oil of some kind. Do you want it tested further?’
‘Might as well. I don’t think there’ll be any budgetary restraints on this one. Send off the best sample to Les Patterson, will you?’
‘Ah, the alien-substances chappie. Will do. Anything else?’
‘I don’t think so, at the moment, thanks, Freddie.’
The second message was from Bob Bailey. Slider tried his office, and was told he was at the site already, and rang him there on his mobile.
‘I thought you’d like to know that we came up with more oil traces,’ Bailey said. ‘On the files in that filing cabinet and on the front door. I think we can get a good enough sample to analyse, possibly get a match when you get a suspect. D’you want to go ahead?’
‘Yes, please. Bung it off to Les Patterson, will you? Freddie Cameron says he’s found oil on the clothes, too.’
‘Careless buggers, criminals,’ said Bailey.
‘Anything else?’
‘Footprints by the filing cabinet. Two, where he stood still, probably while he was looking through the drawer. They’re really only impressions in the pile of the carpet, so I can’t get much for you – no nice whorls and lugs – but it looks to be some kind of heavy boot, not the leather-soled city shoes the victim was wearing. And smaller. Victim wore a size eleven, and these are a nine at the most – I’d say possibly even an eight, given that with a boot the outside profile tends to be bigger than with a shoe. Any good?’
‘I don’t know yet. Were the boot marks oily too?’
‘No, we didn’t find any particular traces connected with them. I suppose he will have walked off anything coming up the stairs and along the corridor. Do you want me to try and trace them back? The carpet outside the flat doesn’t have much pile on it,’ he said doubtfully.
‘Well, you can have a look, but don’t knock yourself out. There’ve been too many people in and out.’
‘OK. Well, good luck. There’s a stack of press people here already. I got in early to avoid them but there’s a lot of media interest in this one.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ said Slider.
In the car on the way to the station, Atherton asked, ‘Why did your father leave the BBC? It seemed such an odd thing to do. I would have thought he was at the top of the tree there.’
‘It seemed odd to me, too,’ she said. ‘Until I took into account the change in the BBC culture. Dad had been there for ever, and he couldn’t stand the new regime. He felt – we both feel – that the news ought to be taken seriously. The Beeb kept dumbing it down until the Six was little more than a magazine programme and the Ten not much better. And he didn’t like the editorial control. He felt a journalist ought to be allowed to tell it the way it seemed to him. Well, of course, being Dad he didn’t keep his feelings to himself. He spoke out a little too frankly for the bosses, made himself unpopular, and was invited to leave.’
‘Sacked?’ Atherton asked.
She made a comical face. ‘Nobody’s sacked from the BBC. But they have ways of punishing you if you don’t go when you’re invited. He was ready to go, anyway. He was fed up with it, and wanted a change. He was at the top of his game and he didn’t think he’d have any difficulty in getting another job. And he didn’t. He started with the DTI the moment his notice at the Beeb ended.’
‘But why there?’
‘Oh, it was one of the government’s periodical recruitment drives of outsiders. Every now and then they have a spasm of thinking they need media savvy types with outside experience. And of course everyone had heard of Dad. The news that he and the Beeb weren’t on speaking terms any more filtered through and they were thrilled with the idea of having someone who knew the organisation from the inside but didn’t like it.’ She gave him a frank look. ‘They’re pretty paranoid about Auntie, you know.’
‘And did he like it there?’
‘He did at first. He said it was
‘Might as well. I don’t think there’ll be any budgetary restraints on this one. Send off the best sample to Les Patterson, will you?’
‘Ah, the alien-substances chappie. Will do. Anything else?’
‘I don’t think so, at the moment, thanks, Freddie.’
The second message was from Bob Bailey. Slider tried his office, and was told he was at the site already, and rang him there on his mobile.
‘I thought you’d like to know that we came up with more oil traces,’ Bailey said. ‘On the files in that filing cabinet and on the front door. I think we can get a good enough sample to analyse, possibly get a match when you get a suspect. D’you want to go ahead?’
‘Yes, please. Bung it off to Les Patterson, will you? Freddie Cameron says he’s found oil on the clothes, too.’
‘Careless buggers, criminals,’ said Bailey.
‘Anything else?’
‘Footprints by the filing cabinet. Two, where he stood still, probably while he was looking through the drawer. They’re really only impressions in the pile of the carpet, so I can’t get much for you – no nice whorls and lugs – but it looks to be some kind of heavy boot, not the leather-soled city shoes the victim was wearing. And smaller. Victim wore a size eleven, and these are a nine at the most – I’d say possibly even an eight, given that with a boot the outside profile tends to be bigger than with a shoe. Any good?’
‘I don’t know yet. Were the boot marks oily too?’
‘No, we didn’t find any particular traces connected with them. I suppose he will have walked off anything coming up the stairs and along the corridor. Do you want me to try and trace them back? The carpet outside the flat doesn’t have much pile on it,’ he said doubtfully.
‘Well, you can have a look, but don’t knock yourself out. There’ve been too many people in and out.’
‘OK. Well, good luck. There’s a stack of press people here already. I got in early to avoid them but there’s a lot of media interest in this one.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ said Slider.
In the car on the way to the station, Atherton asked, ‘Why did your father leave the BBC? It seemed such an odd thing to do. I would have thought he was at the top of the tree there.’
‘It seemed odd to me, too,’ she said. ‘Until I took into account the change in the BBC culture. Dad had been there for ever, and he couldn’t stand the new regime. He felt – we both feel – that the news ought to be taken seriously. The Beeb kept dumbing it down until the Six was little more than a magazine programme and the Ten not much better. And he didn’t like the editorial control. He felt a journalist ought to be allowed to tell it the way it seemed to him. Well, of course, being Dad he didn’t keep his feelings to himself. He spoke out a little too frankly for the bosses, made himself unpopular, and was invited to leave.’
‘Sacked?’ Atherton asked.
She made a comical face. ‘Nobody’s sacked from the BBC. But they have ways of punishing you if you don’t go when you’re invited. He was ready to go, anyway. He was fed up with it, and wanted a change. He was at the top of his game and he didn’t think he’d have any difficulty in getting another job. And he didn’t. He started with the DTI the moment his notice at the Beeb ended.’
‘But why there?’
‘Oh, it was one of the government’s periodical recruitment drives of outsiders. Every now and then they have a spasm of thinking they need media savvy types with outside experience. And of course everyone had heard of Dad. The news that he and the Beeb weren’t on speaking terms any more filtered through and they were thrilled with the idea of having someone who knew the organisation from the inside but didn’t like it.’ She gave him a frank look. ‘They’re pretty paranoid about Auntie, you know.’
‘And did he like it there?’
‘He did at first. He said it was
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