Sinister Tide by Colin Forbes

Author:Colin Forbes [Forbes, Colin]
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Colin Forbes
Published: 2010-06-07T16:54:06.288000+00:00

There was so little traffic that after leaving Paris behind the cars spread out, but not so far away from each other that they could not see the car ahead of them. It was a cold, brilliantly starlit night with the moon casting a glow over the countryside to left and right.

"Sorry it was a last-minute pickup," Newman said, "but we were checking the cars thoroughly."

"An excellent precaution," replied Tweed.

"I wonder if we'll find Goslar?" Paula mused.

"Eventually, yes," Tweed assured her. "He's started making mistakes. Leaving his signature behind."

"His signature?"

"Yes. Repeating himself. At Gargoyle Towers, way back on Dartmoor, he leased the place for three months, then moved on after two or three weeks. Then at La Defense he leased the whole building for a long period and cleared out after a month or whatever it was. We know he leased Mme Markov's flat for a month. He's out of the place in twenty-four hours."

"Why did he get the Yellow Man to kill poor Mme Markov?"

"Because she saw him climbing the stairs to the flat. The cloaked figure. Doesn't take any risks, our Dr. Goslar. Lasalle called me while you were asleep, about the yellow hairs Burgoyne spotted on the floor inside the flat. Told me his analyst said they were definitely a woman's hair."

"That's strange," Paula commented.

"Another phoney clue. Like the gloves he left behind at Gargoyle Towers, then another pair at La Defense. He was always doing that even in the Cold War days. To confuse us."

"Unless the figure on the stairs wearing that cloak Mme Markov saw was a woman."

Paula opened her holdall, which was divided into sections. It held a variety of grenades. Marler had come to her room at the Ritz just before they left. From a deep canvas bag he had produced more grenades.

"Take these. They're firebombs." "I've already got shrapnel and stun grenades," she'd protested. "And now you've got fire-bombs," he'd replied. "What about a machine-pistol?" she'd joked. "I shall be protecting Tweed." "Here you are," he'd said, handing her the deep bag. Inside it she'd found a machine-pistol with plenty of spare ammo. It was now lying on the floor at her feet. As Marler was leaving she'd joked again. "You must be expecting the grandmother of all battles." "I am," Marler had replied, not smiling. Her brain was working overtime now as the convoy of three cars sped along the autoroute through the night. Moving at just inside the speed limit. She nudged Tweed. "Serena Cavendish never turned up. She was coming to see you." "She did, while you were asleep. She wanted to tell me she'd seen the messenger who delivered the second payment to her flat. You remember? She was paid to photograph Appledore and its surroundings two weeks before Goslar poisoned the sea. She was paid half before she did the job, the balance after she'd left the photographs in a phone box in Curzon Street." "So what did the messenger look like?" "She happened to look through her net curtains when the delivery was made.

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