walked past us, their minds elsewhere. Only one of the group gave me a second
look as he passed, then he turned to walk across the lawn toward me.
“Hi, Max.” I stood and greeted him.
“Robin”—his eyes went to the children—“this is an eccentric choice for a family outing.”
“It’s Saturday, I brought them along for the ride. How’s it going?”
“A laugh a minute.”
“Any tips?”
“Grenade shrapnel travels up to forty yards in an inverted cone. Hit the ground with your feet pointing toward the grenade,
legs crossed, hands on your head.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Max smiled slightly and nodded.
“Melanie Jacobs’ parents wanted me to ask a few questions on their behalf,” I told him. “They still have no idea why she would
have gone missing.”
Max had turned slightly away from me and was gazing out over the valley. “I don’t know if it’s relevant . . . I’ve been away,
so I haven’t followed the news . . . but has it been suggested that Melanie had met one of the instructors before she came
here?”
I shook my head, intrigued. “I don’t think so.”
Behind Max, I could see Finney and Bentley approaching, deep in conversation. I caught Finney’s eye, and he must have got
the message that I didn’t want to be interrupted just then, because he stopped dead in his tracks and Bentley had no choice
but to stop, too. Finney was doing most of the listening, nodding, interjecting the questions that kept Bentley talking.
“I don’t know whether it’s important,” Max said carefully. “In the entrance hall there are pictures of all the staff, with
their names written underneath. When I arrived here yesterday there was no one at reception, so I spent some time kicking
my heels there. One of the staff members is called Mike Darling. This took me by surprise, because I have seen a photograph
of Darling with Melanie.”
I understood why Max seemed unhappy. He was not a journalist given to speculation. He would hate to be the one to give birth
to a rumor.
Bentley started walking toward us again. Max watched him approach.
“Ask him,” he said, and set off after his colleagues, nodding to Bentley as he passed. I stared after him. Max Amsel didn’t
make mistakes.
“Mike Darling was one of Melanie’s instructors that day, wasn’t he?” I asked Bentley as he reached me. Both men looked at
me in surprise.
Bentley frowned. “I would have to check.”
“I’d have thought,” I said pleasantly, “you’d know every detail of that day off by heart by now.”
“Why are you interested in Darling?” The words came like bullets.
“Darling and Melanie had met before,” I said. “Darling did tell you, didn’t he?”
Bentley stared. I could see the headlines unfurling behind his eyes.
“My wife is waiting for me. I’ll take you to your car now.” The mask of charm was dislodged, the depth of his disquiet revealed,
but he forced the words out nevertheless: “It’s been a pleasure.” He turned to walk away.
“I’d like to talk to Mike Darling,” I said.
Bentley swung back round, his face tense. “No.”
“No?” I was startled by the abruptness of the reply.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he said. “Mike’s no longer with us.”
Chapter Two
I N the Corporation space is a priority, but privacy is the holy grail. After Adam’s death and my notoriety as a suspect in
that investigation, I’d returned to the Corporation to find myself marooned somewhere in between the empires of documentaries
and news. Not only did I not have a role, I didn’t even have a desk. I’d reconnoitered and discovered what looked at first
like a vacant room on the same floor as the newsroom. It was full of stuff, but no human being. So I piled the stuff in a
corner and took up residence. Occasionally someone would stick his or her head around the door and there would be a sharp
intake of breath at the sight of me. But nobody ever