A Prospect of Vengeance

'It's all right, Mr Buller.' Immaculate as ever and secure in his Winchester tie, Tully nevertheless jumped no less smartly. 'Just the salient points now.'

Jenny caught Ian's eye. 'Reg would probably like a drink, Ian.

And I certainly would. The last lot of church bells I heard, I counted to twelve.'

'No.' It wasn't just that the Robinsons no longer obeyed the Fielding-ffulkes automatically, it was also to suggest that dummy2

Buller hadn't been with him for long. 'I want to hear what Reg has to say first. Go on, Reg.'

'Right, Mr Robinson.' Buller played back to him exactly the correct note of disappointment. 'Masson was murdered —

and Audley works for the cloak-and-dagger brigade. Ours, that is.'

'But Reg ... we know all that — '

'No you don't, Miss Fielding. At least, you may know about Dr Audley — someone may have told you. But it's not written down anywhere. Officially, he's a civil servant on contract, serving on a liaison committee of some sort — no one seems to know quite what — advising various ministries on research projects. And no one knows quite what they are, either.

Right, Johnny?'

Tully nodded. 'Yes. More or less.'

'Yes. Well, I'm telling you that he works for intelligence for a fact.' Buller paused only for half a second. 'And the same goes for Masson: the rumour's all round The Street — and down Murdoch's place in Wapping — that he was murdered.

But the Police haven't said any such thing, they've been shut up tight from the top now. Believe me, I can read the signs.

So I'm just giving you what they'd be saying if they hadn't been shut up.'

'Actually, there have been quite a few rumours,' said Tully.

'There was one that he drowned — drowned himself, that is.'

'Oh yes.' Buller nodded. 'I didn't say they haven't said dummy2

anything. First off ... first off it was "probably an ancient burial". Because they're always digging up old bones round there, apparently. Then there was an old local story, that it might be some poor old bloke who'd lived there in the First World War, who'd gone missing in the trenches and laid low.

And then got influenza — there was a lot of that about in the village at the time. So his old woman had just buried him nice and quietly — it's miles from anywhere, on the edge of the marsh there, so she could have done that quite easily, and no one the wiser. But then it all blew up in their faces, of course.'

'They got an identification, you mean?'

Buller grinned. 'Someone blundered, that's what.'

'How d'you mean — "blundered", Reg?' inquired Ian. 'The Police?'

'No, not the Police. Although I think there was rather more tramping around in the first hours than they'd like to admit

— "Isolate the scene", that's Rule Number One. But then, of course, these kids dug up the body, playing about ... so they'd already made a right mess of it.' Buller shrugged. 'After that, it would have all been routine. And they'd have twigged pretty damn quickly that it really wasn't an ancient body, too

— that 'ud put 'em into gear, if they weren't in it already. Not exactly top gear, like with a fresh body, when getting quick off the mark is half the battle, often . . . but putting the forensics to work, and checking the records — B14, Missing Persons . . . Salvation Army, Alcoholics Anonymous — they dummy2

all come into it.' Another shrug. 'Bloody thousands of people missing. So it's always nice to find one.'

'Even a dead one?' Jenny frowned at him.

'Even a dead one. You ask a farmer about his missing sheep: he'd rather find one dead than one missing — leastways, if it's been long gone. At least he knows then. And maybe he can do something about it. And that's the way the Police have to think, to make the best of it.' He stared at her for a moment. '"Missing Persons" is a pretty thankless job, I tell you. And a gut-twisting one too, when you have to tell some poor middle-aged couple that their fifteen-year-old daughter

— or son now, the way things are — is probably out on the streets, earning money the easiest way.' He paused again. 'A lot of heartache in "Missing Persons", Lady.'

Tully stirred, almost as though embarrassed by this revelation of a social conscience where no sort of conscience should be, inside Reginald Buller. 'Who blundered then, Mr Buller?'

'Some civil servant.' Buller brightened at the thought.

'Probably one of your Dr Audley's colleagues, hiding his light under some committee.' He brought his lighter up to his pipe, but then thought better. 'Or maybe someone was on holiday — like Audley is at the moment. And some poor bloody clerk standing in for him didn't get to the bottom of his in-tray before the weekend. And then another load of bumpf went on the top of it on Monday morning. So he's for the chop now — ' He glanced sidelong at Jenny ' — or she is, dummy2

now that we're all equal.'

Jenny merely smiled. 'The identification?'

That's right. Teeth, most like — they're always the best ID.'

Buller returned the smile. 'If you're going to plant someone, Miss Fielding . . . take my tip: cut the hands and the head off, smash the jaw up, and drop the bits off in a few dustbins just before the refuse truck comes round. Then dig a deep hole for the rest, where it isn't likely to be dug up by the kids.' As he spoke the smile utterly vanished. 'But, whatever it was tipped 'em off ... and I don't know it was teeth . . . the identification got out before anyone could sit on it, and that's a fact.' He switched to Tully. 'And that put the newspapers on to it. Masson being in their "Missing Persons" file of course.

And then the fat was in the fire.' The smile returned, but in a thinner form. 'All just routine — getting the right file, or the right print-out. But this time in the wrong order.'

'So where did my drowning rumour come from?' Tully's pale intellectual face was expressionless. 'I thought it came from the Police?'

Buller nodded. 'So it did. But not officially. Seems like it was a "tip-off", from lower down — like one of the DCs feeding one of the local journalists, off the record, supposedly. But it wasn't that at all, of course.'

'Disinformation?' Having been disinformed many times over recent years, Jenny was quick on that particular ball.

'Disinformation — yes.' Buller liked accurate passing. 'Could dummy2

have been the same clerk, trying to shut the stable door after the horse was already meat in the knacker's yard, as best he could. Or she could.' Half-smile, half-shrug. There is a lake there ... or a pond, so they say.'

'You haven't seen the place?' Tully pursed his lips. 'Actually seen it — ?'

'Not a chance.' Buller returned slight contempt for this hint of disapproval. 'It's guarded round the clock — an' Special Branch from London as well as the locals. An' it's a bloody isolated spot, too . . . plus I'm not about to display myself, snooping around, to be photographed for the record. That wouldn't be good for business.' He looked to Ian for support.

'Yours as well as mine?'

'He wasn't found in the pond — the lake?' Ian rose obligingly.

'The children dug him up. And ... all the initial rumours were . . . digging-up ones?' Remembering what Buller had said when they were alone, it was easy.

'That is exactly right, Mr Robinson.' Buller nodded formally.

The original story was drowning — "drowned at sea". An'

then the first story was "ancient bones" dug up. An' then his name slipped out — an' then it was "drowning" again. But that won't stick for ever.' He shook his head. 'Maybe, if they'd had time to doctor the evidence ... or, at least, to confuse it ...

then they just might have made a drowning stick.' He looked from one to the other of them. 'Although, with policemen, and coroners, and all the rest . . . that's not so easy, I can tell you. But they might at least have bought more time, anyway.