Too Many Murders(41)

“Oh, yes. Very close. All of us on the Board are. We’re a trifle older than Des—there was no one in his graduating class with whom he formed a close attachment, you see.”

“Why do you think that was?”

“I have no idea, though I heard his classmates didn’t like him. He drank heavily back then, and when he was drunk he could be—er—abrasive. Desmond Skeps Senior died a week after Des graduated, so Des stepped into Cornucopia as Chairman of the Board and owner of the majority of the shares. No experience whatsoever! Three of us already worked here as junior executives—Gus Purvey, Wal Grierson and me. Chubbers all! Phil Smith was thrust on us by Des as his cousin. I think he admired how Phil looked and talked. Since the word ‘work’ is as alien to Phil as the word ‘fuck,’ we got used to his being around as decoration. He’s sixty if he’s a day, so he knew Des’s dad well. Chubb, but before us.”

“How many are on the Board, Mr. Collins?”

“Phil Smith, Gus Purvey, Wal Grierson, Erica Davenport and yours truly, with Des in the chair and Phil as his deputy.”

“That’s a very small board, surely?”

“There’s no law regulating a board’s size, Captain.”

“What about the external shareholders?”

“They’re the four of us and hundreds of thousands of strays. Erica represents the strays.”

“Does that mean she’s at loggerheads with the rest of you?”

Collins laughed. “Lord, no! Think of us as like IBM—to own twenty shares is a small fortune, but peanuts all the same.”

“How much top-secret work do you discuss?”

“The lot,” said Frederick H. Collins, looking surprised.

“You’re the head of Polycorn Plastics. Where do you make your cutting-edge advances, sir? At your factory?”

The big butcher’s face crumpled into another bout of mirth. “No, sir! All I do is manufacture tried and true plastics. The research is where it should be—at Cornucopia Research.”

“So you have no top-secret formulae lying around?”

“No, I do not! By the time I see a new plastic, it’s been thoroughly tested and looks to anyone at Polycorn to be no different from everything else. I don’t broadcast advances.”

“What makes a new plastic so desirable to the Reds?”

“Do you have security clearances, Captain?” Collins demanded.

Carmine handed over the typed contents of a wallet.

After a thorough inspection, Collins shrugged. “Super-hard plastics that will prove suitable for the manufacture of hand and shoulder weapons,” he said. “Also different super-hard plastics for armor plating, engine blocks. Enough?”

“Thank you, more than enough. Has any of your research been leaked to the Communists?”

Collins gasped, pressed his hands against his eyes. “Oh, Jesus! Not as far as I’m aware. The first breakthrough since we knew about Ulysses came not much more than a month ago, and I refused to accept the formulae. In fact, I ordered Dr. MacDougall to put them and every last vestige of the test pieces including the shavings into his vault under seal. The Reds aren’t dumb, Captain, they do research too. But I will not see the Communists profit from my research! No new plastics will go into production until Ulysses is caught.”

Okay, thought Carmine, I believe he’s sincere. Not a very likeable guy, but I pick him as a genuine patriot.

“What does Special Agent Kelly say?” he asked.

“Not a fucking thing,” said Frederick H. Collins bitterly.

Time to change horses. “Are you married, sir?”

“Yes,” said Collins, looking blank.

“For how long?”

“Two years, this time. I’ve had three previous wives.”

“Any of them last longer than two years?”

“My first, Aki. We were married twenty-one years.”

“Do you have a family?”

“Two boys by Aki, a boy by Michelle, a boy by Debbie, and another boy by Candy, my present wife.”

“Lots of alimony.”

“I can afford it.”

He’s into bimbos, thought Carmine, wondering what had sent him off the rails after twenty-one years. Man, won’t there be a squabble after he dies, with all those boys! Obviously he had the money to hire professional killers, but it wouldn’t be in the service of Uncle Joe Stalin’s heirs. With nothing to suggest the espionage and the murder were connected, Frederick H. Collins’s name would remain written on the list stored inside Carmine’s mind.

Then it was down two more floors to the offices of Landmark Machines, whose managing director was Mr. Augustus Barraclough Purvey. Not like the other pair, Smith and Collins. Purvey was Brooks Brothers from head to foot, wore a polka-dot bow tie and very expensive loafers. His thick, waving hair was greying, his smooth-skinned face was attractive, and his dark blue eyes looked directly into those seeking his. Carmine liked him much better than he had Smith or Collins.