The Director General had started to pace. They were good strides, they would have graced a fairway. There was a swell in the filled tumbler and then a trail behind him of whisky splashed on the carpet. He couldn't call in a committee to evaluate the competence of young Rutherford. Young Rutherford didn't fidget, and he liked that. Young Rutherford stood his ground. It was his decision. If he was right, well, then, he would receive no praise because his decision would never be known of. If he was wrong, well, then, disgrace…
"Major Tuck told Mr Barker and Erlich that his son had been at home. He said that his son was now gone."
" D i d he, sir?"
"If this boy, this Colt, were still in Britain, where would you look for him?"
"His mother's dying, sir. That's where I'd look for him."
"Find him, please, Rutherford, and take Erlich with you."
" Y e s, sir."
"What will you do when you find him?"
" T h e local P.C. is a very good man, sir…"
" N o, no, no. I wouldn't do that, Rutherford." The Director General gazed into Rutherford's face. He thought this could have been a pleasant young man if he had had a proper job, if he hadn't chosen to work in Curzon Street. " T h e political implications here are as long as your arm. The Iraqi connection, etc. etc. No, the best way out of this hornet's nest would be to get Erlich to kill him. No publicity, please, just dead."
14
The fire was heaped with coal, burning well. He sat in the easy chair and the cat was on his lap. It was a woman's room, he could see that. There was a neatness about the small pieces of furniture and the light-coloured curtains and the delicate china ornaments and the arrangement of the print pictures on the walls. It was a room to be at home in, and there was the smell of the witch hazel.
Bill had not known such a room since he had left his grandparents' home, down by the yacht harbour at Annapolis, since he had gone west to college at Santa Barbara. The room was where to end a great day.
She had poured him good wine. She had cooked him tortellini, good sauce. She was just a hell of a fine girl, she had welcomed him into her home and sat him by the fire, and she had rubbed the witch hazel into the yellow dark bruising of his face and his crotch.
She heard the taxi before him. She cut herself short in her description of how it was to be married into the Service. She had been sitting on the sofa, her ankles tucked up beside her, her skirt tight above her knees.
The taxi drove away. She had stopped talking and her head was raised, listening. The cat hadn't moved. The cat didn't care who came, who went, as long as the lap was warm. Erlich heard the scraping of a key at the front door. He had to grin… James Rutherford coming home, and not able to get his key in the hole.
Hell of a start to your evening home. The third failure with the key, and she swung her legs off the sofa and stamped out into the hall in her stockinged feet.
Erlich heard the front door opened.
He listened.
"Hello, darling."
"You're pissed."
"Good cause, darling."
"Always a good cause."
"Blame the D. – G. "
"Come the other one."
"Honest, darling, he had me in, really. He had me in, he poured me a killer."
The softening in Penny Rutherford's voice, anxiety. "Are you in trouble?"
" Y o u don't get half pints of Scotch if you're in trouble."
"What did he want?"
" Y o u won't believe it…"
" T r y me."
" H e wanted to talk about Buffalo Bill…"
Erlich heard the relief of her laughter.
"Who?'
" Y o u know, chap in your bath, Erlich."
"What did you tell him?"
Erlich heard the bright chime of Penny Rutherford's giggle.
"I said that he was impetuous, more. I said he was too scholarly for the Service, too poetical, really, and anyway, I said, you turn your back on him for the length of a cornflake and he's in the bath with your wife. No, I black-balled him, ha! ha! ha!"
"Come on in, before you fall down."
Penny led. She had the mischief in her eyes. Erlich thought that Rutherford would be struggling out of his coat, and there was the thudding of his overnight bag onto the polished floorboards in the hall. She was beautiful, and the mischief in her was explosive.
Rutherford came in.
Rutherford stopped.
"Oh, Christ… "
"Evening, James," Erlich said.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Erlich said, quiet and easy with a bit of a drawl like he came from cattle country, "I came to take a bath."
"Come on, you two. We'll watch James have his supper. I think you've had enough to drink, darling. Go and sit down and I'll heat it. Bill, catch him if he looks like falling."
Rutherford stood straight. He stood like he was on parade. He even straightened his tie.
"Apart from the bath…?"
"I was bringing back your laundry, for which, again, thanks."
"Ah, yes, the laundry… I hope they haven't used starch on my shirt," Rutherford said. "The rest of it is fixed, by the by.
We're given carte blanche to track down Colt. This is my full-time priority. No more side-shows, you'll work alongside me because that's the way you'll get to Colt…"
Somewhat later, they both kissed Penny Rutherford goodnight, and slipped out through the front door into the street.
Rutherford let him drive. When he wasn't dozing, when he wasn't giving the directions for the turn off the M3 onto the A303 and the right-hand fork at Stonehenge, he thought of Penny.
That was the trouble, too much thinking about Penny, not enough time to do anything about Penny. Pretty Penny, the wife left at home. .. Bedrock of Curzon Street, the wives that were left at home. On his floor, in the D Branch, he knew of four men who had moved out of their suburban houses that year, and exchanged their own homes for an inner London bedsit, bachelor apartment, studio, or whatever… She could have warned him, she could have whispered and pointed to the sitting room door Perhaps it was her bit of fun, pretty Penny little laugh, to let him lead with his big foot. Actually, all jokes aside, they were washed up. All the excuses could be tripped off, But, no, she hadn't warned him because she hadn't given a toss that he had made a rude bore of himself. He just thanked his stars he hadn't given away the true gist of it. The hair rose on his neck at the thought of it. Still, some comfort there. Tight as an owl and still a good Service man. A good Service man and a piss-awful husband. Go on the way they were heading and he'd be for the bachelor flat in no time, sure.
They both pretended to be asleep, and they were both awake.
Midnight chimed on the clock downstairs in the living room.
Sara knew the problem was new. He had slept after the last session with the bank manager, and he had slept after he had come back from being held by the Establishment police. He had played Scrabble with them, and he had made sure that it was always either Frank or Adam who won. He had been like any other parent. He had been like the fathers she saw at the school gate meeting their kids. Beside her, he twisted and turned.
She reached to touch his shoulder, felt him start away from her.
"What is it, Frederick? What's happened?"
It flew from him in a torrent.
"Whatever I've done is for you and for the boys. Whatever I am going to do, is only for you and for Adam and Frank. Only for you, only for them. Whatever I've done, whatever I'm going to do, don't listen to anyone. It's only for you… " And then nothing more.
Her questions rebounded from his angular shoulder.
The car was where it had been the last time, in the driveway of the policeman's house, left in front of his darkened windows.
This night there was more light, half a moon and broken quick moving cloud, and they had skirted the village and come to the wood from the east side.