tweed's car,' said Radek. 'The friggin' fool has left keys in the ignition. Hide it where ours is parked.'
God! she thought. Fitch and Radek.
'No!' snarled Fitch. 'We leave our own car round the back. It's stolen, so are the plates. It is a Ford – like Tweed's. Take hours for anyone to think it's odd.'
'Why haul the bodies from one car to another? Get behind the wheel, Fitch, and we'll move off now.'
'Guess you could be right. I'll drive. Throw that blanket over 'em. Patrol cars drift round this time of night. Then we head straight for the warehouse…'
At one stage during the drive, which seemed to Paula to go on for ever, they stopped briefly in the East End while Radek dumped both treated cloths in a rubbish bin, then moved on.
At one convenient moment Paula stretched her cuffed hands under the blanket to check Tweed's neck pulse. It was beating regularly. He was just unconscious. Eventually the car stopped, waited while Fitch checked no one was in the area. Returning to the car, he gave the order.
'Padlock undone, doors open. Radek, you take Tweed up over your shoulder, I'll take his bedmate,' he said coarsely.
Paula was thrown over Fitch's shoulder, was carried behind Tweed up wide wooden steps, into a large room. Fitch paused to turn on a wall switch. Dim light flooded every corner of the bare room, emanating from lamps attached to the walls.
'What about the car?' Radek wanted to know.
'Forget it. Everyone round 'ere knows I drive Fords, that I'm always changing them. Position them.'
Fitch dumped Paula's limp form on the floor. She could feel all her senses returning suddenly. Radek dropped Tweed without ceremony on the wooden floor. He stood up, walked over to Paula.
