and with a shaky 'and, I wrote out my resignation. On the way in here, I posted it. I'm going to get a life, mate, before it's too late.'
Arrow leaned back in his chair and smiled. 'Well, good for you, Joseph. There's hope for you yet.'
`Before you go, Mr Webber,' said Donaldson heavily, 'will you tell us about Thursday evening and about the preparations for the trip to Scotland. Who packed the Red Box?'
'Shana did, as usual. I got the material together… there wasn't much, Adam, mostly correspondence, one procurement decision and one Intelligence paper on the Middle East
… and she boxed it.'
Did you see her do that?'
Webber looked at the policeman sharply and shrewdly, but made no comment on his question. Instead he nodded, emphatically.
After that, what happened to the Box?'
`Shana gave it to Maurice and we all went 'ome. Well, the other two did. I went to the Red Lion.'
Right,' said Donaldson. He pointed at the black tape recorder on the table. When this is transcribed, I'll ask you to look at it, and if you're happy that that's all you can tell us, you can sign it as such. For now, thank you for coming in.'
Webber was almost at the door when Arrow called out to him.
`What are you going to do, Joseph, outside the beehive?'
`My old man wants to retire, so I'm going to run his business.' `What's that?'
A pub.'
THIRTY-FOUR
‘Hello. Is that Cyril Kercheval?'
`Who's calling?' There was a slight distortion on the line, but it could not disguise the suspicious tone in the voice.
`This is Detective Chief Inspector Brian Mackie. I'm calling from Edinburgh.'
`Who gave you my mobile number?'
`So that is Mr Kercheval?'
`Yes, yes. But I repeat, who gave you this number?'
`My boss, Bob Skinner.'
Ah! Our resident in the North. In that case I'd better speak to you; his star burns brightly in our heavens these days. What can I do for you?' The distortion had cleared, and Kercheval's tone with it. Now he sounded bright and breezy.
`My colleague and I would like to meet with you. Mr Skinner has asked us to undertake an investigation, and he's given us your name as someone who might help.'
`How urgent is this?'
Extremely.'
D'you mean over the weekend? I've got a winter foursomes tie tomorrow morning at Sandwich, but I could come up to Town after that, at around three. I have to say, though, I'd prefer Monday.'
Mackie thought back to Skinner's orders, to the stress he had laid on discretion and to his comment about the porosity of MI5.
He guessed that if a senior man was summoned for an emergency meeting with two policemen from the North, that might attract the sort of attention that the DCC was keen to avoid.
Okay, sir,' he said. 'Monday it is, unless Mr Skinner feels particularly strongly that it should be earlier. If he does, I'll call you back on this number.'
`Fine.' Kercheval paused. 'You'll be flying down, so let's meet at eleven a.m. My office — or would you prefer neutral territory?'
In the circumstances, I think we would.'
`Right, in that case let's make it a working lunch. You like Chinese? There's a place called Mr Kong in one of the streets up behind Leicester Square. Lisle Street, or Gerrard Street, I can never remember which. I'll see you there at twelve-thirty.'
`Very good, sir, we'll be there on time.'
The MI5 man grunted. I'm sure you will. Between now and Monday I'll try to imagine what you want to talk about. Mind you, even now I have a suspicion!'
THIRTY-FIVE
Sir Stewart Morelli preferred neutral territory also. He had left a message for Arrow that he would receive the Scottish gentlemen at his club, at 4 p.m.
They arrived promptly at St Stephens, which was tucked away behind Birdcage Walk, not far from Parliament Square and the Palace and Abbey of Westminster. Arrow announced their appointment to a soberly-dressed attendant, who nodded and said, 'Yes, gentlemen, you are expected. Please follow me.'
He led the three men — DS Price having been stood down — through to a smoking room, the walls of which were hung with portraits of former members, with a few Prime Ministers, one of recent memory, among them. Mcllhenney, scanning them with the expert eye which few of his colleagues knew he possessed, nodded his appreciation of the better works.
As they entered, the Permanent Secretary at the Ministry of Defence rose from a high-winged leather chair beside a window which looked out to the rear of the club. He was a strikingly handsome man of medium height and build, with a square jaw and a full head of greying hair, immaculately groomed and swept back from a wide forehead. Even on a Saturday afternoon, he was dressed in a formal dark three-piece suit, and wore big polished black shoes.
Had Arrow not told them that he was in his early fifties, both Donaldson and Mcllhenney would have placed him at around forty-five.
`Captain,' he said heartily. 'Bang on time as always.
As the soldier introduced his companions, a faint shadow of petulance crossed the Permanent Secretary's face. It was lost on the brash young DCI, but McIlhenney new at once that Morelli had expected to be meeting with an Assistant Chief Constable, at the very least.
`Thank you for seeing us, Sir Stewart,' said the soldier.
Not at all, man. Least I could do in the circs. Have you finished your interviews with the Private Office people?' He looked at Donaldson, ignoring Mcllhenney completely.
`Yes, sir,' said the DCI. 'Thank you for your co-operation in arranging them so quickly.'
Morelli flicked the fingers of his right hand in a deprecating manner. 'Were they of any value?'
`Certainly, sir. Exactly how valuable remains to be seen, but they were interesting.'
`Mmm.' He turned his gaze to Arrow. I'd have appreciated it if you'd come clean with me about the cause of Davey's death, Captain. If someone blows up my Secretary of State, I expect to be told about it, rather than to hear the news from a police statement on lunchtime television.'
`My apologies, Sir Stewart, but it was only this morning that we got confirmation from the Bomb Squad. I did try to contact you before we left Edinburgh, but you were unavailable.
`Very well. You can update me now, though.'
Donaldson felt a sudden need to assert himself. 'In Confidence sir, I can tell you that the bomb was concealed in the Minister's hand-baggage. That's how it got on board.'
`Good heavens!' said the Permanent Secretary: ‘you mean in the Red Box?'
Exactly, sir.'
`No wonder you wanted to interview his staff. What did you get out of them?'
