like a steering-wheel.
'About my husband?' she said. There was a note of alarm in a voice that seldom betrayed alarm. She reached for a pink shawl and tossed it round her shoulders in a way that made me feel that we had brought the temperature down.
'Dr Henry Dean,' said Mann.
'Ah, you mean my ex-husband,' said Mrs Reid-Kennedy. She began stroking the poodle, with urgent little move ments, quite unlike the measured voice and relaxed smile that she was giving us. 'Do put your hat down, and be seated.' She had that
Mann looked at her full in the eyes for a moment, and then said, 'That's what I meant, Mrs Reid-Kennedy. About Dr Henry Dean, your ex-husband.' He didn't sit down, and he didn't let go of his hat.
'Is he in some sort of trouble?' she asked.
'Yes, he is,' said Mann.
'I'm so sorry,' she said. She frowned, but didn't break down and weep about it.
Mann said, 'He had a lot of currency with him. So far he's not been able to account for it,' Mann shrugged. 'It could all mean nothing — on the other hand it could be serious.'
'And you are from?'
'The Internal Revenue Service,' said Mann. 'I thought I told you that already.'
'No,' she said. She wasn't sure whether to be more relaxed or more anxious. 'And what do you do?'
'Are you kidding?' said Mann with a smile. 'You know what the I.R.S. do, Ma'am, we're modern Robin Hoods: we rob the rich and give it to the poor.'
'I mean you personally,' she said. She reached for a box with a coloured photo of kittens on its lid. The label said 'Hand-coated chocolate-covered brandied cherries'. She took a bite out of one so that she could see the inside, and then read the label again. Without looking up, she repeated the question. 'What do you do personally?'
'Now, I'd have to claim the Fifth Amendment on that one, lady, on account of the way I might incriminate myself.' He leered at her, but she gave no sign of having understood. 'In an inquiry like this one…' Mann paused, hoping that she would look up at him but she didn't. He continued, '… there's a whole lot of purely routine material to be filed. In the normal way of things, I suppose we would have extended the investigation into the business affairs of people associated with Dr Dean. But per sonally, Mrs Reid-Kennedy, I don't like probing into people's private affairs…'
She looked up and waited for him to continue but he didn't continue. She turned to glance through the huge Spanish-style picture window to where the palm trees cut jagged patterns into the blue water of the bay. Then she gave her whole attention to eating the chocolate-coated cherry and waited and waited.
'What kind of business is your husband in?' Mann asked suddenly.
'Electronics,' she said. I had the feeling that she was going to phone her lawyer and say nothing more until he arrived, but if that was in her mind she must have changed it.
'Has he always been in electronics?' Mann asked.
'How do I know you are on official business?' she said.
He didn't answer. Finally she said, 'He inherited the business from his father — Reid-Kennedy Radio Components, Inc. It was Douglas who saw the possibilities in. electronics. The Chicago factory still manufactures pocket calculators and desk models but most of our business is concerned with very advanced electronic equipment.' She stopped stroking the dog long enough to sip at her drink.
'I appreciate your very complete answer, Mrs Reid-Kennedy,' Mann told her. 'Can I take it that neither you nor your husband have any connections, business or social, with this man Henry Dean?'
This man — that was a good touch. She brightened considerably at that and fluttered her eyelashes. 'None whatsoever, Major,' she said. She frowned as if trying to scrape the very bottom of her memory barrel for us. 'I believe my son, Henry-Hope, has kept in touch with Mr Dean from time to time, but neither myself nor my husband have contacted him personally since the divorce.'
'Since 1955, you mean.' He walked to her.
'Yes, since 1955,' she said and frowned again.
'Have you got a recent photo of Mr Douglas Reid-Kennedy? ' Mann asked. He picked up a small photo in a leather frame and looked at it. It was an old sepia-tinted photo of a man in a wing collar and a boy in Bavarian-style shorts and top.
'Where did you get that?' she said.
'Right off your table there,' said Mann.
'It's my husband and his father, a photo taken before the war — he usually takes it with him. It's a sort of lucky piece.'
'Well, looks like this time his luck ran out,' said Mann. 'But anyway I want something recent. A passport shot would do.'
'He hates having his photo taken,' she said.
'Is that right,' said Mann. 'Maybe he was bitten by a little birdie.'
She took the photo from Mann and replaced it on the table. 'Yes, I expect that was it,' she said.
Mann smiled. 'Well, stay loose,' he said, 'we'll maybe be back again.'
'Will you?' she said.
'Just tying up a few routine odds and ends,' said Mann.
She smiled doubtfully, and got to her feet to show us out.
'Thank you again for all your kindness,' said Mann, waving an arm vaguely in the direction of the coffee table which was still as empty as it had been when we arrived, just as the drinks cabinet and cigarette box were no less full.
'It's just too bad we can't get out of this dinner at the White House,' said Mann, walking to the door.
Mrs Reid-Kennedy frowned at him. He stopped, turned and twisted the Irish tweed hat in his hands until she looked at it. Then he turned it inside out, to show her the irregular stiches that held the lining. Already it was coming loose. 'A more leisurely way of life over there,' said Mann. 'I bought that in Dublin yesterday, Mrs Reid- Kennedy.' He put the hat on and smiled.
Mrs Reid-Kennedy wet her lips nervously, and said, 'It's an Irish fishing hat, isn't it?'
Mann's smile cams up slowly and beautifully, like the sun rising from the desert. 'Trouble was — that while I went there to do a little fishing, the guy I wanted to see was shooting.' Before she had a chance to reply, he doffed his hat solemnly, took my arm, and we departed.
A C.I.A. courier was waiting at the airport. He'd brought a stage-one interim file on Reid-Kennedy, and another one designated Reid-Kennedy Inc. There was also a computer analysis of twelve years of tax returns — personal and corporate — with more to come. There was also time to feed two dollars into a jovial robot which dispensed cold cheeseburgers in warm Cellophane, and hot, watery coffee in dark-brown plastic cups. Mann wolfed it and said, 'Another one you don't approve, eh?'
'Of the way you handled the Reid-Kennedy woman?'
'You think she guessed what we were after, eh?' he grinned and bit into the cheeseburger.
'You should have unbuttoned your jumper and showed her your C.I. A. teeshirt,' I told him.
'Crude Yankee wrassling, was it? Not the kind of cricket you play at Lords?'
'It might make them run: or it might make them destroy the evidence, shut their mouths and phone the lawyers.'
'Or she might not even mention it to her husband,' said Mann. 'Did you think of that possibility? Jesus, this coffee is terrible.'
He crushed the disposable cup, with the remains of the coffee still inside it. He lobbed it at the bin, so that it hit the swing-top and exploded softly. The wreckage steamed.
'Yes, I thought of that too,' I said.
Our gate number flashed on the indicator. Mann threw away the rest of his cheeseburger, wiped his hands on a paper towel and tossed that after it. 'You want a mint?' said Mann, reaching into his waistcoat pocket for his indigestion tablets.
'I'm getting too old for these formal dinners,' I said.
'I don't even know why you're heading north,' said Mann. 'You should just stay here with all the senior
