He rubbed his nose slightly; it was the only sign of outward emotion that he had shown.
‘I consider myself a spiritual man, Miss Next, although I am not religious. By spiritual I merely mean that I feel I have good in my soul and am inclined to follow the correct course of action given a prescribed set of circumstances. Do you understand?’
I nodded.
‘Having said that, I would still be very keen to end the life of the person who did this foul deed. I have been practising on the range and now carry a pistol full time; look—‘
‘Show me later, Mr Cable. Do you have any leads?’
‘None. Nothing at all. We don’t know who he was seeing or why. I have contacts over at Homicide; they have nothing either.’
‘Being shot six times in the face is the mark of a person with a gleeful passion for the undertaking of their duties,’ I told him. ‘Even if Crometty had been carrying a gun I don’t think it would have made much difference.’
‘You could be right,’ sighed Bowden. ‘I can’t think of a single time that a pistol has been drawn on a LiteraTec investigation.’
I agreed. Ten years ago in London it had been the same. But big business and the huge amounts of cash in the sale and distribution of literary works had attracted a bigger criminal element. I knew of at least four London LiteraTecs who had died in the line of duty.
‘It’s becoming more violent out there. It’s not like it is in the movies. Did you hear about the surrealist riot in Chichester last night?’
‘I certainly did,’ he replied. ‘I can see Swindon involved in similar disturbances before too long. The art college nearly had a riot on its hands last year when the governors dismissed a lecturer who had been secretly encouraging students to embrace abstract expressionism. They wanted him charged under the Interpretation of the Visual Medium Act. He fled to Russia, I think.’
I looked at my watch.
‘I have to go and see the SpecOps Commander.’
Bowden allowed a rare smile to creep upon his serious features.
‘I bid you good luck. If you would permit me to offer you some advice, keep your automatic out of sight. Despite James’s untimely death, Commander Hicks doesn’t want to see the LiteraTecs permanently armed. He believes that our place is firmly at a desk.’
I thanked him, left my automatic in the desk drawer and walked down the corridor. I knocked twice and was invited into the outer office by a young clerk. I told him my name and he asked me to wait.
‘The Commander won’t be long. Fancy a cup of coffee?’
‘No thanks.’
The clerk looked at me curiously.
‘They say you’ve come from London to avenge Jim Crometty’s death. They say you killed two men. They say your father’s face can stop a clock. Is this true?’
‘It depends on how you look at it. Office rumours are pretty quick to get started, aren’t they?’
Braxton Hicks opened the door to his office and beckoned me in. He was a tall, thin man with a large moustache and a grey complexion. He had bags under his eyes; it didn’t look as though he slept much. The room was far more austere than any commander’s office I had ever seen. Several golf bags were leaning against the wall, and I could see that a carpet putter had been hastily pushed to one side.
He smiled genially and offered me a seat before sitting himself.
‘Cigarette?’
‘I don’t, thank you.’
‘Neither do I.’
He stared at me for a moment and drummed his long fingers on the immaculately clear desk. He opened a folder in front of him and read in silence for a moment. He was reading my SO-5 file; obviously he and Analogy didn’t get on well enough to swap information between clearances.
‘Operative Thursday Next, eh?’ His eyes flicked across the pertinent points of my career. ‘Quite a record. Police, Crimea, rejoined the police, then moved to London in ‘75. Why was that?’
‘Advancement, sir.’
Braxton Hicks grunted and continued reading.
‘SpecOps for eight years, twice commended. Recently loaned to SO-5. Your stay with the latter has been heavily censored, yet it says here you were wounded in action.’
He looked over his spectacles at me.
‘Did you return fire?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’
‘I fired first.’
‘Not so good.’
Braxton stroked his moustache thoughtfully.
‘You were Operative Grade I in the London office working on Shakespeare, no less. Very prestigious. Yet you swap that for a Grade III Operative assignment in a backwater like this. Why?’
‘Times change and we change with them, sir.’
Braxton grunted and closed the file.
‘Here at SpecOps my responsibility is not only with the LiteraTecs, but also Art Theft, Vampirism & Lycanthropy, the ChronoGuard, Antiterrorism, Civil Order and the dog pound. Do you play golf?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Shame, shame. Where was I? Oh yes. Out of all those departments, do you know which I fear most?’
‘I’ve no idea, sir.’
‘I’ll tell you. None of them. The thing I fear most is SpecOps regional budget meetings. Do you realise what that means, Next?’
‘No, sir.’
‘It means that every time one of you puts in for extra overtime or a special request, I go over budget and it makes my head hurt right here.’
He pointed to his left temple.
‘And I don’t like that. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He picked up my file again and waved it at me.
‘I heard you had a spot of bother in the big city. Other operatives getting killed. It’s a whole new different alternative kettle of fish here, y’know. We crunch data for a living. If you want to arrest someone then have uniform do it. No running about shooting up bad guys, no overtime and definitely no twenty-four-hour surveillance operations. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now, about Hades.’
My heart leaped; I had thought that would have been censored, if anything.
‘I understand you think he is still alive?’
I thought for a moment. My eyes flicked to the file Hicks was holding. He divined my thoughts.
‘Oh, that’s not in here, my dear girl. I may be a hick commander in the boonies, but I do have my sources. You think he is still alive?’
I knew I could trust Victor and Bowden, but about Hicks I was not so sure. I didn’t think I would risk it.
‘A symptom of stress, sir. Hades is dead.’
He plonked my file in the out-tray, leaned back in his chair and stroked his moustache, something he obviously enjoyed.
‘So you’re not here to try and find him?’
‘Why would Hades be in Swindon if he were alive, sir?’
Braxton looked uneasy for a moment.
‘Quite, quite.’
He smiled and stood up, indicating that the interview was at an end.
‘Good, well, run along. One piece of advice. Learn to play golf; you’ll find it a very rewarding and relaxing game. This is a copy of the department’s budget account and this is a list of all the local golf courses. Study them well. Good luck.’
I went out and closed the door after me.
The clerk looked up.
‘Did he mention the budget?’
‘I don’t think he mentioned anything else. Do you have a waste bin?’
The clerk smiled and pushed it out with his foot. I dumped the heavy document in it unceremoniously.
‘Bravo,’ he said.
As I was about to open the door to leave a short man in a blue suit came powering through without looking. He was reading a fax and knocked against me as he went straight through to Braxton’s office without a word. The clerk was watching me for my reaction.
‘Well, well,’ I murmured, ‘Jack Schitt.’
‘You know him?’
‘Not socially.’
‘As much charm as an open grave,’ said the clerk, who had obviously warmed to me since I binned the budget. ‘Steer clear of him. Goliath, you know.’
I looked at the closed door to Braxton’s office.
‘What’s he here for?’
The secretary shrugged, gave me a conspiratorial wink and said very pointedly and slowly: