Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [62]
they omitted to give him dirty fingernails or less than perfect teeth.
Laska and Smith sat in silence for a few moments, Laska feeling suddenly nervous, like a schoolgirl moments before her first meaningful exam. What had happened before was a mere exercise; this, now, was serious.
‘Your light was on late last night,’ said Smith suddenly.
Laska concentrated on her next mouthful of breakfast cereal before replying with great deliberation. ‘I’m starting to think you’re spying on me.’
To his great credit, Smith did not entirely dismiss Laska’s suggestion. ‘There is something going on here at the Retreat,’ said Smith. ‘You’re not stupid. You must have felt it.’
‘The murder of the security guard?’
‘You’ve heard?’
‘ Everyone’s heard.’ Laska indicated the rest of the dining area, the people huddled in discreetly hushed groups. ‘Anyway, Fitz told me.’
‘Did he now?’ Smith nodded. ‘Yes, it involves the murder of that poor man –
and much more besides.’
‘You’ve got a building full of suspects,’ said Laska. ‘Why me?’
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‘Oh, I don’t suspect you of the crime itself,’ exclaimed Smith. Then he paused, and looked at her quizzically, as if for the first time. ‘At least. . . I don’t think. . . No, I don’t suspect you of anything so absolutely evil.’
‘Then what have I done wrong?’
‘Don’t sound so guilty,’ said Smith with a chuckle. ‘I’m not a policeman.’
‘You’re starting to sound like one.’
‘My friends. . . I’m not sure if you know, their area of expertise is forensic psychiatry.’
‘I thought they were historians. Anyway, what the hell is forensic psychiatry?’
Smith continued without an explanation. ‘I suppose their interests, their specialisation. . . After a while it rubs off on you.’
Laska finished her cornflakes and pushed the bowl forward. ‘I’m not sure I believe you,’ she said. ‘When I see the three of you together. . . They’re learning from you, they’re being influenced by you. . . Not the reverse.’
Smith smiled, neither denying nor agreeing with her comments.
‘Where are they, anyway?’ queried Laska. ‘Off running an errand for you, I suppose.’
‘I’ve asked them to inspect the grounds, search for clues – it’ll help the police, when they get here.’
‘Oh, I’m sure the police’ll love that – a murder in the local nut-house and a member of staff who thinks he’s Miss Marple!’
‘Please,’ said Smith, pretending to be hurt. ‘Hercule Poirot, at least!’
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ said Laska. ‘Why are you spying on me?’
‘I’m not,’ said Smith.
‘You can’t deny you’re suddenly very interested in. . . ’
Smith held up his hand. ‘Let me finish. I’m not spying on you – Trix is.’
‘What?’
‘Or she was, in any event. I had a feeling. . . ’ Smith glanced around, as if to make sure no one was eavesdropping – but it seemed that the news of Farrell’s murder was more than enough to keep the others in the dining room distracted. ‘I had a feeling that death was going to descend upon this place.’
‘Oh, very melodramatic.’
Smith ignored her. ‘I don’t always act on my feelings, but this time I had some evidence to think that your life might be in danger.’
‘You what?’
‘After our meeting the other day I asked Trix to follow you. She has many and diverse faults but as an agent of stealth and intrigue, she cannot be faulted.’
‘But, how. . . ? What has she. . . ?’
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‘She has logged every person into your room, made a note of everyone you’ve spoken to, and then passed that information on to me.’
Laska found herself reddening. If Dr Smith knew all about her relationship with James. . .
‘I must stress to you I have no interest in your private life,’ said Smith, as if reading her mind. ‘I am simply trying to prevent an even greater tragedy than the murder of a security officer at a psychiatric hospital.