“Did they treat you roughly at all?”
“Not physically, no.”
“Did they say who they were?”
“They just said they were from the government.”
“Did they show any identification?”
“I didn’t get a good look. It was all too fast.”
“Names?”
She shook her head. “Maybe Carson or Carstairs, one of them. And the woman was Harmon or Harlan. I’m sorry. It was all so fast, like they didn’t want it to register. I should have been paying closer attention, but I was too stunned. They took me by surprise.”
“Don’t blame yourself. They’re well trained in that sort of thing.
One of them was a woman?”
“Yes, one of the interrogators. It was interesting, really, because she played the bad cop.”
“What were they like, the two who questioned you?”
“Oh, very proper. Nicely dressed. Trendy. He was wearing a dark A L L T H E C O L O R S O F D A R K N E S S
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silk suit and a fifty-quid haircut. Handsome in a Hugh Grantish sort of way. She wasn’t exactly dressed by Primark, either. Early thirties, I’d guess. The sort of woman Agatha Christie would describe as healthy and blond. Both a bit posh-sounding.”
“What did they want to know?”
“Why you came to see me yesterday.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing.”
“You must have said something.”
She blushed. “Well, I said you were my boyfriend’s father, and you were in town on business, so you just dropped by to say hello. It was the best I could do on the spur of the moment.”
“Did they ask if you knew I was a policeman?”
“Yes. And I said that I did, but I didn’t hold it against you.”
“What did they say to that?”
“They didn’t believe me, so they asked all their questions again.
Then they asked me my life story—where I was born, what schools I went to, university, boyfriends, girlfriends, where I used to work, how I got into the business and all that sort of stuff. Quite chatty, really.
Then they got back to the nitty-gritty, and when I stuck to my story, blondie started threatening me with prosecution, and when I asked what for she said it didn’t matter and they could shut down my business as easy as swatting a f ly. Is that true, by the way?”
“Yes. They can do anything they want. But they won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’ve no reason to, and those things usually cause more trouble than they’re worth. Publicity. They’re like bats. They don’t like the daylight. They probably thought you’d make a fuss about it.”
“Damn right I would! What about my rights?”
“You don’t have any. Didn’t you know, the baddies have won?”
“And just who are they?”
“Well, there’s a question. These people are ruthless and powerful, make no mistake about it, but their real weakness is their need for secrecy. You’re no threat to them. They won’t harm you. They just want to know what you were up to, why I visited you.”
“How did they know?”
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“They must have followed me. That’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to be careful, but it’s a crowded city.”
“Tell me about it. I know enough about that to know how difficult it can be to spot a tail, particularly a professional team.”
“I still should have been more careful. What were the other two doing while the man and woman were interviewing you?”
“Searching everything, including my handbag. They took some of my files. And my laptop, my lovely Mac Air. Of course, they said everything would be returned when they’d finished with it.”
“The Derek Wyman file?”
“Yes.”
