Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [47]
I listened, detached, to the strange sound of my own voice. Too precise, I thought vaguely: he can tell you’re a solicitor, pleading for someone else, someone guilty. Queen’s English, M’Lord. ‘You understand I’m sure, Inspector.’ I rest my case.
Stratford was less willing to accept my defence. ‘How long have you been here?’ he asked, suggesting that I had ample time to tell George of Gordon’s suicide.
‘Goodnight, Inspector. Or was there something else?’ It was senseless to argue.
‘Just one thing.’
I knew what he was going to ask. And I had no answer. Of course I had taken the letter, and he knew it. Who else could have done? I had realised that the envelope was missing as soon as I had burned its contents, but it had been too late then.
Stratford was still talking, although I had denied all knowledge of the letter. He paused, and I spoke without waiting to hear if he had finished. ‘I wish you more luck with your windmills than that Spaniard had with his.’ An appropriate allusion since the whole room, and in particular Stratford’s face, seemed to be revolving like a giant windmill, and I was impaled at its centre, Quixotic fool that I am.
Whether my hand was still on the doorknob or not I do not know, but I almost fell through as the door opened towards me. I breathed deeply for a few seconds, then returned to the drawing room, hoping I would not collapse before I could reach a chair. The hall began to straighten out and I could hear the sound of my feet on the floor again as the rushing of blood in my ears faded slowly into the distance.
Herr Kreiner accosted me as soon as I returned to the drawing room. ‘Have you seen the Doctor?’ he asked. He seemed flustered, urgent.
‘No,’ I confessed. ‘I’m sorry. He’s not with the inspector. But he can’t be far away.’
‘No,’ Kreiner said. ‘No, of course not. He’s around somewhere. Just haven’t seen him for a while, that’s all.’ He nodded to himself. ‘I’m not worried,’ he assured me. But I knew he was saying it to reassure himself.
‘You’ve worked with Dr Friedlander for a while, I imagine, Herr Kreiner?’ I asked him.
‘What? Oh yes, quite a while.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Seems like centuries, actually,’ and he gave a high-pitched nervous laugh. ‘He’ll be around somewhere,’ he repeated. Then as an afterthought, ‘Call me, Fitz won’t you? Everyone does.’
‘Do they?’ I said. He didn’t respond. But we were still standing together just inside the drawing room, and as much to make an excuse to move as anything, I asked, ‘Are you a forensics expert too, then?’ I had assumed he was, of course.
‘What? Oh yes. Yes indeedy.’ He nodded vigorously, the way people do when they are either telling an obvious truth or an unprepared lie. ‘Smudge of paint here, fingerprints there. Dee-en‐ay stuff. You know.’
I didn’t. ‘Dee-what?’
He coughed as if to cover embarrassment or a silly mistake. ‘Sorry, new technique. Not really on the market yet, y’know.’ His manner was strange, but not intentionally so, and not in an intimidating way. I put it down to his having spent so much time abroad, away from native English-speakers. Though I did wonder where the Doctor had learned to speak our language so well.
‘Maybe he’s turned in already.’ I suggested as Herr Kreiner – Fitz – continued to pace up and down.
‘Who?’ he asked.
‘The Doctor.’
‘Oh, right. Doesn’t sleep much, actually. I believe.’ He paused and shuffled his feet uneasily.
Simpson was still standing just inside the door. He coughed politely. ‘Dr Friedlander did ask if his room was made up earlier, sir,’ he offered.
‘Did he?’ Fitz was at once elated, relieved. Then he huffed and sank into a chair. ‘Typical. You’d think he’d tell us if he’s going to push off and grab some kip, wouldn’t you?’
‘Not really, sir, no,’ Simpson said. He leaned forwards slightly, towards Fitz Kreiner. ‘Are you feeling tired yourself, sir? You seem a little worn, if you don’t mind me saying.’
I was surprised that Simpson ventured such an opinion. But Kreiner merely shrugged it off. ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ he said easily. ‘Don’t worry about me. Wide awake. Full