Never Apologise, Never Explain - James Craig [83]
After a tentative sip, Orb returned his cup to its saucer in the middle of his otherwise uncluttered desk, and looked up at Carlyle. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again, Inspector,’ he smiled. ‘Tell me, how is your investigation going?’
Carlyle made a vague gesture with one hand, while keeping a firm grasp of his saucer with the other. ‘These things always need to run their course.’
‘Indeed they do.’ Orb clasped his hands together over the desk as if in prayer. ‘And what, if I may ask, happened to the husband?’
Having had enough of the balancing act, Carlyle reached down and placed his cup and saucer on the carpet beside his chair. ‘He walked in front of a van,’ he said, sitting back up.
‘An accident?’
‘Suicide.’
‘Oh?’ Orb looked nonplussed. ‘But he was your main suspect?’
‘Yes.’
‘So is that it?’ Orb asked. ‘Is the case now closed?’
Carlyle shifted in his seat. ‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe?’ Orb repeated. ‘Don’t be coy, Inspector, you must be here for more than a cup of tea, very nice though it is.’
Carlyle grinned. ‘Maybe.’
‘So . . .’ The Ambassador’s smile faded slightly, indicating that, although his welcome was genuine, neither his time nor his patience were infinite. ‘How can I help you?’
‘That gentleman I saw you standing with at City Hall . . . at the reception when we were first introduced?’
Orb reflected on it for a moment. ‘You mean the Mayor, Mr Holyrod?’
‘No. The other man. About your height, in his thirties, had a beard – good-looking guy, with a nice tan.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Orb said. ‘Matias Gori.’
‘Who is he?’
‘He works here at the Embassy, as one of our military attachés. Does he have anything to do with this?’
Carlyle ignored the question. ‘I’ve always wondered,’ he mused. ‘What does a military attaché actually do?’
‘I know what you mean.’ Orb picked up his cup and again sipped his tea, content to wait a little longer for the policeman to get to the point. ‘I’m only the Ambassador, Inspector, so much of it is a mystery to me too. I think most people would probably assume that “military attaché” is just a polite way of saying someone is a spy. But it is usually more mundane than that.’
‘Not everyone can be James Bond, I suppose.’
‘No, especially nowadays. You can find out about most things you want to know about on the Internet, assuming that you can be bothered to spend some time searching. It’s an amazing invention – my grandchildren simply have no concept of how we could have ever lived without it.’
‘No,’ Carlyle agreed. ‘So where does that leave a military attaché these days? Are spies now basically redundant?’
‘More or less,’ Orb said, ‘as far as I can see. Certainly for a small country like Chile they are not particularly important. Our military attachés do a bit of marketing for our defence companies, and a bit of research to keep the folks back home up to speed on the latest developments in important markets like Britain.’
‘Has Gori been here long?’
Orb drained his cup and shrugged. ‘I don’t really know. He was already here when I arrived.’ He did the sums in his head. ‘So . . . I suppose that means he’s been here for at least three years.’
‘Where was he before he came to London?’
‘We all move around, Inspector,’ Orb told him. ‘Gori has had various postings in the US, Spain, Iraq—’
‘Iraq?’
‘Of course. We were strong supporters of the war on terror.’
Carlyle sat up in his chair. ‘Can I talk to him?’
‘About your case?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, technically, he would be within his rights to decline to speak to the Metropolitan Police – diplomatic immunity and all that.’ Seeing that Carlyle was about