‘Yes?’
‘Well, the thing is, how did she know there were four of them? Markham was one of mine. I reported him missing before she arrived back. I’m reluctant to say this, sir, because I loathe the woman, but I think at some point during that night, she must somehow have seen them, the four of them out there in the chaos, heard you were down, seized the opportunity, and jumped back alone. In one stroke she cleared you, Farrell, and Guthrie out of her way. She appointed herself Caretaker Director knowing full well there was no one else and it would be made permanent. The only impediment was me and she’d sacked me less than twenty minutes after her return. She had to. I’d have been back to the Cretaceous as soon as her back was turned and she knew it. And as for Miss Black, I’m guessing she just wound her up until she snapped and left, taking Mr Dieter with her. You’ve got to admit sir, it’s flawless. Ruthless but flawless.’
He stared at me. ‘One moment please.’
He took out his phone, moved away from me, and talked quietly for a few minutes. I turned tactfully away and watched a robin jumping about. He put his phone away and came back, his face empty.
‘Are you aware Miss Barclay has filed a report claiming she saw the bodies?’
‘Has she indeed? Then we’ve got her.’
‘As per our previous conversation, Miss Maxwell, I would like you to deal with this matter. In public and with prejudice.’
‘Happy to oblige, sir, and with extreme prejudice.’
We spent the rest of the day talking things over and making a plan. We could, of course, just march through the front door but that wouldn’t be half so much fun. We were going to do things the St Mary’s way.
Ian Guthrie took me to one side. ‘If you have any trouble with Security,’ he said quietly, ‘just say, “Hawthorn”.’
‘Why? What does it mean?’
‘Just say it and they’ll leave you alone. Don’t ask any more questions or I’ll have to kill you.’
‘Hawthorn!’
‘Very funny!’
The next day we all crowded into the pod, even Mrs De Winter, who refused point blank to be left behind, and who could blame her. We arrived in the paint store and silently dispersed to our various positions.
This part of the building was deserted as everyone finished breakfast and assembled for the now daily staff briefings, during which, presumably, they discussed all the things they wouldn’t be doing that day. She did like the sound of her own voice.
I made my way up to the attic floors and across to the other side of the building. Quietly opening a door, I could hear a single voice, three floors down. She’d just got started. I checked my watch. Perfect.
I stepped off the threadbare carpet and began to walk slowly down the wooden stairs, knowing from personal experience just how noisy they could be. I walked very slowly, partly to buy time and partly to build suspense.
Reaching the landing, I turned and started down the next flight. My slow unhurried footsteps echoed ahead of me. Downstairs, I heard her voice pause for a moment and then resume on a slightly sharper note. People’s attention was wandering, which was probably punishable by death under the new regime.
Now I walked along the gallery, keeping close to the wall so I was still invisible from the Hall. Another half dozen steps and I would be at the top of the stairs.
I took a deep breath, pushed my hands deep into my coat pockets for that Clint Eastwood look, stuck my chin in the air, and started down the stairs.
Showtime!
Chapter Fourteen
‘You left them, you cowardly bitch! You ran away and left them. You murdered them as surely as if you pulled a gun and shot them dead yourself.’
She whirled around, jaw dropping and just for an instant, I saw the panic and fear in her eyes and I knew I was right. I felt my heart-rate drop and I got very cold. This bitch was going down.
‘Maxwell! How did you get in here?’
I spoke very quietly because the more quietly you speak, the more people listen. Convinced it was about to hear something good, St Mary’s collectively leaned forward.
‘I regret that due to circumstances beyond my control, I have been unable to present my final report on what has turned out to be St Mary’s last mission.’
I moved to her lectern, picked up her pile of notes, and dropped them contemptuously on the floor without looking at them. Dr Bairstow never needed a lectern.
‘Allow me to rectify this omission.’
She made a sudden movement and then stepped back. She’d obviously decided to allow me enough rope to hang myself.
I took a long, deep breath and forced myself to speak slowly and deliberately, as if I really was presenting my report.