bobby on the beat.' He shifted in the chair. 'No, the only reason I asked is to find out whether anyone here might have seen or heard anything, any commotion, along the tow-path on the night of October 6th.' Williams glanced at his desk calendar. Davies continued: 'An old chap fell ... went into the canal. Got drowned.'
Williams nodded. 'I read about it. He used to trundle along with that old pram. Plastered, I suppose.'
'Never touched it ’ said Davies. He stood up. 'It was about eleven at night. There wouldn't have been anyone here then, on the premises?'
'No way. This is not the sort of business where there's a call for much overtime. It's just steady. So there'd be no one here. Not at that time of night.'
'Thanks,' said Davies. 'I just thought I'd ask.'
Mr Harrison, of Blissen Ltd Pharmaceuticals, was on holiday in Las Palmas, his lacquered secretary informed Davies proudly. It was his fourth visit. They had received a card only that morning. Would Mrs Harrer do? Davies said he thought she might. He waited in the narrow reception area, boarded with pine like a sauna, with some arty lighting and a cornered palm. The receptionist, a wan, desultory girl, wore green fingernails. 'It's all right for him ’ she said. 'Las Palmas. I wish I was in Las Palmas.'
'So do I’ agreed Davies, studying her slothful posture. 'We could have a good time.'
'Cheeky bugger,' she said in almost a whisper. She returned to watching her nails. The secretary clipped back, her thighs like rods under her pencil skirt. 'Mrs Harrer will see you,' she said, as though he had won a prize. 'This way.'
They turned a couple of plywood bends up a flight of stairs and Davies was confronted with an office door which framed, but only just, the form of a huge woman. 'Ah, so ’ she said thickly. The Germanic was compounded by a nasal American tone. 'You are the police. Tell me what it is.'
Apparently as an afterthought, she held out her hand. Davies was shocked at her height: one of the biggest women he had ever seen. Her great fingers enclosed his.
'We have security?' she said when he told her why he had come. 'But of course. This place is for the storage of pharmaceuticals, and pharmaceuticals are expensive. You, perhaps, are on National Health Service.'
Davies bashfully admitted he wa s. 'What sort of security do you have?' he asked. 'A night-watchman?'
'They sleep,' she shrugged. 'We have a security company. They visit every hour in the night.'
Diffidently, Davies took out his notebook. 'Could you tell me who they are, please?' he said. 'I am just inquiring so that we can clear up the death of this old man.'
'So he fell in the water? Is that not cleared up? Already there was a police officer here, the day after. A man with a bloody nose.'
'Ah, yes. PC Westerman,' nodded Davies.
'There is a treatment,' she confided professionally. 'He can go on the National Health.'
'I'll tell him,' promised Davies. 'Now ... could I have the name of the security people.'
'Ah so! Ja.' She went to a filing cabinet, rising as Davies imagined a volcano might rise from the sea. The great globe of skirted backside was spread before him. She returned with a surprisingly soft smile. 'There, I have,' she said. She handed the headed notepaper to him. He copied it laboriously into his notebook, muttering the words: 'Keystone Security, Edgware Mews, London Wl.' When he looked up, her face had set hard with impatience. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I must be going.'
'Yes, I suppose you must. We are busy, you are busy.'
Massively, she moved towards him and he backed away before the oncoming chest, then went out of the office, down the stairs and into the narrow corridor. Mrs Harrer only just fitted. 'Do you make, manufacture, stuff here?' asked Davies, as they reached the reception area. The receptionist had slotted her magazine between her knees.
'Not at all,' said the big woman. 'We are part of a larger European operation, you understand. This place is for distribution
Williams nodded. 'I read about it. He used to trundle along with that old pram. Plastered, I suppose.'
'Never touched it ’ said Davies. He stood up. 'It was about eleven at night. There wouldn't have been anyone here then, on the premises?'
'No way. This is not the sort of business where there's a call for much overtime. It's just steady. So there'd be no one here. Not at that time of night.'
'Thanks,' said Davies. 'I just thought I'd ask.'
Mr Harrison, of Blissen Ltd Pharmaceuticals, was on holiday in Las Palmas, his lacquered secretary informed Davies proudly. It was his fourth visit. They had received a card only that morning. Would Mrs Harrer do? Davies said he thought she might. He waited in the narrow reception area, boarded with pine like a sauna, with some arty lighting and a cornered palm. The receptionist, a wan, desultory girl, wore green fingernails. 'It's all right for him ’ she said. 'Las Palmas. I wish I was in Las Palmas.'
'So do I’ agreed Davies, studying her slothful posture. 'We could have a good time.'
'Cheeky bugger,' she said in almost a whisper. She returned to watching her nails. The secretary clipped back, her thighs like rods under her pencil skirt. 'Mrs Harrer will see you,' she said, as though he had won a prize. 'This way.'
They turned a couple of plywood bends up a flight of stairs and Davies was confronted with an office door which framed, but only just, the form of a huge woman. 'Ah, so ’ she said thickly. The Germanic was compounded by a nasal American tone. 'You are the police. Tell me what it is.'
Apparently as an afterthought, she held out her hand. Davies was shocked at her height: one of the biggest women he had ever seen. Her great fingers enclosed his.
'We have security?' she said when he told her why he had come. 'But of course. This place is for the storage of pharmaceuticals, and pharmaceuticals are expensive. You, perhaps, are on National Health Service.'
Davies bashfully admitted he wa s. 'What sort of security do you have?' he asked. 'A night-watchman?'
'They sleep,' she shrugged. 'We have a security company. They visit every hour in the night.'
Diffidently, Davies took out his notebook. 'Could you tell me who they are, please?' he said. 'I am just inquiring so that we can clear up the death of this old man.'
'So he fell in the water? Is that not cleared up? Already there was a police officer here, the day after. A man with a bloody nose.'
'Ah, yes. PC Westerman,' nodded Davies.
'There is a treatment,' she confided professionally. 'He can go on the National Health.'
'I'll tell him,' promised Davies. 'Now ... could I have the name of the security people.'
'Ah so! Ja.' She went to a filing cabinet, rising as Davies imagined a volcano might rise from the sea. The great globe of skirted backside was spread before him. She returned with a surprisingly soft smile. 'There, I have,' she said. She handed the headed notepaper to him. He copied it laboriously into his notebook, muttering the words: 'Keystone Security, Edgware Mews, London Wl.' When he looked up, her face had set hard with impatience. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I must be going.'
'Yes, I suppose you must. We are busy, you are busy.'
Massively, she moved towards him and he backed away before the oncoming chest, then went out of the office, down the stairs and into the narrow corridor. Mrs Harrer only just fitted. 'Do you make, manufacture, stuff here?' asked Davies, as they reached the reception area. The receptionist had slotted her magazine between her knees.
'Not at all,' said the big woman. 'We are part of a larger European operation, you understand. This place is for distribution
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