Greg stood up and flexed his arms while they waited for Un Pabani, shrugging off the stiffness which came from sitting in a chair designed for Martians. The air in the interview room was growing stuffy. ‘Vernon, do you remember anything else ever happening at Launde?’ he asked. He just couldn’t ignore the presage -if that’s what it was. ‘Such as?’ ‘I don’t know. Something important enough to be newsworthy, or gossipworthy.’ Where did I hear it? Or did I see it? Bugger. ‘Kitchener was in the news once or twice each year with his lectures,’ Langley said reasonably. ‘Universities and societies used to invite him to make addresses. He was famous, after all.’ ‘No, not Kitchener, not something he said. An event. Or an incident.’ He was annoyed at the amount of petulance creeping into his voice. ‘Kitchener and a girl student?’ Nevin suggested. ‘I mean, A QUANTUM MURDER 127 he’s had two out of the three staying with him this year. Maybe one of them objected.’ ‘Could be,’ Greg said. But he knew it wasn’t. They both looked at him expectantly. ‘Buggered if! can remember. Can you run a check through your files for me?’ ‘Yes.’ Langley loaded a note into his cybofax. He had been laying off the dudgeon since Greg started the interviews. More impressed, or unnerved, by his espersense than he was willing to admit. Even Nevin had stopped looking for flaws in everything he said, the opportunities to underline the obvious. Progress. Of sorts.
Edwin Lancaster was representing Un Pabari. The first of the three defence counsellors who actually looked like a lawyer, to Greg’s mind. A sixty-year-old in a suit and silk waistcoat, pressed white shirt, small neat bow tie. He sat behind Un, stiffly attentive. Instead of using a cybofax, a paper notebook was balanced on his leg, the tip of his gold-plated Parker biro flicking constantly, producing a minute shorthand. Un gave Greg a curious stare as he settled into the chair, not nearly as apprehensive as Cecil. The student bad a powerful build. Greg called up the police data profile ‘on the flatscreen. Uri had played rugby for his university, he was also a karate second dan. ‘You were the third into Kitchener’s bedroom, is that right?’ Greg asked. ‘Yes. I got there on Nick’s heels.’ ‘And prior to that you were with Liz Foxton all evening?’ ‘Yes.’ Greg caught the tension budding in Un’s mind. ‘Pleasant evening, was it?’ Un tried to smile. ‘God, that gland of yours is quite something, isn’t it?’ ‘So what happened?’ We had a row. Early on, before supper. Stupid really.’ ‘What was it about?’ 128 PETER F. HAMILTON ‘Kitchener. His syntho habit. Except Liz didn’t think it was a habit. She said.. . Well, she kind of drinks up that dogma of his. Everything he says is right because he’s the one that says it. Me, I’m a bit more sceptical.’ He grinned reflectively. ‘Kitchenen taught me that. And that evening, things got said that shouldn’t have been, you know how it is.’ ‘Do you and Liz quarrel often?’ ‘No. That’s what makes it worse when we do. And Liz was already wound up tight over Scotland. She can get a bit political at times, she had a rough ride in the PSP jecade.’ ‘Didn’t we all,’ Greg murmured under his breath. ‘Is that why there was a scene at supper between you and Kitchener?’ Un laughed. ‘There’s a scene at every meal. God, he was an obstinate old sod.’ ‘And afterwards? You made up, you and Liz?’ ‘Yes. We’re in love.’ He looked at Greg, trying to gauge the reaction he was getting. ‘Hopefully we’ll get engaged. I was going to do it during the summer, I thought it would be a ruce way to leave Launde.’ ‘OK, back to Thursday. What happened after supper?’ ‘Nick and Isabel came up to my room, and we sat around alking and watching the newscasts. They left around midnight.’ ‘When did you wash?’ Uri’s forehead formed narrow creases as he frowned. ‘Just before we went to bed. Liz and I had a shower. It was hot that night.’ ‘What time did you go to bed?’ ‘About half twelve.’ Greg couldn’t help a small smile. ‘And what time did you ~o to sleep?’ ‘Just after one. Liz was still watching the newscasts, though. don’t know what time she fell asleep. But we were both awake at three again.’ ‘Who woke who?’ ‘Dunno. It just happened, you know.’ ‘Was your flatscreen still showing the newscasts?’ A QUANTUM MURDER ‘Er, yeah, I think so. Couldn’t swear to it in court. Wasn’t paying much attention, see?’ Were you aware that Rosette was having an affair with Kitchener?’ Un gave a mental flinch at Rosette’s name. He wasn’t afraid of her, Greg decided, more like demoralized. ‘Yes,’ Un said. ‘It was bound to happen, those two.’ ‘Oh?’ ‘Two of a kind. Intellectually, you know. Didn’t give a stuff for convention.’ ‘And did you know about Isabel?’ Uri scratched his stubble. ‘The old nocturnal visiting? Yes. Shame that. I blame Rosette more than Kitchener.’ ‘Why is that?’ ‘She’d enjoy seducing Isabel. It would be a challenge to hen.’ ‘You liked Kitchener, didn’t you?’ ‘He was bloody amazing. I don’t just mean his work. When I came to Launde I was almost as bad as Nick, all meek and tongue-tied. It’s trite, but he really was like a father to me. He brings people out of themselves. God, the stories he told us! That reputation of his was One hundred per cent earned. He was wicked, disgraceful, terrible. And absolutely beautiflil. Totally unique. The only thing I disagreed about was the syntho, but it didn’t seem to affect his serious thinking. And he’s still pushing at frontiers even now-‘ The lively smile on Un’s face died a tormented death. ‘Was pushing…’ he whispered. ‘Did you notice anything out of the ordinary about the Abbey that night?’ ‘Like what?’ ‘A visitor.’ ‘No – God, I would have told the police if 1 had!’ ‘Yeah. There was no trace of syntho in your blood when the police took a sample.’ ‘Well, there wouldn’t be,’ Un said cautiously. ‘Have you ever taken it at Launde?’ Edwin Lancaster’s gold biro halted, its tip poised a couple of millimetres in the air. ‘You are asking my client to 130 PETER P. HAMILTON incriminate himself,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but that wasn’t part of the basis for this interview.’ ‘We are not interested in bringing charges against anybody concerning past narcotic infusion,’ Langley promised. ‘Providing it is external to this case.’ ‘As a police officer, you have a duty to investigate illegal narcotics abuse.’ ‘We know the source of syntho at Launde. Kitchener’s vat is in police custody, it cannot be used to supply anyone in future. And we have no desire to prosecute past victims.’ ‘Your client has infused syntho at some time,’ Greg said. ‘Hey!’ Un protested. ‘I simply wish to know how familiar you are with the narcotics availability at Launde, that’s all,’ Greg said. ‘It’s going to help me a lot.’ ‘OK. All right,’ Un held up his hands in placation. ‘No big deal. Yes, I tried it. Once, OK? One time. Like I told you, it’s not my scene. I don’t like that kind of loss of control, not in myself or other people. Infusing it just confirmed my view. It’s stupid, self-destructive.’ ‘You know where it was grown?’ ‘Yes. The vat in the lab. Everybody knew that.’ ‘Thank you. Did you use the Bendix that night?’ ‘No.’ ‘Do you know its management program codes?’ ‘No, not offhand, but they’re all stored in the operations file. We all have access to that. Kitchener trusted us not to do anything stupid; we’re all ‘ware literate.’ ‘What about the datanet; did you use it on Thursday, plug into a ‘ware system outside the Abbey?’ ‘No.’