criminal record databases and security services computer files. You've brought in the wrong person.
The deputy director looked at her two colleagues and back at Alex.
'You won't need files or records,' she said quietly.
'We know who murdered Fenn and Gidley.'
Alex stared.
'You know who.
'Yes. At least we've got a pretty good idea. And finding him is something we've got well in hand ourselves. What we need from you is more in the nature of disposal. Before we go into that, though, I'd like you to look at the body and see what it suggests to you. George?'
Widdowes stood and led Alex into the house through the back door. Inside, a flag-stoned corridor gave on to an oak-floored front hall, and the hall on to a small, book-lined study. To Alex, as he flip-flopped through, the set-up looked like an expensive one. The furniture was old and dark, and the gilt-framed portraits which hung on the walls looked like originals.
Disposal. Typical Box bullshit. They meant execution.
The owner of the house was lying face down on the study carpet. Although not tall he was a bulky man, and his dinner jacket and trousers looked a size too tight. His hands, blackened and swollen, had been tied behind his back with yellowish cord and it was clear from the severely chafed wrists that he had struggled violently against his bonds. Beneath his face a congealed pool of blood had blackened the worn Persian rug. The coppery smell of the blood hung in the air.
From the doorway Widdowes signalled for Alex to approach the body.
'We've taken the photos and run all the technical stuff. You can move him around if you want.'
There was nothing that Alex wanted to do less, but he put his hands to the body and pushed, and the corpse rolled heavily over on to its back. In this position the full horror of the assault was revealed.
The face was an unrecognisable mask of caked blood.
Where the eyes had been were now clotted black holes. At the victim's right temple the head of a six inch flat-head nail showed a couple of millimetres proud of the skin surface. On close inspection the nail head proved to be flecked with rust. For the best part of a minute Alex stared at the body. It seemed to be expected of him.
'OK?' asked Widdowes.
Alex shrugged.
'Just fill me in again on what happened. The Gidleys were having a party, yeah?'
'A dinner party,' said Widdowes.
'A dinner party for four Service colleagues and their partners. They would have arrived at about the same time that you left Freetown to keep your appointment with the RUF.'
'And you weren't there?' asked Alex.
'No,' said Widdowes, a small note of annoyance creeping into his voice.
'I wasn't, as it happens.'
'And the deputy director?'
'The DD was there, yes. In all including Craig and Letitia Gidley ten people sat down to eat. By half past midnight the guests had all left, and Craig Gidley locked the front gate and let the dogs out.'
'They were Dobermanns, right? Attack dogs?'
'That's right. They'd been shut up in their kennels while the guests were around. Normally they had the run of the grounds - a couple of acres in all. Better than any alarm, as you can imagine.'
'Not on this occasion,' said Alex soberly.
'Well, no, as it happened. Not on this occasion.' Widdowes rubbed his eyes. It occurred to Alex that the MI-5 man had probably had as shitty a day as he had.
'Shortly afterwards Letitia Gidley saw her husband lock the front door.
She went up to bed they had separate bedrooms -and he went into the study announcing that he was going to have a finger of Scotch and spend half an hour on the computer. That was the last time she saw him alive. She found him here at 9.30 this morning and called the DD.'
'Where's what's her name Letitia Gidley now?'
'At a colleague's in London. In a fairly bad way, as you can imagine. Let's go outside.'
Gratefully, Alex followed him into the hall and thence to the porch. The front door was of heavy steel-backed oak.
'This how he got access?' asked Alex.
'Yes. Picked the lock. Very expertly. Come through.' Widdowes led him the fifty yards or so past the parked cars to the front gate, where he pointed to a telegraph pole.
'See that little box on the line running to the house?' Alex recognised it at a glance.
'It's a sonic deactivator. Sends a false 'secure' signal to the alarm monitoring station.
'That's right. Have you ever used one?'
Alex chose to ignore the question.
'And it was just the house that was alarmed?'
Widdowes looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before nodding.
'Just the house. These two little charmers kept an eye on the garden.
He led Alex along the lawn. In the herbaceous border, doubled up among the lupins and delphinia, were the stiffened bodies of two Dobermann pinschers.
Alex whistled appreciatively.
'He's good, this guy. And the wife heard nothing?'
'Nothing.'
Alex nodded. At the front door the two men he had met earlier were loading a body bag into the boot of one of the cars. Ritchie, cigarette in mouth, was giving them a hand.
'How would you have taken out Gidley?' asked Widdowes.
'I'd have done pretty much as this guy did,' Alex answered.
'Wait until everyone's inside and the party's under way, then climb the telegraph pole and disable the alarm. He wouldn't have gone inside the grounds at that stage because of the dogs.'
'How would he have known about the dogs?' asked Widdowes.
'He would have seen them,' said Alex.
'He'd have had this place under surveillance for days, maybe even weeks. He'd have known the dogs' names, when they were fed, everything.'
'So then?'
'Then he would have pulled back from the target and positioned himself somewhere he could count the cars out at the end of the evening. Field, maybe, or a tree. He probably had binoculars. Soon as he was sure the Gidleys were alone, he'd have returned and gone over the wall.'
'What about the dogs?'
'See the way they're lying?' asked Alex, pointing to the twisted bodies.
'I'd put money on his having used poison, meat laced with strychnine. You whistle the dogs over, throw down the meat and then assume a submissive posture face down on the ground. Instead of going straight for your throat the dogs just piss on you. Once they've symbolically dominated you, you see, you're no longer a threat and they can get on with the meat.'
'Big mistake,' murmured Widdowes drily.
'Very big,' agreed Alex.
'They're dead in seconds. Then our man takes a quick trot to the front door, boosts the lock and...' He shrugged.
'That's the how of it, anyway. As regards the why, you tell me.'
'Let's go back to the DD,' said Widdowes.
They returned to the back of the house, where the deputy director was making notes in a small ring-binder. The two men sat down. It was several seconds before she looked up.
'So, Captain Temple, give us your assessment of the perpetrator of this murder.'
Alex hesitated.
'Why me?' he asked her.
