The FBI man said, “Some things have been touched, naturally. My men had to when they were carrying out their fingerprinting.”
Mackenzie nodded to the buff folders on Finlayson’s desk. “Are those the reports on the security men? The ones that Bronowski said he was studying when he was clobbered?”
Black looked at Houston, and the security man said, “Yes.”
“There were fingerprints, too.” Mackenzie raised an eyebrow.
“Those will be in the safe,” Houston said.
“We’d like to see those and the records,” Dermott said. “In fact, we’d like to see everything in that safe.”
Black intervened. “But that’s’ where all our company confidential information is kept.”
“That’s precisely why we’d like to examine it.”
Black compressed his lips. “That’s a very large order, Mr. Dermott.”
“If our hands are to be tied, we might as well go back to Houston. Or have you something to hide?”
“I consider that remark offensive.”
“I don’t.” Brady had spoken from the depths of the only armchair in the room. “If you have something to hide, we’d like to know what it is. If you haven’t, open up your safe. You may be the senior man in Alaska, but the people in London are the ones that matter, and they’ve promised me we would be afforded every co-operation. You are showing distinct signs of lack of co-operation. I must say that gives me food for thought.”
Black’s lips were very pale now. “That could be construed as a veiled threat, Mr. Brady.”
“Construe it any damned way you like. We’ve been through this up here once before. And John Finlayson has gone on a walk-about or somewhere even less attractive. Co-operate or we leave — and leave you with the task of explaining to London the reason for your secretiveness.”
“I am not being secretive. In the best interests of the company — ”
“The best interest of your company is to keep that oil flowing and head off these killers. If you don’t let us examine that safe, we can only conclude that for some reason you choose to obstruct the best interest of your company.” Brady poured himself a daiquiri as if to indicate that his part of the discussion was over.
Black surrendered. “Very well.” The lips had now thinned almost to nothing. “Under protest and under, I may say, duress, I agree to what I regard as an outrageous request. The keys are in Mr. Finlayson’s desk. I will bid you good night.”
“One moment.” Dermott didn’t sound any more friendly than Black. “Do you have records of all your employees on the pipeline?”
It was clear that Black was considering some further opposition, and then decided against it. “We do. But very concise. Couldn’t call them reports. Mainly, just brief notes of previous jobs held.”
“Where are they? Here?”
“No. Only reports on security personnel are kept here, and that’s because Bronowski regards this as his base. The rest are kept in Anchorage.”
“We’d like to see them. Perhaps you can arrange for them to be made available?”
“I can arrange it.”
“I understand from Dr. Blake that you have a flight to Anchorage tomorrow. Is it a big plane?”
“Too big,” said Black the accountant. “A 737. Only one available tomorrow., Why?”
“One or more of us might want to hitch a lift,” Dermott answered. “We could, among other things, pick up those reports. Seats would be available?”
Black said, “Yes. No more questions, I trust?”
“One. You received this threatening Telex message from Edmonton today telling you to close down the line or else. What do you propose to do?”
“Carry on production, of course.” Black tried to smile sardonically, but ‘the moment was wrong. “Assuming, of course, that the criminals have been apprehended?”
“Where’s the Telex?”
“Bronowski had it. It may be on his person. Or in his desk.”
“I’ll find it,” Dermott said.
“I don’t think Bronowski would like you rummaging about his desk.”
“He’s not here, is he? Besides, he’s a security man. He would understand.” Dermott shook his head. “I don’t think you ever will.”
“No,” Black said. “Good night.” He turned on his heel and left. No one said “good night” to him.
“Well, well.” Brady exclaimed. “A friend for life in three minutes flat. Don’t know how you do it, George. Pity he acts so suspiciously — otherwise he’d have made a splendid suspect.”
“Badly ruffled feathers,” Morrison said. “To put it in a restrained fashion, ruffling other people’s feathers is his speciality. A martinet of the first order, they say, but an extraordinarily able man.”
Dermott said, “Not, I gather, universally popular. Does he have friends?”
“Professional business contacts, that’s all. Socially, nothing. If he has any friends, he hides them well.” He tried to conceal a yawn. “My normal bedtime lies well behind me. In the FBI, we try to get to bed by ten P.M. Can I be of any assistance before I go?”
“Two things,” Dermott said. “The maintenance crew at Pump Station Four. Fellow called Poulson in charge. Could you have their backgrounds investigated as rigorously as possible?”
“You have a reason for asking?” The FBI man sounded hopeful.
“Nothing really. Just that they happened to be there when the sabotage occurred. I’m clutching at straws. We have damn little else to clutch at.” Dermott smiled wryly.
“I think we can do that,” Morrison said. “And the other?”
“Dr. Blake tells me that the two dead engineers were brought back here today. Do you know where they were put?”
Morrison knew and told them, said his good nights and left.
Brady said, “I think I shall go and rest lightly in my room. Notify me if the heavens fall in. But not after the first half hour or so. I take it you two are about to indulge your morbid curiosity in viewing the departed.”
Dermott and Mackenzie looked down at the two murdered engineers. They had been covered in white sheets. No attempt had been made to clean them up since they last saw them at Pump Station Four. Perhaps it had been impossible. Perhaps no one had had a strong enough stomach for the task. Mackenzie said, “I hope they’re going to be sewn up in canvas or something before being taken to Anchorage tomorrow, or their relatives are going to have the screaming heebie-jeebies. Whatever you’re looking for, George, look for it quick. I’m not enjoying myself.”
Nor was Dermott. Not only was the sight revolting, but the smell was nauseating. He lifted the hand of the man he’d briefly examined before and said, “How would you say that forefinger got that way?”
Mackenzie bent, wrinkled his nose and said, “It sounds crazy, but it could have been broken by a pair of pliers. The trouble is that charring’s obliterated any marks that might have been made on the skin.”
Dermott went to a wash basin, soaked his handkerchief and cleaned up the charred area as best he could. The black carbon came off surprisingly easily. It didn’t leave the skin clean — the pitting was too deep for that — but clean enough to permit a closer examination.
“No pliers,” Mackenzie said. “To break the bone, pliers would have had to close right into the flesh and would have been bound to leave saw-tooth marks. No saw-tooth marks, so no pliers. But I agree with you. I’m sure that bone was deliberately broken.”
Dermott rubbed some carbon off the charred clothing and smeared it on the cleaned area so that it did not look as if it had been wiped. He opened the jacket and slid his hand into the inside pocket: it came out empty. Mackenzie said, “The papers and cards have taken wing and flown. With assistance, of course.”
“Indeed. Could have been Poulson or one of his pals. Could have been Bronowski when he was out there yesterday. Could have been the kindly healer himself.”
“Blake? He does look like a first cousin of Dracula,” Mackenzie said.
Dermott raised the damp handkerchief again and started to clear the area around the bullet in the forehead. He peered closely at the wound and said to Mackenzie, “Can you see what I imagine I see?”
Mackenzie stooped low and peered closely. Still stooped, he said softly, “With the hawk eyes of my youth gone forever, I could do with a powerful magnifying glass.” He straightened. “What I imagine I see is the brown scorch marks of burned powder.”
As before, Dermott smeared some carbon back on the cleaned area. “Funny — my imagination runs the same way. This guy was shot at point blank range. The scenario reads that it was a very close thing indeed. The killer had a gun on this engineer and was probably searching him. What he didn’t know was that the engineer not only had a gun of his own, but had it out. However it was, he must have seen it just in time and shot to kill — there could have been no time to indulge in any fancier gunwork. The engineer’s gun hand must have gone into muscular spasm — irreversible contraction; not unknown at the time of violent death. To free the gun, the killer had to wrench it so violently that he snapped the trigger finger. Don’t you think that fits in with the peculiar angle at which the finger was broken?”