"You get your interest payments, I get my cyber-precincts. Point to a victim, Karl."
"None, of course. That is why you triumph all the time."
"So you think the review committee will approve the loan?"
"Yes," he said simply.
"I thought this wasn't going to be business."
"I apologize. But everything has its roots in politics."
She couldn't ever remember seeing Karl in such an ambivalent mood before. It was as if he wanted to talk about some important topic, but didn't quite know how to broach the subject. A parent explaining sex to a giggly teenager. "You want to talk about politics? I wasn't old enough to vote at the election even if I had been in the country. I will in the next, though."
"You certainly play politics like a master, Julia. That's why I was not surprised when you were given the nuclear waste disposal contract. Admiring, but not surprised."
"Thank you, it took some arranging, but I'd like to think I am flexible when it comes to co-operating with the English Ministry of Industry."
"Yes. However, there are questions being asked in some quarters about the closeness of Event Horizon and the Ministry. It might almost be referred to as a partnership."
"I have never offered cash to an MP," she said. "And I never will."
"No. But the relationship, imaginary though it is, can be seized upon by opposition parties. The Big Lie, Julia; say something loud enough for long enough, and people will begin to believe. Ultimately that will affect Event Horizon; artificial constraints will be placed on you. Your bids will be refused simply because they are yours; politicians publicly demonstrating that they are not showing any favouritism. And that cannot be allowed." He smiled crookedly. "It's bad for profits, if nothing else. Bad for us."
Julia began to wonder which 'us' he was talking about. "I will just have to shout louder. And I can shout, very loud indeed."
"An official denial is like an Oscar to a rumour."
"Are we going to sit here all afternoon and quote bons mots at each other, Karl?"
"I would hope not."
"Well, what would you like to see me do?"
"Some circumspection wouldn't hurt, Julia. I know you are reasonably adroit, that's why I find your latest action somewhat puzzling."
She sneaked a questioning look to Sean. But he just shrugged minutely.
"What action?"
"Imposing that Mindstar veteran, Greg Mandel, on the Kitchener inquiry. It was terribly public, Julia. You were his bridesmaid. Really! It leaves you wide open to the rabblerousers and conspiracy theorists."
She regarded him thoughtfully. "How did you know about Greg?"
"It was all over the channel newscasts."
"Oh." Even so, it was odd that he should know so quickly. She had spent most of the morning swotting up on datawork for the meeting, and that was with nodes augmenting her brain. Did he really have each news item concerning Event Horizon brought to his attention? Then she remembered Jakki bitch Coleman. It hadn't been every minute, after all. "I take your point, Karl. Actually, I've already started damage limitation."
"Mandel has been taken off the case?"
"No, I need to know who killed Kitchener. But you won't be hearing about the link between Greg and myself any more, not on the channels."
"Ah. I'm glad to hear it."
CHAPTER NINE
Nicholas wasn't really interested in his surroundings any more, so the pokey interview room didn't lodge in his mind until Greg Mandel looked at him. Looked inside him, more like, right through his skull into his brain.
The lawyer, Lisa Collier, had explained about the psychic being assigned to the investigation. She had seemed very irate about it, going on about how his rights were being violated, procedural irregularities, hearsay being taken as evidence. Nicholas didn't mind a psychic being appointed; anything, anything at all which would bring the killer a step nearer to justice was totally justified. That was simple logic, obvious.
Why couldn't the Collier woman see that?
He had been staying in one of the cells at Oakham police station since Friday, although the door was always left unlocked. "You aren't being held on remand," the police kept explaining. "You're just here to help us." He nodded at their anxious faces, and answered every question the detectives asked. They seemed surprised that his answers were so consistent. As if he could forget anything that had happened on that night.
It was the last night of his life. Nothing had happened to him since. There was only the mechanics of the body, eating, going to the toilet, sleeping. That was all he had done since then, slept and answered questions. He was allowed to mix with the other students, but they never expected him to say anything anyway. They had moaned about the accommodation, about not being allowed out, the food, the bathroom.
The one person he wanted to talk to, Isabel, was further away from him now than she had ever been at Launde. She would sit in one corner of the rest room they had been assigned, her legs tucked up against her chest, peering vacantly out of the window; and he would sit in the corner opposite, just gazing at her. He was too afraid even to say good morning, because if they did talk he would have to hear about her and Kitchener and Rosette. What happened in that bedroom, how many times it happened. Even why it had happened. He couldn't possibly stand that.
Kitchener had been the architect of his mind. For the first time in his life he had really begun to think straight. Kitchener, with his own love of knowledge, had been the one who nurtured his talent, who made him realize his ability was nothing to be ashamed of, wasn't freakish like people said. Kitchener was the one who encouraged him to join in the Abbey's camaraderie.
Kitchener had taken Isabel from him.
Kitchener was dead.
The world, which had been so close to becoming accessible, had eluded him once again. Which was why he said he didn't mind the psychic asking questions; after all, Kitchener had used neurohormones. They couldn't be bad.
Except, now he was faced with the prospect of actually going through with the interview, it didn't seem quite so easy.
There was a very unforgiving quality about Greg Mandel as he sat patiently behind the desk, some weary tolerance which even Nicholas, with all his social inadequacy, could recognize. The man had the appearance of having been everywhere, witnessed every human state. Excuses would not work, not on him. Yet at the same time, he could see how receptive Greg was. It was confusing, the two almost contrasting aspects of character existing side by side.
Nicholas dropped into the chair, not in the least reassured by the formality of the proceedings as Vernon Langley and Lisa Collier made their stiff lead-in statements for the AV recorder. There was something unnaturally creepy about someone rooting round in his mind; for a start there were so many pathetic secrets about himself, all those hundreds of failings and disasters littering his life.
"I can't plug into your memories," Greg said in a palliative tone. "So you can stop worrying about the time you pinched your little brother's chocolate bar."
"I haven't got a brother," Nicholas blurted. "Only a sister. And I've never stolen anything from her."
"There you are then, I can't tell."
"Oh, right." He felt such a fool. "How did you know I was worried about you reading my memories?"
"Because everybody does that when they meet me. Vernon and Jon here are worried about the cash they lifted from the station's Christmas party box, Mrs Collier is extremely worried about her dark past. But the only thing I can sense inside a brain is the emotional content. So the sooner you relax and all that worry vanishes, the sooner I can ask the questions, and the sooner you can be out of here. OK?"