amazed at Saafeld's agility: he moved like a twenty-year-old. A tall man clothed in white stood waiting.
'This excellent chap is Joffey, my new assistant. Been here six months. Joffey, meet our important vis itors. Deputy Chief Tweed and his brilliant assistant Paula Grey. I'd say we're ready now…'
Paula tensed inwardly as Joffey lifted the nearest sheet. It was the woman who had lain nearest Lisa Clancy's house. Paula shuddered inwardly. The cuts had dug deeply into her flesh.
'Hatred on the killer's part,' Paula said softly.
'Or a determination neither would be recognizable,' Tweed commented.
At a nod from Saafeld, Joffey replaced the sheet, moved to the next table. He lifted the sheet clear of the head and neck again. The massacre of the face was just as ruthless on the other victim.
'In each case,' Saafeld explained, 'the killer cut the throat first with a very sharp knife. I suggest he came up behind them, grabbed their long hair, which you notice was dishevelled, hauled the head back, expos ing the throat for a swift slash ear to ear. Probably only took seconds. What puzzles me is what kind of weapon he used to ruin their faces, to create the deep random squiggles. Hector might solve the problem – you can't put photos of those horrors in the papers asking if anyone knows them. Joffey, ask Hector to join us.'
'Hector?'
Paula was taken aback by the name. She made a major effort to compose her expression when Joffey opened a door at the rear. A very small tubby man bounced into the room. Humpty Dumpty, Paula said under her breath.
'May I introduce you to one of the cleverest men in the country,' Saafeld began. 'Meet Hector Humble.' He introduced the tubby little man to his guests. 'He can bring both those women back to how they looked in life.'
'Impossible!' Tweed burst out.
'I've studied the faces, sir,' Hector assured him. 'It can be done.' He tapped a large cardboard-backed enve lope under his arm. 'I have photographed them as they are now. I must warn you,' he went on in his singsong voice, 'the job will cost you a fortune. Probably ten thousand pounds only payable if you're satisfied.' He began dancing round. 'I can see you're sceptical. Why not come with me to my work den. Just three side roads from here.'
'I strongly urge you to visit his work den,' Saafeld said.
Outside, Hector pointed to a large Mercedes parked beyond the Audi before he danced along the cul-de- sac towards it. His chubby face was all smiles.
'I'll lead the way. Leaving this close, turn left, then I'm the third turn-off on the left. My work den has a red metal cone over the chimney, in case you lose me…'
Dancing off down the cul-de-sac he paused at the front of his Merc. The rear of his car was facing the back of the Audi. In his rear-view mirror Tweed watched him fiddling with something.
''In case you lose me,'' he quoted Hector ironi cally. 'In this traffic. Where does he think he is? Le Mans?'
At that moment Hector turned the Merc round and drove past them. Tweed stared. Paula shook with laughter. Tweed glared at her as he started his car.
'What's the matter with you?'
'Didn't you see? He's stretched white ribbon from the symbol on the bonnet back to each corner of his windscreen. People will think he's late collecting the bride and groom from their wedding!'
'Must be batty…'
'Or clever. Look what's happening.'
The Merc was swinging all over the place on the main road as other traffic stopped by the kerb. Hector was honking his horn gently and politely. A Rolls- Royce backed a few feet to let him through. Then Hector vanished.
Paula was checking side turnings on the left, count ing them. Hector had called back as he left them that he was at Salty Close. Tweed was crawling behind traffic when Paula warned him.
'Next turning to the left. Salters Close.'
'I thought he said Salty Close.'
'He did.' She dug him gently in the ribs. 'Where's your sense of humour? Hector has one. And there's his work place on the right – complete with a red cone over the chimney. Don't look so grim – we got here. So did Hector, ahead of you.'
They walked up a short path to an oak front door which had three knockers, one very high up. Paula took out a coin, spun it and smiled at Tweed.
'I suspect Hector is full of tricks. Lift me so I can reach the top one.' She pointed to a sturdy wooden box beyond the step. 'That's for small visitors to stand on.'
Tweed hoisted her easily, holding her round her slim waist. She hammered the top knocker twice and Tweed lowered her to the step. The door opened quickly after the turning of two locks and the release of a heavy chain. Hector stood there, beaming.
He looked even stranger since he was wearing a pair of enormous large-lensed glasses. He pushed them back over his forehead and stared at Paula.
'That was you, clever girl. I know because you knocked lightly and didn't try to drive the knocker through the door. So come on in.' He was speaking quickly. 'I need the glasses when I'm working – these lenses have great magnification. I have started on your project,' he told Tweed.
After relocking the front door he led them down a narrow hall into a large room. Paula was startled – there were wooden tables with various unusual tools neatly arranged, and shelves stacked with life-size fea tureless heads in smooth wood, some male, many female. The ceiling was a slab of thick glass providing plenty of light.
'My work den,' Hector explained. He wore a short white coat over his suit. 'The top knocker causes that red bulb to light up, tells me it's someone I know – not an estate agent wanting to tell me he could sell this place for a fortune.'
'Can I just wander round?' Tweed suggested. 'Never seen anywhere like this.'
'Wander, wander as you wish.' He took Paula gently by her arm. 'This is the most comfortable chair,' he went on, leading her to a leather armchair. For a moment he stared hard at her, then he nodded his head, turned his back on her and opened a cupboard.
Inside was an amazing collection of models of women's heads. He chose one, rejected it, chose another. Paula was suspicious. Hector placed it on a plinth on a wide shelf, opened another cupboard. Inside was a huge collection of wigs, also perched on plinths – blonde, jet black, brown. Selecting one with longish jet-black hair, he used a brush to create a glossy effect, arranged it on the plinth on the shelf. By now Paula was thoroughly suspicious. She waited for him to turn round but he still kept his back to her.
Finally he opened another cupboard, neatly arranged, took out an eye shadow, tested the colour on a sheet of cartridge, then applied it slowly above the eyeless head. His last act was to choose a lipstick, then apply that over the wooden lips. At that moment Tweed returned. For the first time Hector turned round, looked at Tweed.
'Well, what do you think of this?'
'Good God!' Tweed exclaimed. 'It's Paula.'
'I don't like it.' Paula had jumped up. She checked her watch. 'And he produced that in five minutes. You're not going to photograph it, I hope,' she said severely.
Hector looked disturbed. He ran forward and gently grasped her hand.
'I'm sorry. You have my word it will not be photo graphed – and within minutes of your leaving it will no longer exist.'
'Don't get upset,' she urged him in a softer voice. 'I just find it creepy. And you never looked at me.'
'I will confess,' he replied, his voice shaky, 'I could see you over there.'
He pointed to a large mirror attached to the far wall. There was something special about it. Her image was so clear. She managed to smile.
'You clever thing.'
Seeing he was still upset, almost had tears in his eyes, she kissed him lightly on one cheek.
'Time for us to go,' Tweed said briskly. 'My office will by now be in turmoil with both of us absent,' he fibbed. 'Hector, can you give me any idea when you'll let me have the photos?'
'So sorry, but I never predict that – I don't know. I assure you I will make it as quick as I can, for a double murder investigation.'
