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'The devil they have！' Kent's speech lost its slur； and Coyle could visualise the old gleam in those grey eyes； the tightening of the mouth。 'Smells fishy to me。 No doubt you've made some enquiries？'
Tried to；' Coyle replied。 'The usual negative answers one expects when dealing with officialdom…particularly at this level。 Of course the unions have bined to restrict my own personal views being expressed in the Herald。'
'Fuck the unions。' Kent was always conveniently forgetting to pay his subscription。 'Tell you what； there's nothing to hold me here at present。 I'll drive up through the night； and see you tomorrow morning。'
Coyle replaced the receiver with mingled relief and apprehension。 Relief that Kent might be going to throw a few spanners into Dyne's reprocessing works。 Apprehension that 。 。 。 well； the London journalist had an uncanny nose for trouble。 In the past； when they had worked together； there had been so many reports that had seemed scarcely worth the trouble of investigating； yet the little Fleet Street man had unearthed veritable 。 。 。 holocausts！
Linda Lakin's body was discovered at approximately three o'clock that same afternoon； in effect； shortly after Coyle had finished speaking to Kent。 It was 4。10 p。m。 when the police visited the premises of the Herald； a plain…clothes Chief Superintendent acpanied by two CID officers。
Coyle was well acquainted with all three of them。 Rollason； the Superintendent； rarely smiled； possibly on account of the eternal cigarette which smouldered between his thick lips； depositing ash at intervals down his worn brown waistcoat。 He had small eyes buried beneath fleshy sockets； which rarely disclosed his innermost feelings。
McLane； the inspector； was not so stolid as his superior； his clean…cut features an admirable advertisement for some brand of after…shave。 He was a man destined to climb to the heights of his chosen profession； and he would be ruthless in that quest。
Sergeant Conniston stood respectfully behind them。 Retirement was his goal in life now； and his toothbrush moustache was reminiscent of an era when local policemen manded the respect of the entire munity。 That； too； had gone。
A mixed bunch； Coyle decided。 The Superintendent's expression conveyed that he had a matter of a confidential nature to discuss。 Coyle nodded to Anne。 She understood； smiled and withdrew； closing the door behind her。
It was cramped in the tiny office； and there were not sufficient chairs available。 Coyle pushed a sheaf of papers aside。
'And what can I do for you； gentlemen？'
'Your boy；' Rollason came straight to the point。 'Any idea where he is？ He's not at work； nor home。 We checked 。 。 。 '
The ringing of the telephone interrupted them。 Coyle lifted the receiver。 Anne's voice came over the internal line； 'Your wife wants to speak to you。'
Tell her I'll call her back。'
'I've already told her that。 She says it's urgent； and she refuses to ring off。'
'Oh； all right。 Put her through。' He placed a hand over the mouthpiece。 'Excuse me； it's my wife。 I won't keep you a minute。'
'Bob。' Jane's voice had more than a ring of urgency to it。 She was on the verge of panic。 'It's about Richard。 The police have been here looking for him。'
Coyle gave no hint…either in his voice or in his expression…of his true feelings； the jarring of his nerves； the sensation of nausea as his stomach churned。
'I know。 They're here now。 Just arrived。'
'What's happened？'
'I don't know。 Haven't had a chance to speak to them yet。'
'Something's terribly wrong； I know it。 The police wouldn't say
'Look； I'll ring you back。' He cut her off abruptly by replacing the receiver。
'Well？' he looked at Rollason。 'Suppose you tell me what it's all about。'
'Does the name Linda Lakin mean anything to you？' the Superintendent lit a fresh cigarette with the butt of the old one before crushing it in the ashtray。
'Yes。' Coyle's uneasiness escalated。 'A girl my son used to knock about with。 I've never met her。 He never brought his girlfriends home。'
'Well； she's dead。 Beaten up…one hell of a mess。 And your lad's gone missing。 My men are going over the scene of the murder now； and already there's ample evidence that he was there recently。 What we want to know is where he is now？ We've circulated his motor…cycle registration number to all patrol cars。'
'My God！' Coyle buried his face in his hands。 It all came back to him…the quarrel； the blow。 Already he was blaming himself。 Finally； he looked up； his plexion ashen。 'I only wish you'd e here to me first。 I've no idea where my son is right now。'
'We followed a methodical line of enquiries。'
Silence。 Three men totally unmoved。 And the fourth 。。。 a few minutes ago he was challenging single…handed the rights of a nation to risk the lives of its entire population。 Now he was just an ordinary father； shattered； dazed； everything else forgotten。
'We'll probably want to speak to you again。' Rollason moved towards the door。 'Call us if he shows up。'
Coyle nodded。 He won't； though。 He's gone。 And I drove him away。
He watched them leave in single file…Conniston last。 Their eyes met briefly。 Coyle thought he read sympathy there； but he could have been mistaken。 The door closed and he heard them go out through the reception area。
A tap on the door…Anne。 She had sensed that something was terribly wrong。 He called out for her to e in。
'It's Richard。' He picked up the sheaf of papers again； just for something to occupy his hands。 His brain was in a daze。 To all appearances； he's done that Lakin hussy in。'
'Oh； Christ！'
'I'd better get home fast。'
'Of course。'
'Kent will be here in the morning。 I'm not backing out of this other business； no matter what。 We're still going to fight 'em to the bitter end； to the very last atom。'
She admired him more at that moment than ever before。 A family crisis of the worst kind； and still he was prepared to continue the fight。
Hardly before Coyle had got out of the car； Jane was at the front door。 She seemed to have aged a decade since breakfast： the smooth skin on her face lined； black marks beneath her eyes； streaks of mascara where it had run with tears。 And even now she did not know the truth。
'What's he done？ Where is he？' Her voice rose almost to a scream。 'Where is Richard？'
Before replying； he took off his coat and hung it up。 He needed time to think； time to choose his words。
'I don't know；' he said at last and went into the living…room； straight to the cocktail cabinet。 He poured two whiskies…stiff ones。
'You've got to tell me。 Where is he？'
'I've no idea。'
'But why the police？'
'The Lakin girl's dead。 Murdered。'
'Oh； my God！ No； no 。。。 no！'
He slapped her hard across the face with the flat of his hand。 He had read somewhere that it was