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Authors: Cynthia Harrod-Eagles
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plaintively.
‘The new man?’ Now she looked at him again, that same, thoughtful look. ‘I wonder why?’
‘He didn’t like Dickson either.’
‘Well that probably explains it,’ she said. ‘Everyone in the Job must know you were Dickson’s man.’
It was an incisive, even an intelligent comment, but he didn’t know whether or not it was also derisive. He couldn’t think of anything to say, and she went, leaving him surprised for the first time in God knew how many years of their marriage.
Dickson’s office was Dickson’s no more. Fug, filth and fag ash had been swept away by the new broom. The clean windows stood wide open to the traffic roar, there was nothing on top of the filing cabinets but a red Busy Lizzie in a pot, while the only bare bit of the wall was now adorned with a framed print of Annigoni’s portrait of the Queen. The desk gleamed with furniture polish and was disconcertingly clear, containing only an in-tray, an out-tray, and between them one of those burgundy leather desk sets for holding your pens and pencils, from the Executive Gift Collection at Marks and Spencer.
The chair was different, too, a black leather, tilt-and-swivel, high-backed, managing director type Menace-the-Minions Special – two hundred and fifty quid if it was a penny. Barrington must have brought it with him, Slider thought as he presented himself in response to summons. You’d have to be a pretty important, influential kind of bloke to take your own chair with you wherever you went. The kind of bloke who’d have a car phone and a Psion organiser too.
‘You sent for me, sir?’
‘What’s the situation with Slaughter?’ Barrington asked without preamble. His ruined face and impossible hair had the irresistible magnetism of incongruity amid all that determined neat-and-tidiness.
‘He’s still sticking to his story, that he went home alone, even though we’ve told him he was seen going to his room with another man. And he still says he knows nothing about the body.’
‘Has he asked for a solicitor?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Have you told him he can have one on Legal Aid?’
‘More than once. He just shakes his head.’
Barrington stirred restively. ‘I don’t like that. It won’t look good in court if he hasn’t had access to a brief. If he still refuses one tomorrow, send for one anyway. You’ve got the name of a good local man, someone we can trust?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Slider said. ‘But—’
‘Don’t argue. Just do it,’ Barrington said shortly. ‘I don’t know what sort of ship Mr Dickson ran,’ he went on with faint derision, ‘but when I give an order I expect it to be obeyed without question. And I expect
you
to expect the same thing from your subordinates.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Slider said faintly. He was experiencing the same insane desire to giggle as when he had been called up before the headmaster of his school for bringing a hedgehog into Prayers. How had this man managed to get so far without being murdered by his subordinates?
‘Right. So what have you got on Slaughter?’
‘No form, sir. He’s not known anywhere. We’re still looking for witnesses but so far we can’t place him at thescene at the right time.’
‘That’s all negative. I asked what you’d got, not what you hadn’t got. What did he say about the bloodstains on his clothing?’
‘He says he had a nosebleed while he was getting dressed, so he took the jeans off and washed them out before it set.’
‘It’s a pity about that grouping. Still, no-one can prove it isn’t the victim’s. And there’s no sign of forcible entry to the premises, and Slaughter’s prints are all over everything and on the knives.’
‘About those knives, sir—’
‘Yes?’
‘It strikes me as odd that all but two of them were absolutely clean – no prints at all – and the other two had just single prints of Slaughter’s.’
‘What’s odd about that? He wiped them clean after the murder, and then used two of
‘The new man?’ Now she looked at him again, that same, thoughtful look. ‘I wonder why?’
‘He didn’t like Dickson either.’
‘Well that probably explains it,’ she said. ‘Everyone in the Job must know you were Dickson’s man.’
It was an incisive, even an intelligent comment, but he didn’t know whether or not it was also derisive. He couldn’t think of anything to say, and she went, leaving him surprised for the first time in God knew how many years of their marriage.
Dickson’s office was Dickson’s no more. Fug, filth and fag ash had been swept away by the new broom. The clean windows stood wide open to the traffic roar, there was nothing on top of the filing cabinets but a red Busy Lizzie in a pot, while the only bare bit of the wall was now adorned with a framed print of Annigoni’s portrait of the Queen. The desk gleamed with furniture polish and was disconcertingly clear, containing only an in-tray, an out-tray, and between them one of those burgundy leather desk sets for holding your pens and pencils, from the Executive Gift Collection at Marks and Spencer.
The chair was different, too, a black leather, tilt-and-swivel, high-backed, managing director type Menace-the-Minions Special – two hundred and fifty quid if it was a penny. Barrington must have brought it with him, Slider thought as he presented himself in response to summons. You’d have to be a pretty important, influential kind of bloke to take your own chair with you wherever you went. The kind of bloke who’d have a car phone and a Psion organiser too.
‘You sent for me, sir?’
‘What’s the situation with Slaughter?’ Barrington asked without preamble. His ruined face and impossible hair had the irresistible magnetism of incongruity amid all that determined neat-and-tidiness.
‘He’s still sticking to his story, that he went home alone, even though we’ve told him he was seen going to his room with another man. And he still says he knows nothing about the body.’
‘Has he asked for a solicitor?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Have you told him he can have one on Legal Aid?’
‘More than once. He just shakes his head.’
Barrington stirred restively. ‘I don’t like that. It won’t look good in court if he hasn’t had access to a brief. If he still refuses one tomorrow, send for one anyway. You’ve got the name of a good local man, someone we can trust?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Slider said. ‘But—’
‘Don’t argue. Just do it,’ Barrington said shortly. ‘I don’t know what sort of ship Mr Dickson ran,’ he went on with faint derision, ‘but when I give an order I expect it to be obeyed without question. And I expect
you
to expect the same thing from your subordinates.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Slider said faintly. He was experiencing the same insane desire to giggle as when he had been called up before the headmaster of his school for bringing a hedgehog into Prayers. How had this man managed to get so far without being murdered by his subordinates?
‘Right. So what have you got on Slaughter?’
‘No form, sir. He’s not known anywhere. We’re still looking for witnesses but so far we can’t place him at thescene at the right time.’
‘That’s all negative. I asked what you’d got, not what you hadn’t got. What did he say about the bloodstains on his clothing?’
‘He says he had a nosebleed while he was getting dressed, so he took the jeans off and washed them out before it set.’
‘It’s a pity about that grouping. Still, no-one can prove it isn’t the victim’s. And there’s no sign of forcible entry to the premises, and Slaughter’s prints are all over everything and on the knives.’
‘About those knives, sir—’
‘Yes?’
‘It strikes me as odd that all but two of them were absolutely clean – no prints at all – and the other two had just single prints of Slaughter’s.’
‘What’s odd about that? He wiped them clean after the murder, and then used two of
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