Sir Stewart Morelli preferred neutral territory also. He had left a message for Arrow that he would receive the Scottish gentlemen at his club, at 4 p.m.
They arrived promptly at St Stephens, which was tucked away behind Birdcage Walk, not far from Parliament Square and the Palace and Abbey of Westminster. Arrow announced their appointment to a soberly-dressed attendant, who nodded and said, 'Yes, gentlemen, you are expected. Please follow me.'
He led the three men — DS Price having been stood down — through to a smoking room, the walls of which were hung with portraits of former members, with a few Prime Ministers, one of recent memory, among them. Mcllhenney, scanning them with the expert eye which few of his colleagues knew he possessed, nodded his appreciation of the better works.
As they entered, the Permanent Secretary at the Ministry of Defence rose from a high-winged leather chair beside a window which looked out to the rear of the club. He was a strikingly handsome man of medium height and build, with a square jaw and a full head of greying hair, immaculately groomed and swept back from a wide forehead. Even on a Saturday afternoon, he was dressed in a formal dark three-piece suit, and wore big polished black shoes.
Had Arrow not told them that he was in his early fifties, both Donaldson and Mcllhenney would have placed him at around forty-five.
`Captain,' he said heartily. 'Bang on time as always.
As the soldier introduced his companions, a faint shadow of petulance crossed the Permanent Secretary's face. It was lost on the brash young DCI, but McIlhenney new at once that Morelli had expected to be meeting with an Assistant Chief Constable, at the very least.
`Thank you for seeing us, Sir Stewart,' said the soldier.
Not at all, man. Least I could do in the circs. Have you finished your interviews with the Private Office people?' He looked at Donaldson, ignoring Mcllhenney completely.
`Yes, sir,' said the DCI. 'Thank you for your co-operation in arranging them so quickly.'
Morelli flicked the fingers of his right hand in a deprecating manner. 'Were they of any value?'
`Certainly, sir. Exactly how valuable remains to be seen, but they were interesting.'
`Mmm.' He turned his gaze to Arrow. I'd have appreciated it if you'd come clean with me about the cause of Davey's death, Captain. If someone blows up my Secretary of State, I expect to be told about it, rather than to hear the news from a police statement on lunchtime television.'
`My apologies, Sir Stewart, but it was only this morning that we got confirmation from the Bomb Squad. I did try to contact you before we left Edinburgh, but you were unavailable.
`Very well. You can update me now, though.'
Donaldson felt a sudden need to assert himself. 'In Confidence sir, I can tell you that the bomb was concealed in the Minister's hand-baggage. That's how it got on board.'
`Good heavens!' said the Permanent Secretary: ‘you mean in the Red Box?'
Exactly, sir.'
`No wonder you wanted to interview his staff. What did you get out of them?'
`We found out that the Assistant Private Secretary packed the Box, then gave it to Mr Noble, and he took it home with him. All this was seen by Mr Joseph Webber.'
The Permanent Secretary gave Arrow a strange angled nod. If Webber confirmed it, you can accept that as gospel. Don't know how he does it with his lifestyle, but I have no more reliable man in the Ministry. So… if Mirzana gave it to Noble, and it blew up on the plane, then someone must have had access to it at the airport.'
`Not necessarily,' said Donaldson.
`But surely..
The bomb could have been placed in the box while it was at Mr Noble's house, sir.'
Morelli sat bolt upright in his chair. 'Are you suggesting that Mr Noble planted it himself, or his wife? Are you mad?' He hissed the words quietly, lest he wake the sleepers around them. Red-faced, he glared from Donaldson to Arrow and back again. Mcllhenney, glad that he was only a humble Detective Sergeant and, therefore, of no consequence to Morelli, sank back in his leather armchair.
Donaldson stood, or at least sat, his ground. He returned the man's gaze and shook his head. 'No, sir. I'm not making suggestions. I'm looking at possibilities.'
`That isn't one!' the Permanent Secretary snapped.
`Yes, it is, sir, but not one I'll dwell on. I'd rather look at Mr Noble himself. The picture which we're getting is one of a man with an episode of depressive illness behind him, showing clear signs that the problem was recurring. Noble confided in Webber that the excessive hours involved in his job were getting him down, that he felt inadequate to his wife's demands, and that he was sure she was seeking consolation somewhere else. He also said that he blamed Mr Davey directly for the situation.
`Sticking strictly to possibilities, we must consider whether Noble might have been unbalanced sufficiently to smuggle the bomb on board the plane, where he knew he would take Mr Davey with him.'
Morelli's face had gone from red to white. He stood up, shaking his head violently, and stared out of the window. 'No! Absolutely not,' he blustered. 'I knew Maurice. I put him in post. He was a bloody good chap, with the potential to sit in my chair one day. The idea of him doing something like that, why — it's preposterous.'
He looked round. 'Captain, you knew him too. Tell Mr Donaldson, will you?'
Arrow frowned. 'Tell him what, sir? I heard Webber's story, and I believed it. You're just after saying how reliable he is. He told us that Maurice got drunk with him the night all this came out. Hepatitis, alcohol and depression are all directly related. No, sir, I won't rule out the possibility of suicide.'
The Permanent Secretary shook his head as firmly as before. `But not in that way, surely.
Not taking all those lives along with his own.
`Maybe he meant to trigger the bomb later, when he and Davey were alone. Maybe the Minister opened the box himself and set it off. Who knows? But on the basis of what we've heard today, it's the most solid lead we have.’
‘The next thing we have to find out is whether Maurice had the ability to construct a device, or whether he'd been shooting his mouth off in the wrong company, to someone who might have supplied one.'
`So what's your next step?'
`We have to speak to Maurice's wife.'
Sir Stewart shook his head violently. 'Oh no. You can't land on the poor woman at a time like this. I forbid it, d'you hear?'
`You can forbid Captain Arrow, sir,' boomed Neil McIlhenney, from the depths of his chair. Suddenly, he was very visible indeed. 'But you can't forbid us. We're Scottish Police Officers investigating a serious crime, and we will not allow anyone to impede our enquiries. So unless we're told otherwise by our Commanders… they are Chief Constable Proud, DCC Skinner or Chief Superintendent Martin, if you want to ring any of them… we will be calling on Mrs Noble tomorrow morning.'
He glanced sideways at Donaldson. 'That right, sir?'
The DCI nodded gratefully. 'It is indeed, Sergeant. If the lady spent the night under the same roof as that Red Box, we have to interview her.'
Morelli stared down at Arrow, who sat in his chair, his feet not touching the ground. `Go ahead then. Do what you must. But for Christ's sake, Adam, make sure that these people are discreet!'