He made a small sign to Willoughby, who nodded to one of his uniformed men at the door. Next moment the door opened, to admit Bronowski and Houston, manacled together. They were hustled to seats in the front row of the Alaska side stalls. Bronowski still sported his impressive head bandage, and beneath it, his broad, strong face was sullen.
“So.” Brady purred. “I promised we would not waste time. We have established that at least two security agents from the pipeline and three from Sanmobil were old acquaintances, that they were acting in concert, organized widespread sabotage, exchanged codes and were responsible for murder. We have also established that Bronowski was the undisputed leader. These facts have been put on record by many witnesses, who will testify in court. But let us move on, I would like to call on Dr. Parker.”
“Yes, well.” Parker paused reflectively. “I act in a forensic capacity for the police at Anchorage. Mr. Dermott brought down three corpses from Prudhole Bay. I examined one of them — an engineer who had been murdered in Pump Station Number Four. He had sustained a most unusual injury to his right index finger. I understand that Dr. Blake here attributed this to the force of the explosion which destroyed the pump station. I have to disagree. The finger was deliberately broken — there is no other way it could have happened. Mr. Dermott?”
Dermott stood up. “Mr. Mackenzie and I have a theory. It’s our belief that this dead engineer was carrying a pistol when he was held up by the people who had planted the explosives. We further believe that he recognized his assailants, and they, knowing this, killed him before he could use his gun in self-defense. We also believe that his dead finger locked over the trigger grip. That would be possible, doctor?”
“Indeed — quite possible.”
“We surmise the criminals had to break the man’s forefinger to get the gun away. A dead man found with a gun in his hand would have raised serious doubts as to whether the explosion had been a genuine accident.
“Further, papers seen in his coat pocket were later missing. Neither my colleagues nor I know what those papers were. We can only assume that he had accumulated incriminating evidence against someone — which would account for the fact that he was carrying a gun.”
Dermott paused. Then he said, “I would like to ask Mr. Brady to discuss the vital question of who is ultimately responsible for this spate of crime.”
Brady hoisted himself upright again. “Mr. Carmody — would you be so kind as to stand by Bronowski? I am aware that he is handcuffed, but I’m also convinced he’s a man of violence. Dr. Parker?”
Dr. Parker rose leisurely and walked across to Bronowski. Carmody was already there. The doctor said to him, “Get behind him and hold his arms.”
Carmody did so. Bronowski yelped with pain as Parker reached forward and ripped away the bandage that covered his forehead and temple. The doctor peered closely at the temple, touched it, then straightened.
“This is a delicate area of the head,” he said. “A blow such as he is alleged to have received would have left a bruise for at least a fortnight. Probably longer. As you can see, there is no such bruise, no sign of any contusion. In other words,” he said, pausing for effect, “he was never struck.”
Brady said, “Things look rather black for you, Dr. Blake.”
“They’re going to look a damn sight blacker,” Parker said. He had resumed his place. “Mr. Dermott, in Anchorage, made what I then regarded as an extremely strange request. I no longer regard it as such. Despite the fact that you, Dr. Blake, had carried out an autopsy on John Finlayson, Mr. Dermott asked me to carry out another. Unheard of, but, as it turns out, justified.”
“Your certificate said that Finlayson had been struck on the occiput with some form of loaded salt bag. As in the case of Bronowski, there was no sign of any contusion. The skin had been somewhat abraded, which could have occurred before or after death. What is important is that one of my younger associates discovered traces of ethyl oxide in the blood. It is difficult to conceal such trace elements. On closer examination, we discovered a tiny blue puncture just under the rib cage. Further investigation proved beyond any doubt that a needle or probe had been inserted through this puncture and pierced the heart. Death would have been pretty well instantaneous. In other words, Finlayson had been anesthetized, then murdered. I do not think there is one medical authority in either of our countries who would dispute my findings.”
Brady said, “Comment, Dr. Blake?”,
He appeared to have none.
The FBI’s Morrison said, “I have. He’s not a doctor. He was trained in an English university and flung out in his fourth year for reasons as yet undisclosed but which I’m sure we can readily ascertain. No doubt he learned enough in that time to use a needle or probe.”
Brady said, “Comment, Blake?”
Again he had none.
“I do not know, but I’m pretty sure that this is what happened,” Dermott said. “Finlayson came across Bronowski and Houston tampering with the fingerprint card index. I suggest that Bronowski was removing his own prints from the file. I suggest he was substituting some other prints for his own. Whose, I do not know, but that again we can ascertain. The next suggestion is straightforward and obvious. The prints on an Anchorage telephone booth were Bronowski’s. We have only to take his prints to confirm.”
Brady said, “Comment, Bronowski?”
Silence.
“Well.” Brady looked around the room. “Guilty as hell. That almost wraps it up.” He stood up, as if to end the meeting. “But not quite. None of the accused has the intelligence or knowledge to mastermind an operation of this nature. This required a highly specialized degree of knowledge. Someone who had the inside track.”
Willoughby asked, “We have an idea of this person’s identity?”
“I know who he is. But I think I’ll let Mr. Morrison and the FBI take over here. My colleagues and I had our suspicions as to the identity of the mastermind behind the killings and sabotage both here and in Alaska, but it was Mr. Morrison who got the proof.”
“I got the proof,” Morrison said, “but that was only because my nose was pointed in the right direction. Bronowski claimed to have owned — and maintains he still owns — an investigative agency in New York. This is untrue. As Mr. Young discovered in the course of his investigations, Bronowski only acted in the capacity of a front man, a figurehead. The real source of power, the owner, was someone else. Right, Bronowski?”
Bronowski scowled, clamped his lips and kept his counsel.
“No matter. At least you don’t deny it. Mr. Young, accompanied by New York detectives and armed with a search warrant, examined the firm’s private correspondence. The firm had been so naive as to file away, instead of destroying, fatally damaging and incriminating evidence. This evidence not only revealed the identity of the true owner, it also revealed the astonishing fact that this same individual owned no fewer than four other protection or investigative agencies in the city of New York.” Morrison glanced to one side. “Mr. Willoughby?”
Willoughby nodded and looked aside. Carmody nodded, rose and walked leisurely to the back of the room.
“This owner,” Morrison went on, “was an absentee landlord, but only during the past couple of years. Before that he was on the New York stock exchange and an investment counsellor on Wall Street. He wasn’t too successful. Not really a financial man at all, though he liked money. More like a bull in a china shop. Too extroverted.
“The landlord’s most recent absence was caused by the fact that he had become busy elsewhere. He was busy in Athabasca, at an inconvenient distance from Wall Street. He was, in fact, working for Sanmobil. He was busy being Sanmobil’s operations manager,”
“Don’t move. Keep quite still.” Carmody leaned over Reynolds’ shoulder and relieved him of a silenced automatic which he had begun to slide out of a shoulder holster. “You could cause yourself an injury. What’s a law-abiding citizen like you doing carrying a gun?”
Gasps of surprise broke out all around the room. Almost everybody stood up to get a better view. Reynolds’ face, normally so rubicund, had gone gray, making an unpleasant clash with his corn-colored hair. He sat as if paralyzed while Carmody slipped manacles on him.
“This is in no way a trial,” Brady announced. “So I do not propose to question him. Nor will I adumbrate the factors that made him turn the way he did — save to say that his main grievance appears to have been that he had been passed over for promotion. He found his way ahead blocked. He conceived the idea that outsiders were always brought into the firm to occupy senior positions. You may think his reaction a little excessive.”