thought you were seeing someone else.'
She stood glaring down at Arrow, her hands on her hips. `Where did you get that from?
Not the Mirzana girl. Maurice was basically frightened of women; he'd never have confided in her. It could only have come from Joseph Webber, the office sponge. You accuse me on the basis of his gossip?'
`No one's accusing, Ms Tucker,' said Neil Mcllhenney, his head pounding with the tension and the fading effects of the ale. `We're simply asking.'
The big bluff Scot seemed to mollify her. 'Look,' she said., Maurice had a history of clinical depression. The job put pressures on him that he didn't anticipate when he took it, and that so-and-so Davey was responsible for them. He didn't care a scrap about his staff; he didn't allow for one second that they might have demands on their time other than his.
He was a thoroughly selfish bastard and he was doing Maurice's head in.
The trouble was that my poor husband wouldn't admit it, and the result was that his depression was coming back, with a touch of paranoia thrown in. I tried to put my foot down and make him ask for a transfer back to Division, but he wouldn't have it. That's the full story about Maurice.
She slumped back into her chair. The cat jumped up in her lap again. This time she allowed it to remain.
`So when did you see your husband last?' asked Donaldson.
`Very briefly, late on Thursday evening. I was working in my study, when I heard him come in just after ten. He pottered about for a while downstairs. I'd left him some supper and some orange juice.'
`He didn't drink alcohol?'
`Never.'
`Not at all?'
Emphatically not! Anyway, once he had finished his supper and whatever else he was doing, he came upstairs. He looked in to say that he was off to Scotland next morning and that he was going to turn in. I said okay, I kissed him good night, he went off, and that was the last time I ever saw him.' She steepled her hands and stared glumly at her thumbs.
Arrow thought he might have detected the faintest trembling in her chin.
`You mentioned earlier that he left by taxi,' he said. 'Where was he heading? Not to the airport, surely.'
`No, he was going to Dolphin Square, where the Secretary of State has a flat. A pool car was collecting them from there.' I see.'
He looked across at Donaldson, and gave the faintest nod toward the door. The policeman took his cue. 'Fine, er, Ms Tucker. We won't put you through any more. Come on gentlemen.' The three men stood up. She made to follow them but Arrow motioned her to stay seated. 'It's okay. Don't disturb the cat, we'll see ourselves out. We'll let you know when there's something to report.'
`Thank you,' she murmured. 'But don't hurry back.'
The policemen and the soldier filed back out into the street. No one spoke until they had almost reached their pool car where the grey-uniformed driver sat waiting patiently.
`What did you think of her then?' asked Neil Mcllhenney finally.
A big Momma for Baby Roo,' said Donaldson. 'Too big for most guys, I'd say.'
`That was some line about dynamite and lunchboxes,' said McIlhenney. 'She can't know about the Red Box, can she?'
`Not unless she booby-trapped it,' muttered Adam Arrow grimly. 'But if she had, I doubt she'd have come out with a line like that. Still, we should close our minds to nothing.
`There was one thing that really stood out, though,' he said. `She's a Queen's Counsel, and Queen's Counsel aren't supposed to lie, or so they say. But that lady never did give us a straight answer to the key question: Did she have someone on the side?
I think we should take a longer look at Ms Ariadne Tucker.'
FORTY
Fortified by the unforgettable experience of one of Sarah's American-style Sunday breakfasts, Skinner felt more or less human when he strode into the almost empty headquarters building at twenty-five minutes past noon.
He had welcomed the message that a delay on the trans-Atlantic flight meant that his American guest would not be catching the 11 a.m. shuttle. Still, he knew that his condition was fragile, and so, even before taking off his jacket he filled his coffee filter with the stronger of the two blends which he kept in his cupboard, topped up the water reservoir and set the machine to work.
The jug had only just filled when Merle Gower appeared in the doorway, her dark business suit contrasting with Skinner's denims and sweatshirt.
`Sir?' she said. The officer at the desk said we should come op. Mr Doherty is here.'
Skinner laughed. 'Jesus Christ, Joe,' he shouted. 'Are you so bloody important now that you have to be announced? Come on in,'
The Deputy Chair of the American National Security Council was still very new in post.
While Doherty's sudden leap to stardom had surprised Skinner, and by reports, most of Washington, it had not astounded him. The policeman had held him in high regard during his spell as the FBI representative in the London Embassy, the Bureau's senior overseas posting, and had admired the powers of intellect, analysis and tenacity which had led his Director to nominate him for the crucial NSC post.
He strode into Skinner's office with hand outstretched in greeting. 'Hi there, Big Bob. I didn't expect that we'd meet again so soon. But trouble seems to attach itself to you like filings to a magnet, don't it.' He spoke with a soft mid-Western drawl which, added to his lack of height and slimness of build, made him a very unstereotypical law enforcer.
`Stop it, mate. The same thought's been occurring to me.' He poured three mugs of the strong coffee, added milk to his own, and stood back to allow Doherty and Gower to adjust theirs to their taste. As always Doherty took his black with half a spoon of sugar, barely stirred.
`So, wee man,' said Skinner, as they settled into the low chairs around his coffee table,
'how's the new job, then? I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to wish you luck before you went.'
The thin sallow face relaxed in a grin. 'No one did. One day I was in my hutch in the Square, and the next I was in DC. The job is daunting. I should think there's some comparison with your own role as Security Adviser in Scotland, but..
The DCC nodded, and took a swig from his mug. 'Sure, multiplied by a factor of around two hundred, I should think. What ground do you cover?'
`Shit, you name it, the President's liable to throw it at us. Anything that can loosely be called a threat to America's security lands on our desks.'
`So how come you're involved in this thing? I can tell you now that your national security is not an issue here.'
Doherty grinned mischievously. 'Don't you believe it. Our Chief Executive takes the view that his re-election is a matter of national security. So he's ordered the NSC to conduct a high profile international investigation of the murder of Secretary Massey. He's been on the hot line to your Prime Minister asking for his co-operation. So here I am.
`Have you got a note from Teacher?'
`Believe it or not, I have.' Doherty delved into his briefcase and produced a white envelope, of about A4 size. He handed it across to Skinner, who opened it, full of curiosity, and drew out its contents. As he looked at it, Doherty and Gower saw his eyes widen.
The White House crest caught his attention at once. His eyes swept to the foot of the page and saw the clear signature of the President of the United States. Only then did he read the letter. It was short and succinct, advising the reader that Mr Doherty was on a personal mission from the White House, and requiring, not seeking co- operation with him.
The policeman handed it back, with a smile. 'Can I have a photocopy?' he asked. ‘for my memoirs.'
