taking Hoskins, as he dreaded facing Brady. There was no doubt in his mind that Brady would make a fool of him, and Marshall had climbed too far and too fast to be able to cope with being made foolish.
They went in a Humber, big and black and discreet, as if it too were a special kind of policeman. If only he could have talked to him in the car, Marshall thought, everything would have been fine, but in the end they had to go to the hospital, and drink coffee with Brady, who was having a violent argument with an Indian ophthalmologist. And even when the row was over and Brady and Mr. Gopalachari were friends, it still seemed all wrong, and awkwardly wrong at that, to Marshall. People ought to have rows in private. Married people, he supposed, weren't so fussy, and Brady had been married three times. Marshall felt a bachelor's awe for the hero who had three times set sail into the great uncharted waters. Brady took them to his office, and sprawled back in bis chair, his feet on his desk.
'You'll want to see the death certificate, I suppose,' he said, and hooked a drawer open with his foot, lunged, and threw a sheet of paper over to Marshall.
'Usual abracadabra,' he said. 'It means she got a bash on the head and it took its time. But it killed her all right. Inquest?'
'Yes,' said Marshall.
'Ah. She came around just before she went. Did they tell you that?'
'Yes,' said Marshall. 'Did she say anything?'
Brady nodded and began to search his pockets.
'I wrote it down. Can't be too careful, when you fellows are on the job. Where in hell did I put it?' A pile of assorted oddments grew on the desk in front of him. 'Ah. I knew I had it somewhere.' He picked up a crumpled form, unrolled it, and began to read in a flat voice.
'Poor Charlie was backing out the car. Was there something wrong with it? He was in the orchard. He would be.'
He looked at Marshall. 'I suppose he meant Craig,' he said.
'Possibly,' said Marshall. 'We can't be sure.'
'Dammit all, man, no one else was there.'
'Not as far as we know. No,' Marshall said unhappily.
'Anyway, it proves you were right about the body in the car,' Brady said. 'Amazing, my dear Holmes.'
'When Mrs. Craig said these things, who else was there?' Marshall asked.
'Nobody,' answered Brady. 'At least, there was a nurse about,' he added vaguely, 'but she didn't hear anything.'
'Are you sure?' asked Marshall.
'Positive. That's why I wrote it all down. And she died pretty soon after. Mrs. C, I mean. Nurse was too busy to chat with the likes of me.'
'And you haven't told anybody else? Not even your wife?'
'No. After the last lot, I thought I'd better not risk it. What's it all about anyway?'
'She mightn't have been referring to Craig. We can't be absolutely sure,' Marshall said. 'So we don't want her words used at the inquest.'
'Who doesn't?' Marshall was silent. 'Orders from up top? Too bad, son. You had a bright idea. Never mind. Fiat justitia.' Marshall blushed scarlet. 'But I've got my code as well, you know. The Hippocratic oath. Don't you ever watch the telly? There's nothing but doctors-and they all have their code. Suppose I get up there and tell the truth? Who's going to stop me?'
'The coroner,' said Marshall.
'Old Slingsby? He wouldn't dare,' Brady said. 'He's scared of me. Did you know that? Doesn't seem possible, does it?'
'I don't know,' Hoskins said. 'You could scare a lot of people if you were in the mood.'
'That's right,' said Brady. 'Now why shouldn't I tell the truth?' Marshall opened his mouth, and Brady held up his hand.
'No,' he said. 'Let's hear from your apprentice.'
'You liked Craig,' Hoskins said, and Brady nodded. 'If you go shouting your mouth off again that he isn't dead, you're going to make things rough for him. Very rough.'
'How?' asked Brady.
'I don't know,' answered Hoskins. 'If I did, I couldn't tell you. But I know it's true.'
'Let me get this straight,' said Brady. 'I'm to keep my mouth shut because somebody you won't tell me about said it would be rough, in some way you can't specify, if I didn't. Is that right?'
Marshall sighed aloud.
'That's right,' said Hoskins.
'All right,' said Brady. 'I'll do it.' He swiveled in his chair and leered at Marshall. 'You're strong on duty, Marshall, and I'm strong on pals. Somewhere between us there's a human being. Have a drink.'
'We're on duty.'
'So am I,' said Brady. 'But I don't boast about it.' He reached into the desk again, and produced a bottie and glasses, then poured out three good ones. 'Sweethearts and wives,' he said. 'May they never meet.'
The telephone was shrill and complaining. Craig groaned into consciousness and looked down at Tessa, naked, vulnerable beside him, then padded into the lounge and picked up the phone.
'I'm sorry to disturb you,' Grierson said, 'but the Demon King wants you. Now.'
'Why?' said Craig.
'He didn't say, he never does. I'll be over in twenty minutes. Wait at the corner.'
The phone clicked and Craig went to the bathroom, mixed Alka-Seltzer, held his head under the tap. He showered and dressed, then walked into the kitchen. Tessa was already there, making coffee. She wore the dressing gown he had bought her the day before.
'Very nice,' said Craig. 'Sexy.'
He slipped his hand into the V of her neckline, and touched her body, still warm and moist from bed.
'What's wrong?' she asked.
'I don't know. Maybe nothing,' he said. 'Somebody wants to see me.'
He took a cup of coffee and sipped cautiously. Hot and strong, the way he liked it. His hand curved on her body again, and he kissed her.
'I'll have to go,' he said. 'It's the big boy. I'm not supposed to keep him waiting.' He looked at her face. Already she was afraid. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'The job's over. You know that. There are always a few loose ends. I'll be back soon. Get yourself dolled up and we'll go out for lunch somewhere.'
He reached for his coat and she held it for him, then drew it away.
'You haven't got your gun,' she said.
'This bloke's on my side,' said Craig. 'I don't need a gun.'
'Please,' she said. Please. I'll worry if you don't.' His finger was clumsy, and she had to buckle the straps in place for him. He took out the Woodsman, opened it, checked the ammunition, then put it into the holster and let her help him on with his coat.
'Am I properly dressed now?' he asked, and she moved into his arms, wincing as the gun pressed into her, but clinging to him even so. He left her and went down the stairs. Grierson's Lagonda was waiting, the engine running. Loomis might be worried after all.
'She died without any pain,' Loomis said. 'I'm not flanneling you, son. If it had been otherwise, I would have told you. You have a right to know.' 'Go on,' Craig said.
'She came to just before she died. She said something about her brother being in the car. Only one bloke heard her. The surgeon. He's a gabby bastard, but he'll keep his mouth shut this time. You feel bad about it?'
'Rotten,' said Craig. 'It was my fault.'
'That's right,' said Loomis. 'And now you've got another one to worry about.'
'Nobody's touching her,' said Craig, and the other two men looked at him quickly.
'Ah,' Loomis said. 'I hope not, son. Trouble is, I've got a bit more news for you, and it isn't all that good.'
'It never is,' Craig said. 'Let's have it.'
'Pucelli and Duclos got away,' said Loomis. 'There was a right cock-up at Turner's place, and we haven't got
