'Not unless you emulate the heroes of old war films and tunnel deep under the wire. No one was tunnelling here on Sunday night.'
Rickards said: 'We shall need to know the movements of every member of the staff on Sunday from early evening until 10.30 when Commander Dalgliesh discovered the body.'
'Isn't that an unnecessarily large spread of time? Surely she was killed shortly after nine?'
'That seems the most likely time of death and we expect to get a more accurate estimate from the post- mortem report. At present I prefer to make no assumptions. We have copies of the forms which were distributed in connection with the Whistler inquiry which we would like to issue to all the staff. I imagine that the great majority can be easily eliminated. Most people who have any family or social life can provide an alibi for Sunday evening. Perhaps you could suggest how the forms can be distributed with as little disturbance to the work here as possible.'
Mair said: 'The simplest and most effective way would be to leave them in the guard house. Each member of staff could be given one when he or she checks in. Those staff who are off sick or on leave today will have to receive them at home. I can supply their names and addresses.' He paused and then added: 'It seems to me highly unlikely that this murder has anything to do with Larksoken Power Station, but as Hilary Robarts worked here and you will be interviewing members of staff, it might be helpful if you have some idea of the layout and organization. My PA has put up a file for you with a diagram of the site, a booklet describing the operation of the reactor which will help to give you some idea of the different functions carried out, a list of staff by name and grade and a copy of the existing managerial structure and the operations staff shift rota. If you want to see any particular department I can arrange for you to be escorted. Certain areas cannot, of course, be entered without protective clothing and a subsequent radiological check.'
The file was ready in his right-hand drawer and he handed it over. Rickards took it and studied the organization chart. After a moment he said: 'You have seven divisions, each with a head of department; Medical Physicist, Station Chemist, Operations Superintendent, Maintenance Superintendent, Reactor Physicist, Works Office Engineer and the station Administrative Officer, the post held by Hilary Robarts.'
'Temporarily held. The station Administrative Officer died of cancer three months ago and the post has not yet been filled. We are also about to reorganize the internal administration into three main divisions as at Sizewell where they have what I think is a more effective and rational system. But the future here is uncertain, as you've probably heard, and there may be a case for waiting until a new Director or Station Manager is in post.'
Rickards said: 'And at present the station Administrative Officer is responsible to you through the Deputy Director?'
'Through Dr James Macintosh, that is right. Dr Macintosh is at present in the States studying their nuclear installations and has been for the past month.'
'And the Operations Superintendent – Op. Super, as it says here – is Miles Lessingham, who was one of the guests at Miss Mair's dinner party on Thursday.'
Alex Mair didn't reply.
Rickards went on: 'You've been unfortunate, Dr Mair. Three violent deaths of members of your staff within the space of two months. First Dr Gledhill's suicide, then Christine Baldwin's murder by the Whistler, and now Hilary Robarts.'
Mair asked: 'Have you any doubts that Christine Baldwin was killed by the Whistler?'
'None at all. Her hair was found with that of other victims when he killed himself, and her husband, who would normally be the obvious first suspect, has an alibi. He was driven home by his friends.'
'And Toby Gledhill's death was the subject of an inquest, 'death while the balance of his mind was disturbed', that convenient sop to convention and religious orthodoxy.'
Oliphant asked: 'And was the balance of his mind disturbed, sir?'
Mair turned on him his ironic and speculative gaze. 'I have no way of knowing the state of his mind, Sergeant. What I am sure of is that he killed himself and that he did it unaided. No doubt at the time he felt he had sufficient reason. Dr Gledhill was a manic depressive. He coped courageously with his disability and it rarely interfered with his work. But with that psychological make-up, suicide is always an above-average risk. And if you agree that the three deaths are unrelated, then we needn't waste time on the first two. Or was your statement, Chief Inspector, intended as a general commiseration?'
Rickards said: 'Just a comment, sir.' He went on: 'One of your staff, Miles Lessingham, found Christine Baldwin's body. He told us then that he was on his way to have dinner with you and Miss Mair. I suppose he gave you all a graphic description of his experience. Natural I'd say. Difficult thing to keep to yourself
Mair said calmly: 'Virtually impossible, wouldn't you say?' He added: 'Among friends.'
'Which he was, of course. All friends together, including
Miss Robarts. So you got all the gory details fresh from the scene. Including the ones he'd been specifically told to keep to himself.'
'Which were they, Chief Inspector?'
Rickards didn't reply. Instead he asked: 'Could I have the names of everyone who was present in Martyr's Cottage when Mr Lessingham arrived?'
'My sister and I, Hilary Robarts, Mrs Dennison, the housekeeper from the Old Rectory, and Commander Adam Dalgliesh of the Metropolitan Police. And the Blaney child – Theresa, I think she's called – was helping my sister with the meal.' He paused and then added: 'These inquiry forms which you're proposing to issue to all members of staff; I suppose it is necessary to take up their time in this way. Isn't it fairly plain what happened here? Surely this is what your people call a copycat murder.'
Rickards said: 'It was that all right, sir. All the details correct. Very clever, very convincing. Just the two differences. This murderer knew his victim and this murderer is sane.'
Five minutes later, following Miss Amphlett down the corridor to the interviewing room, Rickards thought, And you're a cool customer, mate. No embarrassing expressions of horror and grief which always sounded insincere. No protestations of innocence. The assumption that no one in his rational mind could suspect you of murder. He hadn't asked for his solicitor to be present, but then he didn't need one. But he was far too intelligent to have missed the significance of those questions about the dinner party. Whoever had killed Hilary Robarts had known that she would be swimming by moonlight sometime after nine o'clock yesterday, had known, too, precisely how the Whistler killed his victims. There were quite a number of people who knew one of these facts, but the number who knew both was limited. And six of them had been present at that dinner party at Martyr's Cottage last Thursday night.
The interview room which had been assigned to them was a featureless little office with a view to the west dominated by the great bulk of the turbine house. It was adequately furnished for their purpose, but only just; entirely appropriate, thought Rickards sourly, to visitors whose presence was tolerated but hardly welcomed. There was a modern pedestal desk, obviously brought in from someone's office, three upright chairs and one rather more comfortable one with arms, a small side table with an electric kettle on a tray, four cups and saucers (did Mair expect them to make coffee for the suspects?), a bowl full of wrapped sugar lumps and three caddies.
Rickards said: 'What have they given us, Gary?'
Gary Price busied himself with the tins. 'Coffee bags and tea bags, sir. And there's a tin of biscuits.'
Oliphant asked: 'What kind of biscuits?'
'Digestive, Sarge.'
'Chocolate?'
'No, Sarge, just plain digestives.'
'Well, let's hope they're not radioactive. Better get the kettle on; we may as well start with the coffee. Where do they expect us to get water?'
'Miss Amphlett said there was a tap in the cloakroom at the end of the passage, Sarge. The kettle's filled, anyway.'
Oliphant tried one of the upright chairs, stretching in it as if to assess its comfort. The wood creaked. He said: 'Cold fish, wasn't he? And clever with it. Not much out of him, sir.'
'I wouldn't say that, Sergeant. We've learned more about the victim than he probably realizes. Efficient but not much liked, prone to interfere with matters outside her scope of responsibility, probably because she secretly yearned to be a scientist rather than an administrator.
Aggressive, uncompromising, intolerant of criticism. Antagonized the locals and from time to time did the station a bit of no good. And, of course, the Director's mistress, for what that was worth.'
