Absolute Poison by Geraldine Evans Page A

go home, but Hal Gallagher, by mutual consent, had remained on the premises.
    Alistair Plumley made for the door. “I want to see him.”
    “In a moment, sir.”
    Plumley turned, evidently not best pleased at the delay. “What is it, Inspector? Whatever it is, surely it can wait. I need to speak-”
    “This will only take a few minutes, sir. There are a few things I'd like to get clear in my mind. For instance, Mr Barstaple—what did you know about him? I gather he's a self-employed consultant and that you hired him as an interim manager?”
    Plumley evidently didn't feel the need to confirm this. “Obviously Gallagher's told you all this? I can't-”
    “Please sir. As you said, Clive Barstaple was your man. Your responsibility and-”
    Plumley winced at this. “You've made your point, Inspector. You know what he was doing here. What else do you want to know?”
    “Was he liked?” Although Rafferty already knew the answer to that, he wanted to hear how Plumley would respond.
    Plumley raised thick dark eyebrows. “What do you think, Inspector? Pretty unlikely in the circumstances, wouldn't you say? I'm sure you've been told that Clive Barstaple had been hired to wield the axe, something which seems unfortunately to have become common knowledge around here. To answer your question, no, of course he wasn't liked. I didn't employ him to become Mr Popularity. I wanted a job done and I judged him the most competent to do it. He had a reputation for getting results, which is why I hired him.”
    Plumley seemed to feel the need to add more. “To be blunt, Inspector, Watts And Cutley didn't buy this firm to add Aimhurst's staff to the payroll.. We wanted the Aimhurst Widget amongst other things, and that's all. It's just business. We do have shareholders to answer to.”
    Plumley and business types of his ilk certainly didn't answer to their consciences, Rafferty thought. He doubted Plumley had a conscience. Or if he had, it certainly wasn't of the censorious Catholic variety. Rafferty's gave him almost as much trouble as his selectively law-abiding family.
    Not for the first time, he reflected than an active Catholic conscience was the best curb on a man's behaviour he'd ever come across. It was a pity the courts couldn't dish them out instead of fines and prison sentences. He was convinced they would be much more effective at reducing the crime statistics. He supposed that a businessman like Alistair Plumley would assume that “just business” was not only adequate explanation but also sufficient excuse. Now he commented, “I don't suppose the staff saw it that way. I gather some of them have been here for years, felt part of a family.”
    Plumley gave a faint sigh. “Look, Inspector, Robert Aimhurst was into paternalism, I'm not. Neither was his son or he wouldn't have accepted my offer. Now was there anything else you wanted to know or do you expect me to stand here the rest of the night justifying my business methods?“
    Llewellyn broke into the suddenly hostile atmosphere. “How many of the staff were to go? All of them?”
    “No. Every firm has a few key workers who are worth their weight in gold. It was part of Barstaple's brief to appraise the employees here and see if any were of interest to us. As a matter of fact, he was due to bring the interim report on his recommendations to my office tomorrow morning.”
    Rafferty wondered why Gallagher hadn't mentioned this report. He seemed a well-informed man and was likely to have been aware of it. “And have you any idea what this report contained? For instance, who exactly, did Barstaple suggest was surplus to requirements?”
    Plumley grimaced at his choice of phrase. “I have no idea. I'm sure you can appreciate that my firm has wide-ranging interests. I can't oversee every tiny detail. That's the reason I hire people like Barstaple. He came highly recommended from the last company that made use of his services.”
    “And they were?”
    Plumley named a firm