Common Murder

“As far as I’m concerned, the problems are all on your side. I’ve been abducted at gunpoint, threatened with a knife, the victim of an act of criminal damage, and nobody has bothered to tell me by whom or why. Don’t you think it’s a little unreasonable to expect me to bend over backwards to solve anything you might be considering a problem?” Lindsay demanded through clenched teeth, trying to hide her fear behind a show of righteous aggression.

The woman’s eyebrows rose. “Come, come, Miss Gordon. Let’s not play games. You know perfectly well who we are and why you’re here.”

“I know he’s MI6 division, or at least I’ve been assuming he is. But I don’t know why the hell I’ve been brought here like a criminal, or who you are. And until I do, all you get from me is my name.”

The woman crushed out her half-smoked cigarette and smiled humourlessly at Lindsay. “Your bravado does you credit. If it helps matters any, my name is Barber. Harriet Barber. The reason you’ve been brought here, in your words, like a criminal, is that, according to the laws of the land, that’s just what you are.

“You are, or have been in unauthorized possession of classified information. That on its own would be enough to ensure a lengthy prison sentence, believe me, particularly given your contacts on the left. You were apprehended while in the process of jeopardizing an operation of Her Majesty’s security forces, another matter on which the courts take an understandably strong line. Superintendent Rigano really should have arrested you as soon as you tossed that tape on his desk.”

Thanks a million, Jack, Lindsay thought bitterly. But she recognized that she had begun marginally to relax. This authoritarian routine was one she felt better able to handle. “So am I under arrest now?” she asked.

Again came the cold smile. “Oh no,” said Harriet Barber. “If you’d been arrested, there would have had to be a record of it, wouldn’t there?”

The fear was back. But the moment’s respite had given Lindsay fresh strength. “So if I’m not under arrest, I must be free to go, surely?” she demanded.

“In due course,” said Stone.

“Don’t be too optimistic, Mr. Stone,” said Barber. “That depends on how sensible Miss Gordon is. People who can’t behave sensibly often suffer unfortunate accidents due to their carelessness. And someone who drives an elderly sports car like Miss Gordon’s clearly has moments when impulse overcomes good sense. Let’s hope we don’t have too many moments like that tonight.”

There was a silence. Lindsay’s nerve was the first to go, and she said, struggling to sound nonchalant, “Let’s take the posturing as read and come to the deal. What’s the score?”

“There’s that unfortunate bravado again,” sighed Barber. “We are not offering any deal, Miss Gordon. That’s not the way we do things here. You will sign the Official Secrets Act and will be bound by its provisions. You will also sign a transcript of your conversation with Superintendent Rigano this evening, as an insurance policy. You will hand over any copies of that tape still in your possession. And then you will leave here. You will not refer to the events of this evening or to your theories about the murder of Rupert Crabtree to anyone. On pain of prosecution. Or worse.”

“And if I don’t?”

“The answer to that question is not one that will appeal, believe me. What have you to lose by co-operating with what are, after all, your own country’s national interests?”

Lindsay shook her head. “If we started to debate where the national interest really lies, we’d be here a long time, Ms. Barber. I’ve got a more immediate concern than that. I understand that you’re not going to let Simon Crabtree be charged with the murder of his father?”

“Superintendent Rigano’s indiscretions were quite accurate.”

“So that means he stays free until you’re ready?”

The woman nodded. “You have a good grasp of the realities Miss Gordon.”

“Then what?”

“Then he will be dealt with, believe me. By one side or the other.”

“But not immediately?”

“That seems unlikely. He has-certain uses, shall we say?”

Lindsay lit another cigarette. “That’s my problem, you see, Ms. Barber. Simon Crabtree is a murderer, and I want him out of circulation.”

“I’m surprised that the Protestant ethic is still so firmly rooted in you, given how the rest of your lifestyle has rejected it. I didn’t expect a radical lesbian feminist to be so adamant for justice,” Barber replied sarcastically.

“It’s not some abstract notion of justice that bothers me,” Lindsay retorted. “It’s life and death. The life and death of someone I care about. You see, no one’s told Simon Crabtree that he’s immune from prosecution. And he thinks that Deborah Patterson has information that will tie him to his father’s murder and put him away. For as long as he’s on the streets, Deborah Patterson is at risk, and I can’t go along with any deal that means there’s a chance that she’s going to die. So I’m sorry, it’s no deal. I’ve got to tell my story. I’ve got to put a stop to Simon Crabtree.”