himself. Said it was strictly a matter for the local force in Berkshire. He was pretty rough about it - as though he'd received word from on high. Are you staying with it?'
'After what you've just told me I most certainly am. What is going on, Roy?'
'For some reason they're putting a cordon round the Holgate murder. Who are they? No idea. But they're pretty high up - someone had obviously twisted the Com missioner's arm. Someone very powerful. I'll contact you if I learn more. If you want to call me, use my home number. Got to go . . .'
Tweed told the others what Buchanan had said. Paula was furious. 'Buchanan is the best detective they've got.'
'Which is probably why they - the mysterious they - have put him in quarantine. And while I remember it, I won't have you two fighting each other. Clear?'
'Sorry,' said Paula.
'Ditto,' added Newman. 'What did you think of Snyder? He had obviously hoped you'd let slip some information he could use. Silly chap.'
'But how could he have known about our visit to Bray?' Paula wondered.
'He has so many informants,' Newman explained. 'Some in the police force. Plus a depthless access to expenses. Two hundred quid offered and one of those policemen we encountered would spill his guts. The world has changed a lot.'
Tweed brought up another point. 'What did you think of Sam Snyder, Paula? I know what you think, Bob.'
'I think he's very shrewd,' she began, 'the sort of man who never gives up once he suspects he's on to a really big story. I think he'll continue with his investigation.'
'He did say several things which interested me,' Tweed said thoughtfully, staring out of the window. 'A very weird picture is building up in my mind.'
'Which you won't reveal to us yet,' Paula complained. She stood up, peered out of the window through the thick net curtains. 'A car followed us from the ACTIL building, a brown Volvo with one man behind the wheel. It's still out there.'
'Probably Special Branch,' Newman remarked. 'Is Harry Butler on the premises?'
'Yes, he is,' Monica replied.
'Could you call him? Ask him to go out and persuade that driver it's time he moved on.'
'Knowing Harry, I wouldn't like to be that driver,' Paula commented.
Harry Butler was only five feet five tall but his body was burly, his shoulders wide. His face rarely revealed any expression, but no mugger ever approached him. Wearing a heavy windcheater, the material worn and shabby, his powerful legs were covered in equally shabby jeans and his feet were encased in heavy boots.
He left the building by a back entrance, coming up on the parked Volvo very silently. He could see the squat driver through the rear window, holding a pair of field glasses aimed at Tweed's windows.
'Right, matey,' he said to himself. Walking round to the driver's side as it began to get dark he tapped on the window. The squat man lowered his glasses, glared with piggy eyes at Butler, who continued tapping. The driver lowered the window. Butler immediately leaned both brawny arms on the window so it couldn't be closed again. His large right hand was closed in a fist.
'What the friggin' 'ell do you want?' the driver snarled.
'This is a nice area,' Harry said cordially. 'Not one for voyeurs. Expect you've been salivatin' while you spy on some poor girl takin' a shower. Go back to the East End to the hole you crawled out of. Shove off.'
The driver reached down to his side, pressed the but ton to shut the window. The pressure of Harry's strong arms held it open. The driver gave up, glared at Harry.
'Get your flamin' arms off my window.'
'I'm not a patient man.' Butler opened his fist, revealed he was holding a small canister, the nozzle aimed at the driver's face, his thumb close to the release button. 'See this? It's Mace. I press the button and you get an eyeful, two eyefuls. Last guy I used it on couldn't see for over a week. Very painful.'
'That's illegal.'
The driver's voice was less aggressive as he stared at the small canister.