Gallery Whispers

30

Every Special Branch commander for a decade had come to know Henry Wills well. Student politics were no longer seen as a major subject for surveillance, but even in relaxed times, those in charge of the security of the state thought it prudent to be aware of the broad spectrum of campus activity. Very few things happened in Edinburgh University of which its Registrar was ignorant.

Wills was a polite, urbane man. As he sat at his meeting table with Mario McGuire and Karen Neville, his reading glasses, perched on the end of his nose, made him look even more owlish than usual.

'Before we begin. Inspector, I must ask you. How is your wife? I read all about her mishap in this morning's Scotsman.' As he spoke he glanced through the window towards the sprawling buildings of the Royal Infirmary, of which the nearest was less than three hundred yards away.

McGuire smiled. 'She's doing fine thanks, Mr Wills. I looked in on her before I came here. She had a good night. God help them today, though, once the post-op sedation's all worn off. Maggie's a hellish patient.'

'And how are you, Mario?' the Registrar added, quietly.

'To tell you the truth, I still shake every time I think what might have happened. It'll be a while before I can put that thought out of my mind.'

'And the man who did it?'

The inspector looked at his watch. 'He's due in the Sheriff Court just about now; once he's been charged formally he'll be off to England to be questioned about a murder.'

'Does that mean that he won't be punished for attacking your wife?'

'No, not at all. When our courts want him, we'll get him back.

They'll take a plea in absentia, I should think, and he'll be sent to the High Court for disposal. He'll get ten years at least. Hopefully the judge will make it consecutive, to be served after he's due for release from his life sentence for the Brum murder.' He glowered at Wills. 'If he makes it concurrent, then effectively the bastard will have got off with it.'

He placed his hands palms-down on the table, his way of indicating that the subject was closed. 'How many of your economists do we still have to check, Henry?' he asked.

Wills looked at the bundle of landing cards which lay on the desk before him, and at the registration sheets which lay beside them in matching order. 'Today should see it done,' the Registrar replied, looking from one detective to the other. 'Those are the details of the people in the last two discussion groups. Once you work through these, that'll be everyone accounted for. A pity, in a way. I've enjoyed your morning visits.'

Mario McGuire fought to suppress a chuckle. Most men enjoyed a visit from Karen Neville, but he was surprised to hear the bookish, middle-aged academic admit it. The sergeant was a rare combination of attractive features and spectacular physique; in addition she had a quick open smile, and a way of looking through her blue-grey eyes at most things male which made them feel as if there was no one else in the room. She was the second most desirable woman McGuire had ever seen. In the past, her own desires had been quick to surface; this had led her into trouble on more than one occasion.

Her smile widened a little as she ran a hand over her thick designerblonde hair. 'I envy you your office, Mr Wills,' she responded, looking round the oak-panelled room. 'Ours is a steel-furnished box.'

'That's right,' said the inspector, intervening before their host could reach melt-down point. 'Special Branch isn't that special when it comes to accommodation.' He looked on as Wills divided the papers into two sets. 'Anything exceptional in this lot?' he asked.

'Well,' the other man began, 'there is one chap whose sheet struck me as slightly odd. The thing is, he doesn't appear to be an economist.

His name is Wayne Ventnor. He does list a degree, but it's in Chemical Engineering, from the University of Western Australia. At first sight, it's not clear what he's doing here.

'My supposition is that he's a civil servant nominated by an Australian state government, although his registration sheet doesn't say that.'

'That sounds plausible, all the same,' McGuire agreed. 'The sheets still show the same information as the ones we've seen before, do they?'

'Yes. Name, nation or university of origin, qualifications, any special area of interest, conference number, discussion group allocation, and hotel or other accommodation.'

'Only one thing missing, isn't there.'

'What's that?' asked Neville, as Wills nodded, sheepishly.

'A photograph of each delegate,' said the inspector. 'If we'd had those, we could have done this check in a day.'

'Don't I know it,' the Registrar acknowledged. 'It's supposed to be standard practice for University events, but the people who organised this conference are a law unto themselves.'

You might tell them,' McGuire grumbled, 'that when it comes to security, I'm the law around here, and that I don't appreciate having to go round eyeballing two hundred plus people when we could have handled most of it at a desk, if they'd done a professional job.

'Come on, Karen,' he said. 'Say goodbye to Mr Wills, and let's get on down to the conference centre to get this lot looked over.'