thirties with very little make-up. Her bare and unwelcoming office was cold and she had her jacket on.
‘Please take a seat,’ she said. She tugged an earlobe. Blunt nails. ‘Dr Carrier will see you shortly.’
It was a ten-minute wait in an upright chair, probably an instructional technique. The secretary pecked at the computer. There wasn’t anything to read, nothing on the walls to look at. I thought about Ned. Had the director kept him sitting here, too? On this very chair? Finally, the secretary received some kind of a signal.
‘Please go through,’ she said.
The director’s office was everything the secretary’s wasn’t, a comfortable sitting room rather than a place of business. A fire burned in a cast-iron grate under a wooden mantelpiece, there were paintings and photographs on the walls and chintz armchairs on either side of a deep window.
A woman sat behind an elegant writing table. She was in her mid-forties, tall, and groomed for Olympic dressage: black suit with white silk cravat, dark hair pulled back severely, discreet make-up.
‘Mr Faraday,’ she said. She came around the table and put out her right hand. ‘Marcia Carrier. Let’s sit somewhere comfortable.’ There was an air of confidence about her. You could imagine her talking to prime ministers as an equal.
We shook hands and sat down in the armchairs. She had long, slim legs.
‘I understand it’s to do with Mr Lowey,’ she said. ‘What a shock. A terrible thing. Are you family?’
‘Just a friend,’ I said. ‘I wonder if you can tell me why he came to see you?’
She smiled, put her head on one side in a puzzled way. ‘Why he came to see me? Is this somehow connected with what happened?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It was about work,’ she said.
I waited.
‘He’d done some work for us before. A long time ago. I confess I didn’t remember him. He was inquiring about the prospect of future work.’
‘You hire the casual workers yourself?’
‘Oh no.’ She shook her head. ‘Our maintenance person does that. But Mr Lowey asked to see me.’ She smiled, an engaging smile. ‘I try to see anyone who wants to see me.’
‘So he was looking for work?’
‘Basically.’
‘He did quite a lot of work here in 1985. Can you tell me why you didn’t use him again?’
She shrugged, puzzled frown. ‘I really can’t say. Lots of people work here. The maintenance person may have had some reason. Then again, we didn’t use many outside contractors from ’86 to ’91. Budget cuts every year.’
I looked out of the window. You could see bare trees, gunmetal clouds boiling in the west. ‘Did you know that he went to the police about something to do with this place?’ I said.
Her eyes widened. ‘No.’ She appeared genuinely surprised. ‘You mean in 1985 or now?’
‘In 1985.’
‘Do you know what about?’
I shook my head.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘he certainly didn’t mention anything a few weeks ago. I can’t imagine what it could have been.’
‘You had no inquiries from the police in 1985?’
‘The local police? I’d have to check the records. I can’t recall having anything to do with them.’
‘There wasn’t anyone missing?’
‘Missing?’
I said, ‘I presume some of your charges do a runner occasionally.’
She laughed. It brought her face alive. She was very attractive. ‘They do from time to time, and we notify the Department of Community Services and they handle the business of looking for them. They generally find them in a few days, back in their old haunts.’
‘And you didn’t have one like that in late ’85?’
She clasped her hands. ‘Mr Faraday, I’m happy to answer your questions but I’m not sure what this is about.’
I wasn’t sure either but I said, ‘I had the vague thought that Ned’s death might be connected with
‘Please take a seat,’ she said. She tugged an earlobe. Blunt nails. ‘Dr Carrier will see you shortly.’
It was a ten-minute wait in an upright chair, probably an instructional technique. The secretary pecked at the computer. There wasn’t anything to read, nothing on the walls to look at. I thought about Ned. Had the director kept him sitting here, too? On this very chair? Finally, the secretary received some kind of a signal.
‘Please go through,’ she said.
The director’s office was everything the secretary’s wasn’t, a comfortable sitting room rather than a place of business. A fire burned in a cast-iron grate under a wooden mantelpiece, there were paintings and photographs on the walls and chintz armchairs on either side of a deep window.
A woman sat behind an elegant writing table. She was in her mid-forties, tall, and groomed for Olympic dressage: black suit with white silk cravat, dark hair pulled back severely, discreet make-up.
‘Mr Faraday,’ she said. She came around the table and put out her right hand. ‘Marcia Carrier. Let’s sit somewhere comfortable.’ There was an air of confidence about her. You could imagine her talking to prime ministers as an equal.
We shook hands and sat down in the armchairs. She had long, slim legs.
‘I understand it’s to do with Mr Lowey,’ she said. ‘What a shock. A terrible thing. Are you family?’
‘Just a friend,’ I said. ‘I wonder if you can tell me why he came to see you?’
She smiled, put her head on one side in a puzzled way. ‘Why he came to see me? Is this somehow connected with what happened?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It was about work,’ she said.
I waited.
‘He’d done some work for us before. A long time ago. I confess I didn’t remember him. He was inquiring about the prospect of future work.’
‘You hire the casual workers yourself?’
‘Oh no.’ She shook her head. ‘Our maintenance person does that. But Mr Lowey asked to see me.’ She smiled, an engaging smile. ‘I try to see anyone who wants to see me.’
‘So he was looking for work?’
‘Basically.’
‘He did quite a lot of work here in 1985. Can you tell me why you didn’t use him again?’
She shrugged, puzzled frown. ‘I really can’t say. Lots of people work here. The maintenance person may have had some reason. Then again, we didn’t use many outside contractors from ’86 to ’91. Budget cuts every year.’
I looked out of the window. You could see bare trees, gunmetal clouds boiling in the west. ‘Did you know that he went to the police about something to do with this place?’ I said.
Her eyes widened. ‘No.’ She appeared genuinely surprised. ‘You mean in 1985 or now?’
‘In 1985.’
‘Do you know what about?’
I shook my head.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘he certainly didn’t mention anything a few weeks ago. I can’t imagine what it could have been.’
‘You had no inquiries from the police in 1985?’
‘The local police? I’d have to check the records. I can’t recall having anything to do with them.’
‘There wasn’t anyone missing?’
‘Missing?’
I said, ‘I presume some of your charges do a runner occasionally.’
She laughed. It brought her face alive. She was very attractive. ‘They do from time to time, and we notify the Department of Community Services and they handle the business of looking for them. They generally find them in a few days, back in their old haunts.’
‘And you didn’t have one like that in late ’85?’
She clasped her hands. ‘Mr Faraday, I’m happy to answer your questions but I’m not sure what this is about.’
I wasn’t sure either but I said, ‘I had the vague thought that Ned’s death might be connected with
Similar Books
