The Dark Lady by Sally Spencer Page B

“Mixed vegetable,” Quist said with glee. “You may be right about Gerhard having got the job because he was another flyer – albeit one from the other side. On the other hand, it may simply have been that old Arthur was half-cut when he hired him.”
    Rutter took a spoonful of soup. It wasn’t bad, he decided. “So Mr Fanshaw had a drinking problem, did he?” he asked.
    Quist shook his head. “Not as such. I mean, he liked his booze, but he knew enough to keep off it while he was in the office. It was only at night that he went out on the razzle.”
    The sergeant frowned. “But you just said he could have been half-cut when he hired Gerhard Schultz. Now you’re telling me he never drank on the job. The two things don’t add up.”
    Quist laughed. “Oh, I see what you’re getting at. Gerhard was never actually interviewed in the office.”
    â€œHe wasn’t?”
    â€œNo. Arthur went down to London for some sort of conference. As soon as it was over, he headed for the nearest pub – which was just like him. That’s where he met Gerhard, who was working behind the bar at the time – as a purely temporary measure, of course. Anyway, they got talking, Arthur liked the cut of Gerhard’s jib, and the next morning he came into work and announced that he’d filled the vacancy for a time-and-motion man. That was the kind of chap he was – a real buccaneer. He’d never have got away with that kind of behaviour today, of course, but like I said, those were very different times.”
    â€œWhen did you take over from him?” Rutter asked.
    â€œI was acting head of department when Gerhard arrived,” Quist said, dipping a bread roll into his soup. “Far too young for the position, of course, but they needed someone to take over in a hurry, and I was on the spot. I’ve been lucky really. By the time the company got around to looking for a permanent replacement for Arthur, I’d already been doing the job – with a fair degree of success, I might say – for eighteen months, so the powers that be decided they need search no further.”
    â€œWait a minute. What exactly happened to Arthur Fanshaw? Was he sacked? Did he resign suddenly or something?”
    â€œOh, didn’t I mention that? A few days after he’d hired Gerhard, he was out on the razzle again, and he must have had too much, even by his standards. He staggered out of the pub, and straight under the wheels of a passing car. The driver of the car didn’t stop. Well, you couldn’t blame him really. I mean, it was Arthur’s own fault.”
    â€œHow do you know that?” Rutter asked. “Is that what the witnesses told the police?”
    â€œThere weren’t any witnesses to the actual accident. It was getting late and the streets were practically deserted. But there were plenty of people who’d seen him leave the pub and were willing to swear he could hardly walk, so what other explanation is there?”
    I can think of about a hundred straight off the cuff, Rutter thought, but then a bobby’s always suspicious if everything isn’t as clear as crystal.
    â€œHow long was there between Arthur Fanshaw getting killed and Gerhard Schultz joining the firm?” he asked.
    â€œAbout a week,” Quist said. “Gerhard was down in London winding up his affairs, so he didn’t actually know that Arthur was dead until I told him the morning he arrived. Of course, he’d only met Arthur once, so it wasn’t as much of a shock to him as it was to the rest of us. On the other hand, Arthur
had
given him his big chance, and he did seem genuinely upset to hear the news.”
    â€œWould you describe yourself as a friend of Schultz’s, Mr Quist?” the sergeant asked.
    The personnel manager weighed up his response for a few seconds. “I wouldn’t really call us friends,” he confessed.