Already Dead(36)

‘Was Mr Turner a good worker?’ asked Fry. ‘He’d been with you for quite a while, we understand.’

‘With Prospectus, yes,’ said Baird. ‘I haven’t been his line manager all that long. Personally, I’m a bit of a high-flyer, you might say. I had my talents spotted. So Prospectus poached me from—’

‘Yes, sir. But Mr Turner?’

‘Ah, well. Glen was never a high-flyer of any kind. But solid enough, I suppose.’ He looked round the office. ‘I can get someone to dig a bit of information out of his personnel file, if you want.’

‘That would be useful, sir. But your personal impressions are more helpful at this stage.’

Baird steepled his bony fingers together and smiled as if she’d paid him a compliment. Did he think that everything was about him? Well, maybe it was. Fry found herself hoping that the inquiry would turn up some form of secret relationship between Glen Turner and his manager, which would allow her the chance to get Baird in an interview room without the security of his office and desk.

First, Baird signalled to someone through the glass partition, and a youth appeared at the door. He had red cheeks and wore a tie loosely knotted round an unfastened shirt collar, as if he was still at school and making a statement about his resistance to the uniform. Baird gave him instructions for the personnel file, and he scurried off. A blonde woman seated at the end of the row of desks watched him go, and cast a curious glance into the manager’s office. Somehow, Baird seemed to be aware of her interest.

‘You can’t use one of the girls for that sort of job now,’ he said. ‘It would be considered sexist. We operate on very strict equality guidelines here at Prospectus Assurance.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I’ll bear that in mind if I’m ever looking for a change of career,’ said Fry.

Baird studied her as if she’d just come in for a job interview. ‘Well, you’d probably bring some unique abilities to the job, Sergeant. Are you interested in insurance?’

Fry swallowed a response, aware of Luke Irvine hiding a smile. There was no point in explaining to someone like Baird that she’d been joking. If he didn’t see it the first time, she was wasting her breath. He probably imagined she was so impressed with such a high-flying manager that she was desperate to work for him.

‘I’m sure you’re busy, sir,’ said Fry. ‘So perhaps we could concentrate on Glen Turner.’

‘Indeed. My personal impressions.’

‘I’m wondering in particular if Mr Turner seemed worried about anything recently. Did he have any problems at work? Any disciplinary issues?’

‘No, no. We’re a happy ship here in Claims. No problems. Or, if there are, I soon sort them out. My door is always open. The staff know that.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Fry could see the flushed youth hovering a few yards away on the other side of the partition. He was clutching a manila file, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with it. Should he wait until he was summoned into the office? Or did the task of fetching the file give him permission to knock on the door and interrupt? She could see the conflict written all over his face and in his nervous body language.

‘Your staff are happy to come and talk to you, sir?’ asked Fry.

‘Of course, any time. Look at my ID. My badge says “Nathan”, not “Mr Baird” or “Team Leader” – even though that’s what I am.’

‘Very good.’

That was using symbolism as a substitute for people skills, as far Fry was concerned. A badge was an awful lot cheaper than employing someone who actually knew how to manage staff. But it was nothing new, and certainly not unique to Prospectus Assurance. Police forces used it all over the country. Everyone did, if it cut costs.

‘So how much do you know about Mr Turner’s personal life?’

‘His personal…?’

‘His life outside the office. His home, family, his personal relationships, his interests?’

‘Well. Er…’

‘Did you ever speak to his mother, for example?’

‘Why would I speak to his mother?’

‘That’s who Mr Turner lived with.’

Baird laughed. ‘Is it? He must have been, what? Thirty-seven? And he lived with his mum?’

‘Mrs Turner was advised by a police officer to phone here when she reported that her son hadn’t come home. So who would she have spoken to, if it wasn’t you, sir?’

He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the cubicles. ‘I don’t know. Someone out there. The switchboard wouldn’t have put a call like that through to me.’