‘Hello again, Superintendent,' said Brian Mackie.
Paula Whittingham looked up in surprise. For once she was alone in her glass-fronted office. 'Hello, there. I didn't expect to see you chaps again, at least not so quickly. Have you come to canvass for our candidate, or do you have some more questions?'
It's business like before, I'm afraid, Miss Whittingham. We want to bounce a name off you.'
`Whose name?'
`Bryn Sawyer. He's Managing Director of a company called Breakspear, in Cumbria.'
In an instant the colour drained from the woman's face. `Paula,' she muttered to herself.
'It's as well you retired from the Force. Why the hell didn't you think of him?' She looked up at Mackie. 'Yes, Chief Inspector. I've heard of Mr Sawyer. I wanted to set the local Force on him, in fact.'
'Why?'
`Because of a letter which Colin received. It was just after he had announced his decision on that missile, the one which caused all the fuss. We get quite a bit of hate mail through here, on a whole variety of topics. Most go straight to the dustbin, but we pass one or two on to the police, as a precaution. The letter from Sawyer was vitriolic, and it was threatening. Sawyer's Company lost out on the missile contract, and he was not a happy man. I wanted to hand it over to our local CID, but Colin wouldn't. I suggested that he give it to the Ministry's security people, but he wouldn't do that either.'
‘Did he say why not?' asked Mario McGuire.
`Yes, he told me that there had been enough fuss over the damn contract, and he wanted it just to die down and go away, He said that if Sawyer sent any more nasty mail he would do something about it, but that for the time being he would ignore it.'
`Do you know what happened to the letter?'
She nodded and started towards her private room. 'Yes. I've got it. It's through here. Come on.'
They followed her into the small back office, where she pulled open the second drawer of a huge wooden filing cabinet, and began to leaf through folders. At last she produced a sheet of blue notepaper, and waved it in the air. 'Here it is. Short, offensive and to the point.'
She handed it to Mackie, who took it from her and began to read aloud.
Dear Davey,
All politicians are slime in my book, but you are beneath that. In pursuit of what corrupt end I know not, you have sold out your country. By common consent of every specialist who has assessed it, including your own, the Breakspear missile which you have rejected represents a major advance in guidance technology and in battlefield capability.
The spurious reasons for your inept decision do not fool me for a second. It is quite obvious that you have either been bribed or bullied into putting Britain's interests aside.
Because of you, my company may well fail. Because of you, a substantial number of jobs may well be lost, in an area which can ill afford it. Because of you, servicemen's lives will be at greater risk than need be. I will not sit meekly and accept such treatment, especially not from a man like you. If my company goes under, then I promise you, sir, on behalf of all the people who will suffer, that I will stop at nothing to ensure that you are punished for your wickedness.
Yours very sincerely,
Bryn Sawyer, Managing Director.
He handed the letter to McGuire. 'That sounds pretty specific to me,' he said. 'In the light of that last part particularly, I don't think we've got any choice but to pay a visit on Mr Sawyer, when he's least expecting it.'
`What do you mean, about the last part?' Paula Whittingham asked.
`Bryn Sawyer called in a Receiver last week,' said Mackie.
`Four days before Colin Davey was killed.'