Death of an Expert Witness by P. D. James

would have preferred a colleague to a stranger even if they hated his guts. And the Union made the expected noises about not appointing a forensic scientist."
    "Why did you appoint Howarth? I take it you were on the Board."
    "Oh, yes. I accept a share of the responsibility. That's not to say that I think we made a mistake. Old Doc Mac was one of the really great forensic scientists--we started together--but there's no denying that he'd let the reins slip a bit in recent years. Howarth has already increased the work turnover by ten per cent. And then there's the commissioning of the new Lab. It was a calculated risk to take a man without forensic experience, but we were looking for a manager primarily. At least, most of the Board were and the rest of us were persuaded that it would be no bad thing, without, I confess, being precisely clear what we meant by that blessed word. Management. The new science. We all make obeisance to it. In the old days we got on with the job, jollied staff along if they needed it, kicked the sluggards in the backside, encouraged the unconfident and persuaded a reluctant and skeptical police force to use us. Oh, and sent in an occasional statistical return to the Home Office just to remind them that we were there. It seemed to work all right. The Service didn't collapse. Have you ever considered what exactly is the difference between administration and management, Adam?"
    "Keep it as a question to confound the candidate at your next Board.
    Howarth was at the Bruche Research Institute wasn't he? Why did he want to leave? He must have taken a cut in pay."
    "Not more than about six hundred a year, and that wouldn't worry him.
    His father was rich, and it all came to him and his half-sister."
    "But it's a bigger place surely? And he can't be getting the research at Hoggatt's."
    "He gets some, but essentially, of course, it's a service laboratory.
    That worried us a bit on the Board. But you can hardly set out to persuade your most promising applicant that he's downgrading himself.
    Scientifically and academically--he's a pure physicist--he was well ahead of the rest of the field. Actually we did press him a bit and he gave the usual reasons. He was getting stale, wanted a new sphere of activity, was anxious to get away from London. Gossip has it that his wife had recently left him and he wanted to make a clean break. That was probably the reason. Thank God he didn't use that blasted word 'challenge." If I have to listen to one more candidate telling me he sees the job as a challenge I'll throw up over the boardroom table.
    Adam, I'm getting old."
    He nodded his head towards the window. "They're in a bit of a twitch over there, I need hardly say."
    "I know. I've had an exceedingly brief but tactful interview. They're brilliant at implying more than they actually say. But obviously it's important to get it solved quickly. Apart from confidence in the service, you'll all want to get the Lab back to work."
    "What's happening now? To the staff, I mean."
    "The local CID. have locked all the interior doors and they're keeping the staff in the library and the reception area until I arrive. They're occupying themselves writing out an account of their movements since Lorrimer was last seen alive and the local Force are getting on with the preliminary checking of alibis. That should save some time. I'm taking one officer, John Massingham, with me. The Met Lab will take on any of the forensic work. They're sending a chap down from Public Relations Branch to handle the publicity, so I won't have that on my plate. It's obliging of that pop group to break up so spectacularly. That and the Government's troubles should keep us off the front page for a day or two."
    Freeborn was looking down at his big toes with mild distaste as if they were errant members whose deficiencies had only now become apparent to him. From time to time he wriggled them, whether in obedience to some medical instruction or for his own private