The Silent World Of Nicholas Quinn

'Ah! I see you still don't appreciate the infinite subtlety of Bartlett's plan. What's happening outside? A fire drill! As you yourself found out, Noakes had been instructed to let the alarm ring for two minutes. Two minutes! That's a long, long time, Lewis, and during it everybody is chattering and clattering down the stairs and along the corridors. Perhaps Bartlett made quite sure that Quinn didn't shout for help; but even if he had managed to shout, I doubt if anyone would have heard him. And remember! No one is going into Bartlett's office. The red light has been turned on outside, and none of the staff is going to disobey the golden rule. And even if everything had gone wrong, Lewis, even if someone had come in — though I expect Bartlett had locked the door anyway — Quinn's prints are on the bottle and on the glasses, and police inquiries are going to centre on the fundamental question of who had poisoned Bartlett's sherry — presumably with the intention of poisoning Bartlett, not Quinn. Anyway, Quinn is dead and the building is now completely deserted. Bartlett puts on a pair of gloves, pours his own sherry and whatever is left of Quinn's down the sink in his private little cloakroom — remember it, Lewis? — and locks away the sherry bottle and Quinn's glass in a briefcase. So far so good. Quinn was a fairly slight man and Bartlett may have carried him over his shoulder, or put him into one of the large plastic containers they use there for rubbish, and then dragged him along the polished floor. Probably he carried him, since no scratches or abrasions were found on Quinn's body. But whatever he did, it was only a few yards to the rear entrance, and Quinn's parking place was immediately outside the door. Bartlett, who has already taken Quinn's car key and house key from his pocket — or from his anorak — dumps the body and the briefcase in the boot, locks it, and the deed is done.'

'We should have examined the boot, I suppose, sir.'

'But I did. There were no traces of Quinn at all. That's why I think Bartlett may have used a container of some sort.'

Then he goes out to join the rest of the staff—'

Morse nodded 'Standing meekly outside in the cold, yes. He takes over the list, which by this time has been handed round the thirty or so permanent staff, ticks in himself and Quinn as present, and finally decides that all are accounted for.'

'And it was Bartlett who rang the school in Bradford?'

'Certainly. Doubtless he'd been looking out for anything that could be used to help mislead the inevitable investigation, and he must have seen that particular letter in Quinn's tray in the registry earlier that week. If you remember, it was postmarked Monday, 17th November.'

'Then he went home and had a hearty lunch.'

'I doubt it,' said Morse. 'Bartlett's a very clever man, but basically he's not as ruthless as someone like Roope. Anyway, he's still got a lot on his mind. Certainly the trickier half of the plan is over, but he hasn't finished yet. He must have left home at about ten past one, telling his wife — perfectly correctly — that he had to call in at the office before going off to his meeting in Banbury. But before he did that—'

'He called in at Studio 2.'