of the picture I'm passing on to you tips I'd normally handle myself.'
'I'm listening.'
'I've been talking to a remarkable woman who helped me locate a murderer once. She sensed it was someone I hadn't even considered - and she was right. A Mrs Elena Brucan. I'll spell that . . .'
'Sounds foreign,' Tweed commented as he wrote down the name.
'She's from Romania and was standing outside the ACTIL building for a long time yesterday. She sensed something wrong.'
'She's a spiritualist?' Tweed asked without enthusiasm.
'No, she isn't. Never attended - or held - a seance in her life. She's very sensitive to people. No harm in seeing her. Can I give her your address, using Cumbria & General Assurance, of course?'
'She's in London?'
'Yes. Rented a flat not far from where I live. Would you say, eleven tomorrow morning - today - be all right for you?'
'Yes, it would.'
'And I've someone else I've used unofficially I could send to you.'
'Tell me,' said Tweed, keeping the exasperation out of his voice.
'Dr Abraham Seale, the well-known profiler. He helped me with another case. Located a top drug baron I'd thought was a respectable stockbroker. Three o'clock tomorrow afternoon any good?'
'Agreed. And thank you, Roy, for trying to help. You're at home?'
'Yes. If I called from the Yard there's a good chance my call would be monitored.'
'What? I'm beginning to find this incredible considering who you are.'
'Oh, there's more.' Buchanan chuckled without any hint of humour. 'Came home to my flat and noticed there were small scratches on both Banham locks on the front door. Alerted me, so I checked this phone I'm calling on. Someone had inserted a bug, no larger than a pinhead, glued in. Took it out before I called you. A friendly visit from Special Branch, I'm sure. I "flashed" the rest of the place and found it clean.'
'This is iniquitous. Shouldn't you inform the Com missioner?'
'What would be the good? The Home Secretary, the man he'd approach if he agreed, which I doubt, is the evil genius behind the net they've drawn round me. Probably round you too. Sorry to bother you so late - or early.'
'Again, Roy, my grateful thanks for your help.'
'Watch your back. Sleep well. I hope . . .'
Tweed put down the phone, told Newman and Paula about the two people who would be coming to see him. Newman exploded.
'Oh God! That's all we need. A spiritualist woman and a profiler. You don't like them.'
'No,' said Tweed, 'I'm not happy about so-called profilers. They tell you the murderer is between the ages of twenty-five and forty, that it's a male and a white man who probably has a menial job. All of which gets me nowhere.'
'I once attended a lecture by Dr Abraham Scale,' Paula commented. 'I went in a sceptical frame of mind but found he impressed me. He's shrewd and sensible, even if a bit odd.'
'Can't wait,' snapped Newman.
Tweed went on to tell them about Buchanan's experi ence in his flat. Paula looked stunned. Newman detonated again.
'They're turning Britain into a police state. But it isn't the police who are doing it. I have the stench of Special Branch in my nostrils.'
Marler walked in as he said this, still dressed in his smart outfit. He never seems to sleep, Tweed thought as Marler leaned against a wall close to Paula, lit one of his long cigarettes.
'You could be right, Bob,' he remarked in his clipped tone. 'I've been roaming round contacting my informants. They won't talk for any amount of money. Not that Bob's Special Branch friends know my people, except for one. He told the thug in the grey suit who approached him to get stuffed. A cockney, of course. Same chap told me the news has been spread on the grapevine that anyone who opens his mouth will go behind bars for possession of drugs.'
'All of which,' Tweed observed, 'confirms my suspicion that someone very high up is involved - at the very least concerned - about the Holgate murder. Now, we have a lot to do tomorrow.'
'And I have my evening appointment for
'I'm listening.'
'I've been talking to a remarkable woman who helped me locate a murderer once. She sensed it was someone I hadn't even considered - and she was right. A Mrs Elena Brucan. I'll spell that . . .'
'Sounds foreign,' Tweed commented as he wrote down the name.
'She's from Romania and was standing outside the ACTIL building for a long time yesterday. She sensed something wrong.'
'She's a spiritualist?' Tweed asked without enthusiasm.
'No, she isn't. Never attended - or held - a seance in her life. She's very sensitive to people. No harm in seeing her. Can I give her your address, using Cumbria & General Assurance, of course?'
'She's in London?'
'Yes. Rented a flat not far from where I live. Would you say, eleven tomorrow morning - today - be all right for you?'
'Yes, it would.'
'And I've someone else I've used unofficially I could send to you.'
'Tell me,' said Tweed, keeping the exasperation out of his voice.
'Dr Abraham Seale, the well-known profiler. He helped me with another case. Located a top drug baron I'd thought was a respectable stockbroker. Three o'clock tomorrow afternoon any good?'
'Agreed. And thank you, Roy, for trying to help. You're at home?'
'Yes. If I called from the Yard there's a good chance my call would be monitored.'
'What? I'm beginning to find this incredible considering who you are.'
'Oh, there's more.' Buchanan chuckled without any hint of humour. 'Came home to my flat and noticed there were small scratches on both Banham locks on the front door. Alerted me, so I checked this phone I'm calling on. Someone had inserted a bug, no larger than a pinhead, glued in. Took it out before I called you. A friendly visit from Special Branch, I'm sure. I "flashed" the rest of the place and found it clean.'
'This is iniquitous. Shouldn't you inform the Com missioner?'
'What would be the good? The Home Secretary, the man he'd approach if he agreed, which I doubt, is the evil genius behind the net they've drawn round me. Probably round you too. Sorry to bother you so late - or early.'
'Again, Roy, my grateful thanks for your help.'
'Watch your back. Sleep well. I hope . . .'
Tweed put down the phone, told Newman and Paula about the two people who would be coming to see him. Newman exploded.
'Oh God! That's all we need. A spiritualist woman and a profiler. You don't like them.'
'No,' said Tweed, 'I'm not happy about so-called profilers. They tell you the murderer is between the ages of twenty-five and forty, that it's a male and a white man who probably has a menial job. All of which gets me nowhere.'
'I once attended a lecture by Dr Abraham Scale,' Paula commented. 'I went in a sceptical frame of mind but found he impressed me. He's shrewd and sensible, even if a bit odd.'
'Can't wait,' snapped Newman.
Tweed went on to tell them about Buchanan's experi ence in his flat. Paula looked stunned. Newman detonated again.
'They're turning Britain into a police state. But it isn't the police who are doing it. I have the stench of Special Branch in my nostrils.'
Marler walked in as he said this, still dressed in his smart outfit. He never seems to sleep, Tweed thought as Marler leaned against a wall close to Paula, lit one of his long cigarettes.
'You could be right, Bob,' he remarked in his clipped tone. 'I've been roaming round contacting my informants. They won't talk for any amount of money. Not that Bob's Special Branch friends know my people, except for one. He told the thug in the grey suit who approached him to get stuffed. A cockney, of course. Same chap told me the news has been spread on the grapevine that anyone who opens his mouth will go behind bars for possession of drugs.'
'All of which,' Tweed observed, 'confirms my suspicion that someone very high up is involved - at the very least concerned - about the Holgate murder. Now, we have a lot to do tomorrow.'
'And I have my evening appointment for
Similar Books
