a clue. No one under pressure of interrogation was able to avoid making a slip at some time.
Then he had an idea. He asked Harry to lend him his mobile, then to turn on the overhead light. From his top pocket Tweed extracted the card General Macomber had tucked into it. He rang the General's phone number. A woman, sounding like a housekeeper, answered quickly. 'General Macomber's residence. Who is this?' 'Tweed of the SIS. I'm sure the General has told you I met him this morning…'
'Yes, sir, he did. I know who you are.'
'Then could I please have a word with the General?'
'I'm afraid not. He left early this afternoon for London. He wasn't able to say when he would be back.'
'Thank you. I may call you tomorrow. Good night.'
Tweed was disturbed. What could the General be doing now, prowling round London? Where? Why? He had dismissed him from his mind after the explosions on Black Island which had destroyed the prisons. Had he misjudged the General?
Benton. He was a strange character. Difficult to understand. Apparently the peacemaker in the Cabal. Apparently? Yet he had revealed an evil temper when ending Nield's interview with him.
Noel. Violent in many ways. The Planner of the whole grim system. Was his mind unbalanced? If so, to what degree?
Nelson. To some extent appeared to have similar views to himself on the present state of Britain. He was controlled and clever. During his recent visit to Park Crescent had he been throwing a smokescreen in Tweed's eyes? To keep him quiet?
The Parrot. Harry was now taking the cab back to the area of her flat. All those lights in her windows began to bother Tweed. Had they been switched on automatically by timers? Was the Parrot actually inside her flat?
At the back of his mind he was being irritated by the playing of a pop song. Louis Armstrong. 'What A Wonderful World.' What a wonderful world…
There flashed back into his restless mind Paula's description of the scene in the room next to the Cabal's HQ. The newspaper folded to the glaring headline on Coral's desk. Her dancing, singing 'What a wonderful world'. The Parrot screaming at her to shut up…
'Harry!' he called out. 'Give me back the mobile.'
He pressed the numbers which would put him through to Monica at Park Crescent.
'Put Paula on the line immediately.'
'She's not here.'
'What?' Tweed went cold.
'Quite a long time ago,' Monica explained, 'she left to join you and the team. But there was something odd about what she did…'
'For Heaven's sake, what was odd?'
'I watched her drive off from the window. I'd expected her to turn left towards Baker Street but instead she turned right to the east. I couldn't understand why she'd-'
'Thank you. I must go now.'
Inside the cab Tweed sat stunned, fearful. But only for a few seconds. From memory he pressed numbers as fast as he could, giving each member of his team the desperately urgent order.
'Emergency! Forget the present assignment. Head as fast as you can, full speed. Emergency! Head for Govern Garden.'
41
Inside the closet at Coral's flat Paula was feeling the strain of her vigil. Coral's visitor had still not made an appearance. Paula had remained standing up and still for ages.
She dared not check her watch in case any movement caught one of the coats and dragged it along the rail. She dared not sit down for the same reason, so she remained standing like a statue. Her legs were aching from staying in the same position for so long. At least she wore sensible shoes with rubber soles, so occasionally and with great care she eased her feet inside them.
In the bedroom Coral had not helped when she had put on a CD of Louis Armstrong's 'What A Wonderful World' on repeat. By now Paula was sick of the melody, sick of Louis Armstrong, whom at one time she had liked. There was the occasional clink of a glass and Paula assumed Coral was drinking more of her champagne. The sound made Paula feel thirstier and thirstier. It was getting intolerably warm inside the closet.
The one plus for Paula was she able to sip water from the bottle she had brought with her. By choosing the times when the CD was playing she hadn't the worry that her swallowing the water would be heard.
Another problem was she felt it vital to hold the butt of her Browning in her right hand. Her hand kept getting clammy and this problem had to be dealt with. Trying to aim and fire a handgun with a slippery palm was not a good idea. So, at increasing intervals, she tucked the gun inside her windcheater pocket and with her left hand used a handkerchief to dry the palm. Every time she took this essential precaution she was worried the automatic would slip out of the pocket and crash on the wooden floor.
The endless waiting was pure hell. Paula wished she had thought to balance her aching back against the rear wall. She dared not move now. Those bloody coats. Knowing the time would have helped psychologically, knowing how long she had been inside her self-imposed cell. She had lost all track of time. She could have been in the closet for two hours, an hour, even for only half an hour. She just had no idea.
To counter the heat, to keep her mind alert, she dug her nails into the palm of her left hand. She was beginning to hate the lights which had come on, stayed on, when she had first entered the closet. Would it have been more comfortable to stand in the dark? She couldn't make up her mind. She knew now how punishing it must be in prison when inmates were thrown into solitary with lights on to keep them awake.
She had just once more wiped the palm of her right hand dry, then carefully grasped the Browning, when she heard a muffled voice in the hall.
She couldn't hear what it said, whether it was a man's or a woman's. But she heard clearly Coral's response when she stopped the
CD.
'Welcome. I know it's been raining. Take off your wet stuff. Hang it on the hooks in the wall down there. No hurry. You'll find a towel on one hook so you can dry yourself.'
She could hear Coral moving about. The click-clack of spiked heels on the floor. She might have nothing else on but she was wearing shoes. Very sexy, Paula thought savagely.
Very slowly and cautiously she moved closer to the shut door of the closet. She was convinced there might not be much time to save Coral if the murderer had arrived. She might have very little time to react. On the other hand she must not appear too quickly. If she did so whoever would be coming up the stairs might, unseen, have time to dart down into the hall, through the open door, vanish in the streets. She remembered that both Viola's and Marina's front doors had been found left open.
There was the sound of heavy feet padding up the stairs. Saafeld had said something about the murderer wearing canvas shoes, large size, probably padded inside with cloth to give the impression of a killer with large feet, in case the feet stepped in blood, left marks
…
'Like to start with a drink?'
Paula had heard Coral filling glasses with champagne. She would be waiting with a glass in each hand…
'Oh, my God! No! No! No!'
Coral shrieking as the padding steps reached the bedroom.
Shrieking with pure terror.
Paula pushed at the closet door. Oh, God, it was sticking. The click-clack of Coral's shoes rushing to the far
