Murder in Focus by Medora Sale Page B

arrival appear unobtrusive,” he said. “I had not really expected to be recognized.”
    â€œOur Mr. Metcalfe from External Affairs was posted in Vienna last year,” said Deschenes.
    â€œAh. I see. Well, why am I here? Just as a precaution, of course. Our prime minister has become—what can I call it?—a target recently of some unpleasant attacks, most of them merely verbal. But there have been threats of violence. You know what these things are. One must pay attention to them even though it is very rare that anything happens as a result of them.” He smiled and spooned sugar into his coffee.
    â€œWhy would your prime minister be subject to threats?” asked Deschenes.
    â€œWhy? All politicians, all famous people, receive threats,” said Hoffel. His face had arranged itself into an expression of great sweetness.
    â€œIndeed,” said Deschenes. “But people like you are not sent out to hold their hands, are they?”
    â€œPerhaps not.” Hoffel paused, his head to one side, appearing to weigh Deschenes’s usefulness and reliability. “We have a particular group of rightist fanatics who are convinced that our government is swinging dangerously to the left once more.” His dark eyes danced with amusement. “I am sure that you Canadians think that we are all disturbingly right-wing, but on the whole we are really quite centrist, although we have our share of people on both sides of the political sea. This particular group seems to feel that a little destabilization would help to bring them to power. They are probably wrong, but we do not care to have them try.”
    â€œEspecially if their destabilization techniques consist of killing off the members of your government?”
    â€œIf they tried that, it would be most unfortunate, yes,” said Hoffel. “It is, of course, a remote threat, but one that must be taken into account.”
    â€œWhy over here?” said MacMillan suddenly.
    â€œWhy not?” said Hoffel. “But we are investigating every area that the prime minister and other members of the government must visit. We are not more suspicious of your peaceful and well-guarded country than of any other place.” He smiled again and put down his coffee cup. “I must return to the embassy, I’m afraid. I have a meeting there in a few minutes. If I could prevail upon you to—”
    â€œOf course,” said Deschenes. “Inspector MacMillan will arrange for you to be taken back downtown.”
    MacMillan followed Hoffel in the direction of Sylvia’s office, stopped at the door, and then walked back to Deschenes’s desk. “A helluva lot of good that did us,” he hissed. “I’ve had more information out of the Mafia on a bad day. ‘Ve are not bloody vell suspicious of your country,’” he mimicked in a harsh, badly rendered German accent. “The hell they aren’t. They know something—and I’m going to find out what it is.”
    â€œThank you, Ian,” said Deschenes coldly, and picked up his telephone receiver.
    â€œWhat I don’t understand,” said Harriet Jeffries, “is why you’re here. Aren’t you supposed to be communing with your fellows all day? What’s happened to your meeting?”
    â€œWhat meeting?” asked Sanders lazily. He drained off his beer and looked over at Harriet. “Our leader, the inestimable Higgs himself, declared that he had other duties and ordered us to go sightseeing. That’s what I’m doing, obeying orders. An excellent quality in a police officer, the ability to obey orders.” He pushed aside his glass. “But what is more important now,” he said, “is lunch. Do we take risks and eat here—I think I smell something that might be food—or do we go elsewhere?”
    â€œElsewhere,” said Harriet. “Where’s your car?”
    â€œAt the motel.