Authors: Quintin Jardine
Now go on, get back to sleep. I'm fine now.'
To convince her, he switched off his reading lamp. In the dim green light of the radio-alarm's LCD clock, he saw her looking up at him doubtfully, but he forced a smile and pulled her to him.
It took longer than before but gradually she settled to sleep in the crook of his arm. He kissed her hair, and pulled the quilt up over her bare shoulder. He stared up at the ceiling, half-afraid of what he would see; but all that was there was magnolia emulsion, reflecting a faint green tinge from the alarm.
As he lay there wide awake, a part of his mind knew that it was not so much that he was unable to sleep, but that he dared not.
THIRTY-NINE
The home which Maurice Noble had made with Ariadne Tucker was part of a brick terrace in a narrow street which cool boast by about 200 yards to be part of Putney rather than Wandsworth.
`What's the difference?' growled Mcllhenney, his head throbbing as a result of the disastrous liking which he had taken to Young's Black Horse ale, after he and Donaldson had take their leave of Adam Arrow.
Àbout fifty grand, in a good market,' their soldier companion informed him. He was walking between them, amiable and bright-eyed, as they covered the short distance from their Government pool vehicle to the Noble front door. He had to reach up to ring the bell.
The woman who opened the door was statuesque, with wide shoulders and long legs — a perfect match to Shana Mirzana' description. Her dyed blonde hair was neatly cut; McIlhenney could imagine it crowned by a barrister's wig. There was only one thing wrong: she was at least fifty-five years old.
`Ms Tucker?' Arrow ventured tentatively.
The Amazon fixed him with a glare borrowed from Edith Evans's Lady Bracknell. 'Mrs Tucker, actually, young man,' she boomed. 'I assume that you are the gentlemen who wish to see my daughter. You may come in.'
She led them through a tiled porch into a narrow hall, with rug-strewn, sanded floors. On the left rose a staircase with natural pine balustrades which matched the four doors leading to various rooms. Mrs Tucker opened the first and marched through, with the three callers trailing in her wake like a line of cygnets.
Ariadne, my dear,' she announced. 'These are the people you were expecting. Gentlemen, you are . . . ?'
Arrow stepped up as she waved him forward and introduced himself, and the two policemen. Maurice Noble's widow rose from her chair and shook each man formally by the hand. She was a younger, even more imposing version of the older woman. Where Tucker Mѐre's jowls and turkey neck betrayed her age, the daughter's skin was sleek, taut and unwrinkled. Her hazel eyes were even more commanding than her mother's, set off by long lashes and heavy blonde brows. Perhaps, McIlhenney surmised, as a concession to widowhood she was dressed in a simple black T-shirt and leggings. Barefoot, she still towered over Arrow, and looked up only slightly at Donaldson and his Sergeant.
`Sit down, please, gentlemen,' she said, pointing to a three-seater Chesterfield and a captain's chair, both in unusual blue leather. 'Mother, make yourself scarce and do the coffee thing, there's a dear.' Donaldson tried to imagine the response if Mr Tucker, were, one still in residence, had issued such a peremptory command to the matriarch, yet she simply nodded and left the long drawing-cum-dining room by a door in its furthest wall.
As soon as she had gone, her bereaved daughter looked across at the soldier, who had chosen, appropriately, the captain's chair. So you're Adam Arrow,' she said. 'My husband talked about you. "Chilling efficiency, masked by a veneer of gauche Derbyshire charm."
That was his description. Was it fair, do you think?'
Arrow smiled at her, deliberately giving her full voltage. `Time will tell, Ms Tucker.'
`Maurice did say that you had been something frightful in the Army before you moved to Security. Is that why you're on this investigation? Have they set one to catch one?'
`This isn't my investigation. It's a police matter; my role here is liaison.'
`Ho hum,' said Ariadne, unconvinced.
Arrow ignored her scepticism. 'Look, Ms Tucker, you have our deepest sympathy, and we are really sorry to have to impose upon you so soon after the tragedy, but you will appreciate, I hope, that it is necessary.'
She waved a hand. 'That's okay. I understand.'
`You'll be aware by now that the crash in which your husband was killed was the result of an explosion.'
She nodded, grim-faced. 'Someone got that swine Davey at last. What a pity he had to take poor Maurice with him, and all those other people.'
`That sounds as if you disapproved pretty strongly of our late Secretary of State.'
`The man was an absolute shit. Don't you agree with me, Captain?'
Arrow shrugged. 'I don't have a view. My reporting chain leads to the Permanent Secretary's door, not to his. All I'd say is that Ministers are like soldiers, in that they don't have to be nice, just effective.'
Ànd are you nice, Adam?' she said, in a voice not entirely becoming in a widow.
`Who knows?' he retorted, his eyes suddenly hard behind the smile. But I'm bloody effective.'
I'll bet, thought Dave Donaldson, a spectator at the sparring match. He decided that it was time for him to assert his presence'
How did your husband seem when he left on Friday morning, Mrs Noble?' he asked.
She flashed him a look when he used her marital title, but let it pass. 'I couldn't tell you. I didn't see him. He had an early start. He called "Goodbye," then I heard the taxi leave. My door was closed so I couldn't describe his tone of voice.'
`You mean you were still asleep when he got up?'
'No, Superintendent, I mean we have, sorry had, separate rooms.' Suddenly a large marmalade cat sprang up and over the back of her chair, to land in her lap. 'Not now, Tigger,' she said without annoyance, tossing the animal gently down on to the pale blue carpet. Simultaneously, Shana Mirzana's, A. A. Milne analogy sprang into the mind of each of the three men, but none felt the slightest like smiling.
`Separate rooms,' said Donaldson. 'Forgive me, but does that mean that you and your husband were having problems with your marriage?'
Ànd did I pop a couple of dynamite sandwiches into his little lunchbox, were you about to ask?' Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. 'No, Chief Inspector, you may not draw either of those conclusions.
`Maurice worked silly hours in Private Office, thanks to the appalling Davey. Sometimes, in my profession, I burn midnight oil too, preparing for consultations, and for court. For example on Thursday evening, I was preparing my closing speech to the jury in a major fraud trial in which I am appearing for the defence.
Èach of us needed our sleep. So if one of us was working late, rather than disturb the other, we did the sensible thing.'
`How many nights a week were you that sensible?'
Most of them,' she said curtly. She turned to Arrow. 'If we were in court, and I was in the witness box, my Counsel would be objecting to this chap's line of questioning . . . Your Honour.'
Ì think,' said the soldier, 'that my colleague is doing his best to establish Maurice's state of mind, and being as delicate about it as he can. Me, I'm just a gauche Derbyshire lad, so I'll come straight out with it. Were you playing all your games at home, Ms Tucker, or were some of them away fixtures?'
The woman sat bolt upright in her chair, a flush springing to her cheeks. Her mouth formed a reply, but just at that moment the door at the far end of the room creaked open, as Mѐre Tucker reappeared with a large tray laden with cafetiere and cups.
Her daughter jumped to her feet and went to meet her. `Thank you, Mother, I'll take these.
Leave us, please.'
The older woman looked doubtful, but Ariadne grabbed the tray and shoo-ed her back through the door from which she had emerged. As it closed, she laid the tray on the reproduction mahogany dining table and stormed back to confront Arrow.
`What the hell right have you got to ask such a question?'
Àll the right I need. I'll ask you again. Were you being unfaithful to Maurice?'
`You can't jump to that conclusion simply because of our civilised sleeping arrangements.'
Ìt's not our conclusion, and that isn't the only reason for the question. We have information that Maurice thought you were seeing someone else.'
She stood glaring down at Arrow, her hands on her hips. `Where did you get that from?
Not the Mirzana girl. Maurice was basically frightened of women; he'd never have confided in her. It could only have come from Joseph Webber, the office sponge. You accuse me on the basis of his gossip?'
`No one's accusing, Ms Tucker,' said Neil Mcllhenney, his head pounding with the tension and the fading effects of the ale. `We're simply asking.'
The big bluff Scot seemed to mollify her. 'Look,' she said. , Maurice had a history of clinical depression. The job put pressures on him that he didn't anticipate when he took it, and that so-and-so Davey was responsible for them. He didn't care a scrap about his staff; he didn't allow for one second that they might have demands on their time other than his.
He was a thoroughly selfish bastard and he was doing Maurice's head in.
The trouble was that my poor husband wouldn't admit it, and the result was that his depression was coming back, with a touch of paranoia thrown in. I tried to put my foot down and make him ask for a transfer back to Division, but he wouldn't have it. That's the full story about Maurice.
She slumped back into her chair. The cat jumped up in her lap again. This time she allowed it to remain.
`So when did you see your husband last?' asked Donaldson.
`Very briefly, late on Thursday evening. I was working in my study, when I heard him come in just after ten. He pottered about for a while downstairs. I'd left him some supper and some orange juice.'
`He didn't drink alcohol?'
`Never.'
`Not at all?'
Èmphatically not! Anyway, once he had finished his supper and whatever else he was doing, he came upstairs. He looked in to say that he was off to Scotland next morning and that he was going to turn in. I said okay, I kissed him good night, he went off, and that was the last time I ever saw him.' She steepled her hands and stared glumly at her thumbs.
Arrow thought he might have detected the faintest trembling in her chin.
`You mentioned earlier that he left by taxi,' he said. 'Where was he heading? Not to the airport, surely.'
`No, he was going to Dolphin Square, where the Secretary of State has a flat. A pool car was collecting them from there.' Ì see.'
He looked across at Donaldson, and gave the faintest nod toward the door. The policeman took his cue. 'Fine, er, Ms Tucker. We won't put you through any more. Come on gentlemen.' The three men stood up. She made to follow them but Arrow motioned her to stay seated. 'It's okay. Don't disturb the cat, we'll see ourselves out. We'll let you know when there's something to report.'
`Thank you,' she murmured. 'But don't hurry back.'
The policemen and the soldier filed back out into the street. No one spoke until they had almost reached their pool car where the grey-uniformed driver sat waiting patiently.
`What did you think of her then?' asked Neil Mcllhenney finally.
À big Momma for Baby Roo,' said Donaldson. 'Too big for most guys, I'd say.'
`That was some line about dynamite and lunchboxes,' said McIlhenney. 'She can't know about the Red Box, can she?'
`Not unless she booby-trapped it,' muttered Adam Arrow grimly. 'But if she had, I doubt she'd have come out with a line like that. Still, we should close our minds to nothing.
`There was one thing that really stood out, though,' he said. `She's a Queen's Counsel, and Queen's Counsel aren't supposed to lie, or so they say. But that lady never did give us a straight answer to the key question: Did she have someone on the side?
Ì think we should take a longer look at Ms Ariadne Tucker.'
FORTY
Fortified by the unforgettable experience of one of Sarah's American-style Sunday breakfasts, Skinner felt more or less human when he strode into the almost empty headquarters building at twenty-five minutes past noon.
He had welcomed the message that a delay on the trans-Atlantic flight meant that his American guest would not be catching the 11 a.m. shuttle. Still, he knew that his condition was fragile, and so, even before taking off his jacket he filled his coffee filter with the stronger of the two blends which he kept in his cupboard, topped up the water reservoir and set the machine to work.
The jug had only just filled when Merle Gower appeared in the doorway, her dark business suit contrasting with Skinner's denims and sweatshirt.
`Sir?' she said. The officer at the desk said we should come op. Mr Doherty is here.'
Skinner laughed. 'Jesus Christ, Joe,' he shouted. 'Are you so bloody important now that you have to be announced? Come on in,'
The Deputy Chair of the American National Security Council was still very new in post.
While Doherty's sudden leap to stardom had surprised Skinner, and by reports, most of Washington, it had not astounded him. The policeman had held him in high regard during his spell as the FBI representative in the London Embassy, the Bureau's senior overseas posting, and had admired the powers of intellect, analysis and tenacity which had led his Director to nominate him for the crucial NSC post.
He strode into Skinner's office with hand outstretched in greeting. 'Hi there, Big Bob. I didn't expect that we'd meet again so soon. But trouble seems to attach itself to you like filings to a magnet, don't it.' He spoke with a soft mid-Western drawl which, added to his lack of height and slimness of build, made him a very unstereotypical law enforcer.
`Stop it, mate. The same thought's been occurring to me.' He poured three mugs of the strong coffee, added milk to his own, and stood back to allow Doherty and Gower to adjust theirs to their taste. As always Doherty took his black with half a spoon of sugar, barely stirred.
`So, wee man,' said Skinner, as they settled into the low chairs around his coffee table,