‘Why haven’tyou ever read Grandpa’s book? You wouldn’t find it difficult.’
He shook his head – as if sorry for me. I knew he would never read the book. And I understood, too, his complex reasons – part suspicion and contempt, and part some nagging child’s fear (only now did I see it), all of which might have been expressed, and at that very moment, in one word: Loony.
[13]
Today (Monday) it struck me that Quinn could be inventing everything. Those inquiries. Supposing they are all in some extraordinary way figments of his imagination? How am I to know what’s true and what isn’t and what really stems from an official directive? Supposing he sits in his office picking out file numbers at random, adds a few fancy details of his own; has it all drawn up by a typist, who’d be none the wiser, on an instruction sheet, and then hands it on to me as part of some sadistic trick? It sounds far-fetched, I know – but if Quinn were really round the bend – ?
He called me in today. I thought he was going to speak again of my promotion – it is two weeks now since the subject was first mentioned – but he didn’t; though I could see him reading my expectations and playing with my hopes.
‘C9, Prentis, C9. I’ve been looking over your report.There’s nothing here about the past histories of X or Z’ (the blackmailer and the second civil servant). ‘If we’re trying to establish a connexion between the two, I would have thought that was the first thing to look at. Blackmailers don’t operate by chance – you have to discover the link in the past, the common ground.’
‘With respect, sir,’ (how I hate that phrase, ‘with respect’), ‘I didn’t know that was the reason for the inquiry.’
‘Is that so, Prentis? You mean it never crossed your mind?’
‘As a possibility, yes sir. But doesn’t the evidence point towards a coincidence – a curious one – but nothing more?’ I hastily recalled the C9 inquiry, a pattern in which there were large holes and gaps where items were missing from the files – so perhaps not a pattern at all. ‘Y was fully exonerated. X’s circumstances – his previous sacking, alcoholism and so forth all suggest malicious slander, not calculated blackmail. There is no apparent link between Y and Z. And, besides, Z’s suicide can be adequately explained by other reasons.’
‘And what are they?’
I paused. Quinn was looking hard at me. I felt a sudden shiver.
‘His unsatisfactory home life.’
‘I take it, Prentis, you read the statements of Z’s colleagues and acquaintances?’
‘Yes.’
‘They all express unanimous shock at Z’s death. No apparent warning signs. No talk of ending it all. No evidence the man was unbalanced. By every account an energetic, successful, well-adjusted man, on top of his job, everything going for him. Then one day he jumps under a Tube train. What do you make of that?’
I hesitated, then tried to sound professional and objective. ‘It’s a fact, sir, that suicides often appear relaxed and calm before taking their lives – some of the cases we ourselves have handled testify to that. People – ’
I hesitated again. Quinn was eyeing me with anticipatory keenness.
‘Yes, Prentis?’
‘People are known to crack without warning.’
‘Indeed, Prentis.’ No flicker of the eyelids. ‘Sound psychology, I’m sure. But wouldn’t a simpler, not to say more likely explanation be that Z’s suicide was the result of some quite sudden external factor – for example, a blackmail threat?’
Why was Quinn – the very man who censured it in others – jumping to conclusions?
‘In that case, sir, what about the wife’s evidence?’
‘Oh you mean the wife’s
story
.…’ And it was at this point that Quinn’s manner became detectably impetuous and excitable. He took his eyes from me for the first time.
‘A story, Prentis. Why not? We all know that the best way to hide one guilty secret is seemingly to confess to
He shook his head – as if sorry for me. I knew he would never read the book. And I understood, too, his complex reasons – part suspicion and contempt, and part some nagging child’s fear (only now did I see it), all of which might have been expressed, and at that very moment, in one word: Loony.
[13]
Today (Monday) it struck me that Quinn could be inventing everything. Those inquiries. Supposing they are all in some extraordinary way figments of his imagination? How am I to know what’s true and what isn’t and what really stems from an official directive? Supposing he sits in his office picking out file numbers at random, adds a few fancy details of his own; has it all drawn up by a typist, who’d be none the wiser, on an instruction sheet, and then hands it on to me as part of some sadistic trick? It sounds far-fetched, I know – but if Quinn were really round the bend – ?
He called me in today. I thought he was going to speak again of my promotion – it is two weeks now since the subject was first mentioned – but he didn’t; though I could see him reading my expectations and playing with my hopes.
‘C9, Prentis, C9. I’ve been looking over your report.There’s nothing here about the past histories of X or Z’ (the blackmailer and the second civil servant). ‘If we’re trying to establish a connexion between the two, I would have thought that was the first thing to look at. Blackmailers don’t operate by chance – you have to discover the link in the past, the common ground.’
‘With respect, sir,’ (how I hate that phrase, ‘with respect’), ‘I didn’t know that was the reason for the inquiry.’
‘Is that so, Prentis? You mean it never crossed your mind?’
‘As a possibility, yes sir. But doesn’t the evidence point towards a coincidence – a curious one – but nothing more?’ I hastily recalled the C9 inquiry, a pattern in which there were large holes and gaps where items were missing from the files – so perhaps not a pattern at all. ‘Y was fully exonerated. X’s circumstances – his previous sacking, alcoholism and so forth all suggest malicious slander, not calculated blackmail. There is no apparent link between Y and Z. And, besides, Z’s suicide can be adequately explained by other reasons.’
‘And what are they?’
I paused. Quinn was looking hard at me. I felt a sudden shiver.
‘His unsatisfactory home life.’
‘I take it, Prentis, you read the statements of Z’s colleagues and acquaintances?’
‘Yes.’
‘They all express unanimous shock at Z’s death. No apparent warning signs. No talk of ending it all. No evidence the man was unbalanced. By every account an energetic, successful, well-adjusted man, on top of his job, everything going for him. Then one day he jumps under a Tube train. What do you make of that?’
I hesitated, then tried to sound professional and objective. ‘It’s a fact, sir, that suicides often appear relaxed and calm before taking their lives – some of the cases we ourselves have handled testify to that. People – ’
I hesitated again. Quinn was eyeing me with anticipatory keenness.
‘Yes, Prentis?’
‘People are known to crack without warning.’
‘Indeed, Prentis.’ No flicker of the eyelids. ‘Sound psychology, I’m sure. But wouldn’t a simpler, not to say more likely explanation be that Z’s suicide was the result of some quite sudden external factor – for example, a blackmail threat?’
Why was Quinn – the very man who censured it in others – jumping to conclusions?
‘In that case, sir, what about the wife’s evidence?’
‘Oh you mean the wife’s
story
.…’ And it was at this point that Quinn’s manner became detectably impetuous and excitable. He took his eyes from me for the first time.
‘A story, Prentis. Why not? We all know that the best way to hide one guilty secret is seemingly to confess to
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