'I'll check her for weapons. You do Tweed.'
'No mucking about with her,' Fitch warned, walking nearby to Tweed. 'I know you with wimmin, so watch it.'
Paula stayed slumped as Radek began to check her. His hands explored the upper parts of her body first, pressing into her chest, over the rest of her body slowly, enjoying his work. Paula had dressed quickly. The slim leg holster holding her Beretta was, unusually, strapped to the inside of the leg. Eventually he started running his hands slowly down the outside of her legs from thigh to ankle. She spat savagely in his face. He jumped.
'This one's awake,' he called out, then slapped her very hard across the face, so hard her head jerked sideways.
He stood up, spat back at her, so furious that he didn't continue his search any further. Fitch had found Tweed's bolstered Walther under his arm. He threw it across the room. It landed close to the wall.
'You won't ever be needin' that again, mate,' he told him with a grin.
Tweed's eyes were now open, staring up at Fitch who, despite his ruthlessness, didn't like the look.
'That's right,' he sneered. 'Keep the eyes open. So you can watch the picture show.'
Paula, sitting up now, pretending to sway, watched as Radek bent over the four projectors, aimed at different angles. Looked like the sort of thing you might see in a Hollywood studio. Then she saw four screens, one attached to each wall. What the hell was all this?
'You can manage on your own now,' Radek said, making it a statement. 'I am off to find some beer. Not as good as you get in Bratislava, but good enough. OK?'
'Shove off,' Fitch said rudely.
He was bent over a handle in the floor close to Tweed. He lifted a large round wooden lid, shoved it to one side on the floor. Faintly Paula heard the distant sound of rushing water a long way down in the exposed hole. She didn't like the sound of that.
'What the hell do you want that for?' Radek demanded.
'In case one of them isn't driven barmy for good they'll go down the chute. When you knows me better, Radek, you'll knows I thinks of everything. Now switch on the machines, then piss off and drown yourself in beer.'
Paula saw Fitch fix in earplugs. She was more puzzled than ever. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Radek bend over his apparatus.
'You can stay and watch if you want to,' Fitch bawled out.
'Seen them often enough. Get this lot started and I'm off looking for beer.'
He pressed levers on the projectors, adjusted the focus as pictures began to appear on all four screens. Vile pictures, Paula thought. Tweed had managed to sit up on the floor, his handcuffs behind his back, making him a prisoner.
Radek turned to the other machine, pulled a switch halfway down. A terrible ear-splitting screech filled the warehouse. Nerves on edge, Paula stretched her hands as wide as she could inside her lap. The pictures turned her stomach. A cow tethered in a field. A man with a huge axe appeared, raised it, chopped off the cow's head. Blood welled out, the poor creature's legs jumped madly, even though headless. Then it flopped. A fresh picture on another screen. A peasant woman, tied to a block of stone. A short fat man appeared, also carrying a huge axe. He rested it gently on the woman's exposed neck. Her mouth was wide open, presumably screaming. The fat man raised the axe, brought it down with a tremendous swipe, took her head right off the neck. It rolled on the ground. He kicked it towards the screen. It vanished. Paula glanced at all the screens. On each some hideous massacre was taking place. She forced down a feeling of sickness. Three women tied to a huge rock were approached by three men carrying axes. Execution was going to be synchronized.
Paula sucked in her breath as she saw their stomachs were bare. The target for the axes. Fitch walked past her, then bent down to be close to her ear.
'Not loud enough. I'se turning up the sound.'
Still close to her ear he giggled. Giggled again. That was what did it.
He pressed the switch lower and the walls seemed to tremble under the diabolical blast of sound. The assault on her ear drums. He bent down again, giggled in her ear. He walked away from her to sit on the cheap wooden chair he'd sat on near Tweed, his back to her. She turned sideways, forced her right hand down inside her leg despite the pain of the cuffs, grabbed the Beretta out of its holster.
She aimed at Fitch's back. First bullet in his shoulder. Fired again. Second bullet in the centre of the back, close to the spine. Swinging round she emptied her gun at the projector, the sound system. The pictures died. An uncanny silence.
It all happened so quickly. She swung round. Tweed had heaved his whole body against the chair, toppling chair and Fitch over sideways. The thug slid to the edge of the chute, legs vanishing inside it, hands desperately clinging to the lip of the hole.
Tweed forced himself upright. Stiffening his legs, he stood above Fitch's terrified face as Paula staggered alongside him. Fitch was screaming. Nothing like the screams the poor women in the film must have uttered, Paula thought.
'Help me! Please! Help me,' Fitch gasped.
Tweed raised one foot. Stamped it down hard on one of the hands supporting him. The other hand let go. Fitch was plunging down the circular metallic chute, both hands flat against the metal, desperately hoping for support. There was none. They heard a faint gurgle as he sank below the torrent of water surging towards the Thames. Then only rushing water.
31
Tweed drove back with Paula to her apartment. He had told her he would sleep on her sofa in her living room and, relieved, she had thanked him. Both were suffering a reaction but there was something else that had to be done. To safeguard her, Tweed took Paula with him.
Arriving back at her place, they both wore gloves before climbing into the Ford that Fitch had left parked behind the house. Luckily Fitch had left the ignition key on the front seat, ready to come back and make a quick getaway. Again, luckily, on first leaving the warehouse, they had found the ignition key to Tweed's car left in the same place. Fitch had not wanted to waste any time at either end.
Tweed drove Fitch's car while Paula drove his, keeping close behind him. Tweed found a deserted side street in the East End, left the Ford there, moved behind the wheel of his own car and drove it back to the concealed area behind her flat. Earlier they had freed each other from the handcuffs.
After all this they were very tired. Tweed had a brief snack Paula prepared him before she went to her bedroom. She should sleep like a babe, he felt sure as he perched on the sofa with coffee, his Walther on the cushion by his side.
Any fear that he might drop off to sleep disappeared as he took out his cartridge-paper notebook. In it he listed every single person connected with the murder case – and anyone else who had been involved in their enquiries.
It was a murky dawn when Paula, to his surprise, came in fully dressed.
'Didn't expect you for ages,' he greeted her.
'Had a strange dream. Don't know why. I was alone in the office when the door opened. A man came in, gripped a meat cleaver. As he came towards me I was scared stiff. His weird eyes staring at me through those weird glasses. I tried to scream and nothing came out. Then I woke up.'
'Who was it?'
'Benton Macomber. In those funny glasses.'
Tweed did not have to check his list to know that among his long list of suspects was Benton Macomber. He told her dreams were a poor substitute for fact and she agreed. Then she said she'd made breakfast because afterwards she was going off to see someone.
'Who might that be? It will be very early.'
'Coral Flenton. I know she gets up at unearthly early hours. I'll probably be just in time to share a cup of
