‘That's a bit of a turn-up, Adam,' said Andy Martin. 'It must be a bit awkward for you, finding your boss right in the middle of the situation.'
I work for the Ministry,' said Arrow, 'not for the individual. It doesn't worry me a bit. In fact, I'm pretty pleased with myself. The idea of having such a corrupt bastard at the heart of the country's defence: I tell you, it would curdle any soldier's blood. What I'd really like to do is offer him a pearl-handled revolver and the key to the library — except he wouldn't have the balls to do the decent thing. Mind you, if I didn't have your two coppers around, I might be inclined to help him. But no, we'll go back to London, we'll pick up the tapes from the spooks and play them to the pair of them, and then your lads can interview them formally.'
Standing in the Swinbrook churchyard, with Donaldson's mobile phone in his hand, Arrow heard Martin suck in his breath. 'I don't know about that, Adam. Morelli's very heavy duty.
I don't think it's fair to lump that on Dave's shoulders. If Bob was fit he'd be on the first plane down. As for me, I'm a bit tied up here with our other live prospect. I'll have to consult the Chief. I suspect he'll want to handle this one himself.'
One knight to another,' chuckled Arrow grimly.
`That's right. Anyway, for now, you get your prisoners back London. I'll be in touch.'
Martin pushed the 'End' button and strode back into Sawyer's study.
`Right, sir; he said. 'Let's go over this again.
The man was seated in a hard-backed chair, with Sammy Pye standing, stern-faced, behind him. He was still wearing his oily, grimy overalls.
`How many more times?' he snarled. `Metal-working is my hobby. I'm a blacksmith. My wife is into leather.' A chortle welled up in young Sammy Pye's throat, but was choked off short by a single glance from the Chief Superintendent.
`She's a tailor by training, and she runs a dress-making business from the house. Lately she's been designing her own range. She's always worked in spun fabrics, but a few weeks ago she came up with a concept in leather. She bought that length to try it out.'
`Red leather, Mr Sawyer? That's pretty garish for clothing, is it not?'
An eyebrow rose as he looked up at the detective. 'Colour selection is not my wife's greatest asset as a designer. You saw that skirt she was wearing. A bit bright for morning wear, you'll agree.'
Is that all she's made in that material?' asked Martin. 'There's quite a bit missing from the bolt.'
Somehow, Sawyer managed to shake his head and shrug his shoulders simultaneously.
'She did make something else, but it was a disaster. She found that it's too difficult to work with the bloody stuff on anything more complex than a skirt. She was supposed to be making a tailored top, but it wound up looking like a red bag with holes in it.'
`How about your metal-work? What sort of things do you do?' Anything. Sculptures in steel, wrought-iron gates, furniture…
`Cabinets?'
`Yes,' said Sawyer warily. 'I could do… but I haven't.' `You haven't made a steel box,'
Martin signed with his hands about this wide, this long, this deep?'
`No.'
And you haven't bound it in red leather?'
`No!'
`Nor decorated it with gold paint, of the type we found in the lower part of the cupboard in your wife's studio?'
`No!'
Okay.' Martin paced across the small room, and back again.
`Let's leave that for now. Let's talk about explosives instead. Your company uses them, doesn't it, for live missile tests?' `Yes.' Sawyer shifted in his chair.
And you admit that you are thoroughly experienced in handling and priming them?'
`Yes, I am,' he said grudgingly.
`You have to keep a meticulous record of their use, of course.'
Of course.'
In that case, can you explain why, at your factory, which my Chief Inspector has just searched, there's a discrepancy in those records? Why you actually have about three kilos less explosive there than your stock sheet says?'
`We had a live test firing from a Harrier a couple of weeks ago. My stock controller probably hasn't entered that withdrawal as yet.'
`Come on,' said Martin, 'he should have entered it as soon as it was taken out.'
`Yes, I know, but Griff was off with flu around that time. We probably slipped up. Look,' he said, standing up with his jaw stuck out aggressively, 'what have we got here? What do all these questions add up to? What's your allegation?'
I haven't alleged anything yet, Mr Sawyer. I've just established with your help that you have metal-working and munitions skills, that you're in possession of certain materials, and that you were in a certain area of London at a specific time. That's all I've done so far.
But now I'll tell you what those circumstances suggest you might know already; that Colin Davey, a man you threatened, was killed by a bomb placed in his Ministerial document case — a steel box, bound in red leather, decorated with gold paint.'
Sawyer stared at him. 'I think I want my lawyer now,' he said.
`Yes,' said Martin. 'In fact, at this stage, I insist that you call him. I will have certain things to put to you formally, under caution, and he should be present. But you'd better tell him to engage a Scottish solicitor as well, and to head for Police Headquarters in Edinburgh.
Because that's where you and I are going.’
`Come with me, please, Mr Sawyer.'