`Come on,' said Sawyer, concern showing through his belligerence for the first time.
'Where was the threat?'
`You warned him that if your company had to go into liquidation, he'd be punished. Now you've got a Receiver in and Davey's dead'
`Yes, but hold on a minute. He's an administrative Receiver, and I asked for him. I'm trying to recapitalise and restructure the business, to give me time to find new markets for our technology. As it is, I think I may have cracked it. I had a phone call from the MOD yesterday. Apparently Reaper bit the dust with Davey.'
`Who bit the dust himself,' said Martin evenly, 'as your letter promised, four days after your Receiver moved in. Surely in those circumstances, you have to expect us to take your threat just a wee bit bloody seriously.'
He sat on the edge of Sawyer's desk. 'Let me ask you something. What did you feel when you knew that Davey was dead?'
The man looked up at him, and smiled savagely. 'Immense satisfaction; he said. Suddenly, guilt came into his face as if he had willed it there. 'Sorrow for the other people on board,' he added, 'but sheer delight that he had bought it. That bastard set out to ruin me, and my family. All his experts, every one of them, said to me, "Congratulations, Bryn, the Breakspear missile is world-beater," then he turns round and gives the contract to a piece of shit that couldn't hit a London bus. Let me ask you something, gentlemen. Don't you think the man was corrupt?'
`We know he was,' said Swift, `… now. But what the hell difference does that make? If every businessman who loses on a contract killed the guy who awarded it to someone else, we'd bloody soon run out of purchasers.'
Sawyer shook his black, tousled head. 'Just hold on a minute. I said I was glad the shit was dead. I didn't admit to killing him.'
`But you do admit to threatening to kill him, in that letter: said Martin.
`No, I said I'd punish him. I meant that if it came to it I was going to expose him in the media, or something.'
`That's a bit tame for a man like you, isn't it? I mean, your business is making complex weapons of destruction. The one that killed Davey was a pretty simple device. And in the process you do have access to explosives, don't you?' The man nodded, slowly.
`Mr Sawyer, where were you on Thursday of last week, and last Friday morning?'
For the first time there was silence. 'Come on,' said Martin, it'll be checkable. And until you answer, I'm not going to let you see your wife, so you can cook up an alibi.'
I was in London,' he said reluctantly, with resignation. `Doing what?'
I had a meeting last Thursday evening with the Australian Military attache. They're shopping for missiles. It turned into dinner and went on till midnight. Next morning I got up and went home.'
`Which hotel were you in?'
‘The Rubens, between Victoria Station and Buckingham Palace.'
That's one more link in the chain of evidence. We've got motive, threat, access to weapons technology and hardware. Now you tell us that you were in the vicinity when the crime was committed. Be reasonable, Mr Sawyer; try to see where I'm coming from.'
Sawyer flared at him. 'I'll tell you where you can go, as well.'
Martin smiled. I'm sorry, I won't be going anywhere until you can persuade me that you didn't kill Colin Davey, or that you couldn't have had anything to do with his death.'
`How can I do that when you've made up your mind already?' `No, I haven't, sir. I-' He broke off, as Sammy Pye's sombre face appeared in the doorway.
`Mr Martin,' said the young DC. 'We've found some things. They're out here.'
Okay, Sammy.' He stood up from the desk. 'Mr Sawyer, you'd better come too.'
Pye led them in single file, through the hallway, out of the house and round into the vast garage building; or rather into what was in part a garage.
The greater area was set up as a workshop; a very specialist workshop. In the corner there was a small forge, with an anvil beside it, and hammers hanging on a rack. Not far away stood an oxyacetylene cylinder, a mask, and cutting gear. In the centre of the area was a workbench, on which were stacked several sheets of stainless steel. Scraps of metal lay all around the floor.
Now if you'll follow me again, please, sir,' said Pye. He led Martin back out of the workshop and into the house, Sawyer, Swift and Superintendent Hawes following behind.
When we arrived, sir, I couldn't help noticing the skirt that Mrs Sawyer was wearing. It's leather, and it's virtually the same colour as the stuff on the box that Mr Skinner recovered on Friday. So while the lads were searching the garage building I had a look around in here.'
He led the way up a narrow stairway which led off the back of the hall. This could have been the maid's quarters, once upon a time,' said Martin, as they climbed.
`But not now, sir,' said Pye. 'In here.' He led the way into a small room, with a wide double window which overlooked the gardens to the rear of the house. Before it stood a wide table, with a heavy-duty sewing machine positioned at one end. The rest of the table was covered with thread spools and paper patterns, some of which were weighted down by a large pair of black scissors. To the right of the table there was a big divided stable-style door. Pye opened the upper half, to reveal a deep-shelved cupboard, packed with bolts of material. He reached in and removed one, unrolling it and holding it up for Martin and the others to see.
It was bright red leather.
Martin stared at the material, then at Sawyer. 'Jesus Christ,' he whispered, to no one. 'The man's made his own Red Box!'
In the dead silence, his mobile telephone rang.
EIGHTY-ONE
‘Yes, sir, I'll call you back as soon as we've got something to report.'
Donaldson switched off his phone. 'The Chief Super says we should go in. He's in the middle of his search just now, at the Sawyer bloke's place. He didn't go into detail, Adam, but he said to tell you that he's going to be busy there for a while.'
Is he, indeed? Well, let's go and find out if we've got a couple of rival candidates in here.'
The trio climbed out of the car, and set off round the corner of the hedgerow. They skirted the pond on the narrow side and headed directly for the cottage, past the two cars.
`Lieutenant Richards's father must have left him a few quid as well as the cottage,' said Donaldson. 'That's a top-of-the-range Laguna.'
The wooden garden gate creaked slightly as Arrow opened it, but otherwise they approached the old house silently. There was no bell, only a huge, old-fashioned, blue-painted knocker. The little soldier seized it and rapped, as loudly as he could, once, twice, three times. They stood there for almost a minute, listening for sounds within, but hearing none.
`D'you think they might have gone for a walk while I was Phoning Andy?' whispered Donaldson.
Arrow grinned at him, almost impishly. 'What would your priorities be in this situation?'
He reached for the knocker again, but as he did so, the door opened. Ariadne Tucker QC stood there, holding it slightly ajar. Her pink satin robe was tied tight around her waist, but still she held it closed at the neck, with her left hand. Tigger the cat rubbed itself luxuriantly against her bare ankles. She looked at Mcllhenney, who was slightly flushed with embarrassment, then at Donaldson, and finally down at Arrow.
She looked surprised, but a long way short of alarmed. 'Oh dear,' she said at last, in her long slow barrister's tone. 'This is very difficult. I think you'd better come in.'
She turned and walked back into the cottage, with the cat padding along behind her. The front door led directly into a huge room, with plastered, painted walls and a shiny rug-strewn stone floor. There was a huge fireplace set in the gable wall, filled with blazing logs. Facing it, a staircase led up to the attic.