Free Vorpal Blade by Colin Forbes

drinks at Marino's with Black Jack tomorrow,' Paula reminded him.
    'Not on your own?' asked Marler.
    'Just little me.'
    'I'll come with you,' Marler said. 'By which I mean I'll be there discreetly, watching. Black Jack is known to subject women to cruelty, both mental and physi cal.'
    Tweed caught her expression. Outright disapproval. She rightly regarded herself as a senior officer, capable of taking care of herself. She did not want a babysitter.
    'Thank you, Marler, for the suggestion,' Tweed told him. 'But I think Paula would sooner go on her own. Monica, you're leaving with us.'
    'I feel fresh, have a ton to get through.'
    'It will be there when you come in after a good night's sleep. That is an order.'
    Paula had stood up, was peering out into the night between two curtains she had pulled a fraction apart. She closed the curtains, turned round.
    'Thought you might like to know there's a man behind the wheel of a big grey Ford. He was gazing over here through a pair of field glasses.'
    Newman jumped up, clapped his hands. 'Feel like a bit of exercise, so we can shift him before we all leave. You go out the back way, I'll use the front door.'

    Back inside her bedroom in her flat Paula fell into a deep sleep. She had another nightmare. Roman Arbogast was advancing towards her, his face twisted into a hideous mask like the second picture Marienetta had painted.
    She was backing away from him but stayed in the same place. She felt for her .32 Browning in the special pocket inside her handbag looped over her shoulder, realized the weapon wasn't there. He was elevating the axe in his right hand when she woke up, screaming, her body covered in perspiration. She checked the time by her illuminated wristwatch. 3 a.m. She got up.
    'Hell and damnation, I had a shower before going to bed. Now I need another . . .'

    Tweed didn't try to sleep. Leaning against the pillows, arms behind his head, he checked over facts. No theories. Stick to the facts. He felt he was returning to his long ago role of Chief of Homicide at Scotland Yard. The two horrific beheadings - Hank Foley's in Maine and Adam Holgate's near Bray - had been committed with the same weapon, probably an axe. The photographs and X-rays Saafeld had sent him proved that. So logically the same killer had wielded the axe.
    The Arbogasts were a strange family. Roman seemed stable but tough. Sophie did not seem to have inherited his stability. She was subject to mood swings. Sometimes a sullen aggressiveness, then the buoyant vitality she had shown at the birthday party.
    Marienetta. Brilliant, with Roman's brains. Sophisticated. Different interests - painting, sculpture, administering the giant ACTIL. He had the impression she was taking to Paula, that the friendship was reciprocated. Funny if a woman solved this complex mystery.
    Black Jack Diamond. Where did he fit in? A rich man's son, often the black sheep in a family. But he'd struck out on his own. An unbalanced man where women were concerned - was this an important factor? Yet the two victims so far had both been men.
    A random serial killer on the loose? Tweed rejected the idea out of court. All his instincts told him there was a link between the two murders. On the surface that seemed implausible. A caretaker in Maine, a security expert in London. He clung to his insistence that there was a link.
    Russell Straub. The vicious look he'd given Tweed when confronted across the table at the party. A dangerous man to cross. Of course! Tweed sat up straighter. The Vice- President was frightened of something, someone. What? Who? Why?
    Broden. He didn't know enough about him. Broden kept his thoughts mostly to himself. What was his history before he took on the big job at ACTIL? I must find that out, he said to himself. More than once, years ago, he'd found that it was the character who submerged himself who should be investigated. Sometimes with surprising results.
    Sam Snyder. A difficult man to read. As a reporter a wily