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'Great。' He clicked off before I could change my mind and he was at my door in less than ten minutes。
'This is nice；' he said appreciatively； looking round my sitting…room。 'Not what I expected。'
There was a Sheraton writing…desk and buttoned brocade chairs and a couple of modern exotic wood inlaid tables by Mark Boddington。 The overall colours were greyish blue； soft and restful。 The only brash intruder was an ancient fruit machine that worked on tokens。
Kevin Mills made straight towards it； as most visitors did。 I always left a few tokens haphazardly on the floor； with a bowl of them nearby on a table。 Kevin picked a token from the carpet； fed it into the slot； and pulled the handle。 The wheels clattered and clunked。 He got two cherries and a lemon。 He picked up another token and tried again。
'What wins the jackpot？' he asked； achieving an orange； a demon and a banana。
'Three horses with jockeys jumping fences。'
He looked at me sharply。
'It used to be the bells；' I said。 'That was boring； so I changed it。'
'And do the three horses ever e up？'
I nodded。 'You get a fountain of tokens all over the floor。'
The machine was addictive。 It was my equivalent of the psychiatrist's couch。 Kevin played throughout our conversation but the nearest he came was two horses and a pear。
'The trial has started； Sid；' he said； 'so give us the scoop。'
'The trial's only technically started。 I can't tell you a things When the adjournment's over； you can go to court and listen。'
'That's not exclusive；' he plained。
'You know damned well I can't tell you。'
'I gave you the story to begin with。'
'I sought you out；' I said。 'Why did The Pump stop helping the colt owners and shaft me instead？'
He concentrated hard on the machine。 Two bananas and a blackberry。
'Why？'I said
'Policy。'
'Whose policy？'
'The public wants demolition； they gobble up spite。'
'Yes； but …'
'Look； Sid； we get the word from on high。 And don't ask who on high； I don't know。 I don't like it。 None of us likes it。 But we have the choice； go along with overall policy or go somewhere else where we feel more in tune。 And do you know where that gets you？ I work for The Pump because it's a good paper with； on the whole； fair ment。 OK； so reputations topple。 Like I said； that's what Mrs Public wants。 Now and then we get a request； such as 'lean hard on Sid Halley'。 I did it without qualms； as you'd clammed up on me。'
He looked all the time at the machine； playing fast。
'And India Cathcart？' I asked。
He pulled the lever and waited until two lemons and a jumping horse came to rest in a row。
'India。。。' he said slowly。 'For some reason she didn't want to trash you。 She said she'd enjoyed her dinner with you and you were quiet and kind。 Kind！ I ask you！ Her editor had to squeeze the poison out of her drop by drop for that first long piece。 In the end he wrote most of her page himself。 She was furious the next day when she read it； but it was out on the streets by then and she couldn't do anything about it。'
I was more pleased than I would have expected； but I wasn't going to let Kevin see it。 I said； 'What about the continued stab wounds almost every week？'
'I guess she goes along with the policy。 Like I said； she has to eat。'
'Is it George Godbar's policy？'
'The big white chief himself？ Yes； you could say the editor of the paper has the final say。'
'And Lord Tilepit？'
He gave me an amused glance。 Two pears and a lemon。 'He's not a hands…on proprietor of the old school。 Not a Beaverbrook or a Harmsworth。 We hardly know he's alive。'
'Does he give the overall policy to George Godbar？'
'Probably。' A horse； a demon and some cherries。 'Why do I get the idea that you are interviewing me； instead of the other way round？'
'I cannot imagine。 What do you know about Owen Cliff Yorkshire？'
'Bugger all。 Who is he？'
'Quite likely a friend of Lord Tilepit。'
'Sid；' he protested。 'I do my job。 Rapes； murders； little old ladies smothered in their sleep。 I do not chew off the fingernails of my pay cheque。'
He banged the fruit machine frustratedly。 'The bloody thing hates me。'
'It has no soul；' I said。 I fed in a stray token myself with my plastic fingers and pulled the handle。 Three horses。 Fountains of love。 Life's little irony。
Kevin Mills took his paunch； his moustache and his disgusted disgruntlement off to his word…processor； and I again phoned Norman as John Paul Jones。
'My colleagues now think John Paul Jones is a snitch；' he said。
'Fine。'
'What is it； this time？'
'Do you still have any of those horse…nuts I collected from Betty Bracken's field； and those others we took from the Land…Rover？'
'Yes； we do。 And as you know； they're identical in position。'
'Then could you find out if they were manufactured by Topline Foods Ltd； of Frodsham in Cheshire？'
After a short silence he said cautiously； 'It could be done； but is it necessary？'
'If you could let me have some of the nuts I could do it myself。'
'I can't let you have any。 They are bagged and counted。'
'Shit。' And I could so easily have kept some in my own pocket。 Careless。 Couldn't be helped。
'Why does it matter where they came from？' Norman asked。
'Um 。。。 You know you told me you thought there might be a heavyweight somewhere behind the scenes？ Well； I've been asked to find out。'
'Jeez；' he said。 'Who asked you？'
'Can't tell you。 Client confidentiality and all that。'
'Is it Archie Kirk？'
'Not so far as I know。'
'Huh！' He sounded unconvinced。 'I'll go this far。 If you get me some authenticated Topline nuts I'll see if I can run a check on them to find out if they match the ones we have。 That's the best I can do； and that's stretching it； and you wouldn't have a prayer if you hadn't been the designer of our whole prosecution…and you can not quote me on that。'
'I'm truly grateful。 I'll get some Topline nuts； but they probably won't match the ones you have。'
'Why not？'
'The grains…the balance of ingredients…will have changed since those were manufactured。 Every batch must have its own profile； so to speak。'
He well knew what I meant； as an analysis of ingredients could reveal their origins as reliably as grooves on a bullet。
'What interests you in Topline Foods？' Norman asked。
'My client。'
'Bugger your client。 Tell me。' I didn't answer and he sighed heavily。 'All right。 You can't tell me now。 I hate amateur detectives。 I've got you a strip off that dirty Northampton material。 At least； it's promised for later today。 What are you going to do about it； and have you cracked Ellis Quint's alibi yet？'
'You're brilliant；' I said。 'Where can I meet you？ And no； I haven't cracked the alibi。'
'Try harder。'
'I'm only an amateur。'
'Yeah； yeah。 e to the lake at five o'clock。 I'm picking up the boat to take it home for winter storage。 OK？'
'I'll be there。'
'See you。'
I phoned the hospital in Canterbury。 Rachel； the ward sister told me； was 'resting fortably'。
'What does that mean？'
'She's no worse than yesterday； Mr Halley。 When can you return？'
'Sometime soon。'
'Good。'
I