Corridors of Death (17 page)

‘Twenty million pounds is a great deal of money, sir. I shouldn’t have expected it to be a reasonable request from a private company.’

‘Well, it was to be just a loan, and three thousand added to the unemployment register is a lot of people. The decision rested on whether the company really was viable and would survive and be able to repay the money. Wells, as you might imagine, was desperately anxious to save the company. His seat is a marginal one, and for him to be able to claim the credit for saving so many jobs would have virtually guaranteed his being successful in the General Election which cannot be far away. He fought very hard within the department, the party and the government to get agreement to the loan. His hopes were pretty high. Too high, really. The decision was always in doubt. I have reason to believe that he made some incautiously arrogant statements in his constituency about his ability to pull it off.’

‘But I thought ministers as junior as Wells didn’t have much power?’

‘Quite right, Superintendent. They don’t. Our Mr Wells, however, is one of those who believe that by the sheer exercise of aggression and energy you can accomplish anything. He lobbied extensively both within and without the department, and used every opportunity to try to embarrass the government into making the money available.’

‘And he succeeded?’

‘No, he didn’t, Superintendent. That is the whole point. Wells’s self-congratulatory article appeared on the very day a letter had been sent out to the company telling its management that the loan would not be forthcoming. In an effort to claim the maximum credit for himself in his constituency, Wells had jumped the gun and set himself up for the most tremendous fall.’

‘How could he get it so wrong, sir?’ asked Milton, bewildered. Wells hadn’t struck him as being an idiot.

‘Because, Superintendent, Nicholas told him it was safe to go ahead with the article.’

27

Milton had long since lost the capacity to be surprised at Sir Nicholas’s malevolence, but he could still be astounded at his ingenuity.

‘I’m sorry, sir. I can’t believe I’ve understood you correctly. Are you saying that Wells didn’t know Sir Nicholas had given him false information, and that he therefore let the article appear today? In that case, I don’t see what it has got to do with Sir Nicholas’s murder. Or are you saying Wells knew on Monday morning about the trick Sir Nicholas had played on him and therefore had a motive to kill him? In which case, why didn’t he stop the article?’

‘Wells knew all right. I haven’t been able to get hold of him this evening, but his Private Secretary tells me that he heard Wells having an argument on the telephone on Monday afternoon with the editor of the newspaper in question. He was trying to withdraw his article.’

Milton was still lost. Weren’t Private Secretaries supposed to be omniscient?

‘Why didn’t the Private Secretary tell you about this earlier, sir?’

‘He didn’t grasp what was going on. He hadn’t seen the article Wells had sent in, and didn’t realize that it announced that the loan had been granted. He just assumed Wells had had second thoughts about something in it.’

‘But why couldn’t Wells kill the article?’

‘Because it was too late; the paper had already gone to bed. Besides, there’s no knowing how explicit he was with the editor. Knowing him, he’ll have started with bully-boy tactics, and found it difficult to climb down later and admit that he’d been totally wrong-footed.’

‘But for heaven’s sake, sir, Wells would surely have told you about it?’

‘He certainly should have, Superintendent, and I shall be very interested to hear why he didn’t. There hasn’t been a word from him about it. That’s why I was so thunderstruck when I heard. I have no idea what he’s playing at. He cancelled several meetings scheduled for today and didn’t come in to the office. He pleaded personal reasons. We haven’t been able to get hold of him anywhere.’

‘Is he expected in tomorrow, sir?’

‘He is, and he’ll have a warm reception. Even our mild-mannered Secretary of State will be hopping mad over this.’

‘So you are suggesting, sir, that Wells found out that Sir Nicholas had landed him in the mire and killed him in a fit of rage?’

‘That is going much too far, Superintendent. I am merely suggesting that if Wells – as seems certain – found out on Monday morning that his upstaging of his colleagues was going to threaten his career he would have been extremely upset.’

‘He’s very ambitious, isn’t he?’

‘Exceptionally so, Superintendent.’

‘It looks as though we shall have to wait until tomorrow to find out what has caused him to remain silent about this since Monday. In the meantime, could we talk about Sir Nicholas’s motive for playing such a dirty trick? I gather he didn’t like Wells, but this was something which would reflect on the government and the department as well.’

‘It certainly will. We have two options. Either we ring the company in the morning and tell them to ignore our letter rejecting their request or we tell them later that a minister – albeit a junior minister – had been so badly misled by colleagues in government that he has given totally wrong information to a newspaper. If we do the first we gain some time at the expense of looking like fools. It will give the government a chance to reconsider the argument for lending the money, and they may be driven to giving in in order to avoid the political embarrassment of opting for the second course.’

‘As a matter of curiosity, why did the decision go against making the loan?’

‘Because on balance we are pretty sure the company will fold within the next couple of years whatever we do. We would be taking an unacceptable risk with taxpayers’ money.’

‘In that case, surely the decision won’t be reversed?’

‘It’s too close to an election for that to be a certainty. The Cabinet have already taken a courageous decision once. With this new complication, they may well change their minds. There was only a small majority against the loan anyway.’

‘When was the decision taken?’

‘Last Friday. That was a stroke of luck for Nicholas. The Cabinet usually meets on Thursdays, but it met late on this occasion because the Prime Minister was out of the country for most of the week. That meant that Nicholas was able to tell Wells on Friday evening to go ahead with the article, knowing that he wouldn’t hear about the true decision until the following Monday.’

‘You seem very certain, sir, that Sir Nicholas told Wells to go ahead.’

‘I’m guessing a little, but I’m pretty sure that that is what happened. Wells’s Private Secretary told me that Wells had made an appointment with Nicholas to see him when news came through of the Cabinet decision. Wells had written two alternative articles. The other was a justification of the decision to reject the loan. It fell back on platitudes about the effort he would be putting into pushing government to invest in job-creation schemes in other firms in the constituency. Nicholas summoned Wells in the late afternoon. He went off to see him carrying both articles and didn’t come back to his office again.’

Milton knitted his brows. ‘I thought civil servants wrote this kind of article for their ministers. Isn’t there some kind of elaborate P.R. service which controls what is sent to the press?’

‘There is, Superintendent, but Wells insisted on writing the articles himself. Nicholas had undertaken to vet them for publication – another proof that he was trying to make mischief. From what Alan Wilmot has told me about the article which has appeared, no civil servant or minister would have approved its tone. It is deliberately slanted to give Wells a far bigger part in the matter than he in fact played. Indeed, it was typical of his arrogance to try it on. He would have expected it to be considerably watered down by Nicholas. He must have been cock-a-hoop when he was unexpectedly told he could go ahead with it in its present form.’

‘I can well see that he must have been in a state of spectacular fury when he discovered the truth,’ said Milton. ‘He’s going to have a lot of explaining to do. I’m very grateful to you for letting me know about this.’

‘I should be grateful if you could find some way of concealing from him the precise source of your information, Superintendent. It will make for bad relations. Many people would think I should have left you to find out for yourself. I don’t intend to mention to my colleagues that it was I who told you.’

‘When will it be common knowledge, sir?’

‘In the department? I should think by mid-morning tomorrow.’

‘In that case, sir, I shan’t get in touch with Mr Wells until then. If he asks, I’ll tell him I got an anonymous tip-off.’

‘That is very considerate of you, Superintendent.’

‘One must always try to protect one’s informants, sir. I don’t want you to think twice the next time you contemplate helping us.’

Sanders suddenly recollected Amiss’s presence. ‘I’m sorry, Robert. I forgot to invite you to give the Superintendent your views.’

‘Don’t worry, Douglas. I had nothing to add. As you know, I agree with your interpretation of events. I’m quite certain that Sir Nicholas hated Wells enough to have seized on this opportunity to discredit him. Nor do I think he would have let loyalty to his department hold him back. Lately he didn’t seem to have any respect at all for his colleagues.’

‘I must say, Superintendent,’ said Sanders reflectively, ‘that though I am of course anxious that the murderer be found soon, I am even more anxious to discover why Nicholas went off the rails as he seems to have done?’

‘I can think of two reasons, connected with his private life, but I am at a complete loss to understand why he should take his private miseries out on two public figures. I hope to understand this before I finish the investigation.’

They said friendly goodbyes, and Amiss ushered Milton out. ‘I hadn’t imagined that you could stay quiet for so long,’ said Milton, grinning at him.

‘Long practice,’ Amiss replied, grinning back. ‘I’ve done well in the service by learning when to keep my mouth shut. Humility is a quality in short supply among graduate entrants. I decided long ago to give at least an appearance of it. It’s made me very popular with my superiors.’

‘See you later.’

‘I can’t wait. I’ll see if I can’t find some more motives, meanwhile.’

‘Just you dare,’ Milton grunted, as he stumped off back to the Yard.

28

Milton got through his discussions with his sergeants in half an hour. Then he spent several minutes sitting alone, staring unseeingly at the grimy wall in front of him, going swiftly over the events of the past few days, the card-sorter in his head set for ‘nagging doubts’. There was one that had been bothering him on and off since the previous morning. Who had sent the postcard to the Yard pointing the finger at Lady Clark and Martin Jenkins? Of course, as he had earlier imagined, it could be simply the work of a busybody, or of someone completely unconnected with the case who thought it was a lead the police should follow up. Alternatively, it could be the work of the murderer, seeking to distract attention from himself. That would mean it was either Nixon, Wells, Parkinson, Stafford or Shaw. It could hardly be Lady Clark’s beloved son.

He called Romford in again.

‘What’s the news about the postcard?’

‘The handwriting lads haven’t come up with anything yet, sir. Block capitals, cheap ball-pen. Difficult.’

I know, Romford, I know
. ‘Have they had all the examples of handwriting we asked the suspects to provide?’

‘They should have had them all by now, sir.’

Milton didn’t really have much hope that anything would come of this. Still, he was impatient to have the possibility ruled out. A thought struck him.

‘Have you held back a photocopy of the message?’

‘Of course, sir,’ said Romford in a wounded tone. He was very sensitive to any suggestion that he wasn’t on the ball.

‘Well done,’ said Milton soothingly. ‘Can you let me have it, please?’

He jammed it into his case and went off to the Star of India. As he had expected, Amiss was again there ahead of him.

Milton fell into his chair. ‘What a day! Tell you what, let’s go and eat at a brightly-lit table in one of those smart English places where the nobs go, and discuss all this in loud voices over Dover sole and saddle of lamb!’

‘Lamb cutlets and chips on the menu here. Look. “With minty sauce.” Guts not holding up too well, then? Mine are fine.’

‘You’re enjoying all this too much, Robert,’ said Milton reprovingly. ‘You must be in the wrong job. Why don’t you join the force?’

‘Christ, no. It’s one thing playing at the wonder-boy assistant, but I don’t fancy doing it professionally. I’m the weedy intellectual type. I never fancied doing anything dangerous.’

‘Maybe you’re right. Nobody’s hit me in recent years, but I still have a couple of scars from Grosvenor Square in 1969.’

‘Maybe you got them from me, Jim. I was an idealist in those days. In fact, one of the things that put me off demonstrations was the sight of what went on there. I got stuck in the middle of a real barney between a couple of tough coppers and a handful of hairy protesters, and I didn’t enjoy it one single bit.’

‘I put you down as the middle-of-the-road type – left-wing Tory if anything. I’ll try those lamb chops.’

Amiss did the honours with the waiter, whose white jacket, Milton’s trained eye noted, had borne the same pattern of stains for three evenings now.

‘Right-wing Labour is more the mark. I’ve moved to the right since I joined the service and discovered pragmatism.’

‘You mean you were well left of centre when you were recruited? I thought they only took moderates?’

‘As long as you don’t let your political views influence your judgement you can be anything short of a member of a party committed to the overthrow of the established order. The service assumes quite rightly that experience of the realities of government will dampen anyone’s political ardour. I’d imagine you get proportionately more floating voters in the service than among the population as a whole. We tend to vote for a front bench rather than for a party.’