(2012) Cross-Border Murder Read Online Free PDF

slightly in what seemed to me to be an effort to convey sympathy. As we sat he motioned to the student bartender. “Myself,” he said, “I drink a special single malt whisky with a bit of bottled water at room temperature.” Perhaps he was a connoisseur. But I think I recognized the kind of rationale that is often used to mask the more private motives of a heavy drinker. I told the waiter that I would have the same as professor Hendricks. Gina ordered a spritzer.
    Hendricks sniffed and sipped from his drink. He beamed at us, intent on being a good host. “It’s from the only distillery on the Isle of Islay. It’s the island’s peat moss and the sea air which gives it its distinctive flavor.”
    At the very least, I thought, it would be a change from the cheap blend I usually drank. Hendricks leaned back in his chair as the waiter deposited our drinks. He had brought Hendricks a refill.
    “So, what can I do to help you?”
    I expanded on the brief explanation I had given him over the telephone. He listened attentively, periodically sniffing and sipping from his scotch glass. I told him I was particularly interested in any tensions which might have existed between Monaghan and the close group which surrounded him. “I understand,” I said, “that you were an integral part of that group.”
    He seemed to be pondering his reply as he swished a mouthful of Scotch from one cheek to the other and back again before swallowing. “Well, to begin with,” he said with an amused smile, “while I feel honored to be thought of as a member of that particular group I must tell you that I was certainly not part of the inner circle. My role was neither that exalted nor my presence that wanted.”
    I did not know whether to believe him. Like Gooden, was he now trying to take a safe distance from what had happened?
    “You see,” he went on to explain, “the group had a nucleus of true insiders which included Monaghan, Symansky, Montini, Gooden and maybe one or two more. Then there were others like me, who were slightly inside, but mostly outside. And then there were the usual hangers-on who occasionally attended the parties and the meetings that were called in the early days and who may have thought of themselves as a part of it all.”
    I must have looked puzzled and out of my depths. “You said you were partly inside, partly outside this group. I don’t understand.”
    He smiled with amusement again, as if to say, ah, life is never quite what we would like it to be. “Temperament was a part of it,” he said. “And besides to be a true insider one had to be an American or at least have a natural grasp of the ideology which knit the group together. I was always too much of a cynic by temperament, and as a structural engineer, and originally from Scotland to boot, I was never sufficiently familiar with the shared rhetoric to be a true insider. Being American and having been virulently against the Vietnam War was almost a sine qua non.”
    “What about Professor Monaghan,” I asked. “He was an engineer like you, wasn’t he?”
    He nodded. “But first and foremost he was an angry American. Secondly, his area of specialization involved ballistics and hence weaponry. He was fascinated by military hardware and could quote facts and figures which delighted the anti-imperialists like Frank Montini.” He threw Gina an avuncular look. “As an historian, your father had a soft spot for all oppressed people.” He turned back to me. “And then, of course, Monaghan was zealous to the point of arrogance. Most of us at the time saw him as somehow cool and commanding. I came to the conclusion eventually that he was just cold and self-centered. But then most brilliant scientists are.” He brought the glass of scotch to his face and breathed in the bouquet before adding a small amount of water to it. I watched him. “Go ahead,” he said, “breathe it in. Then let a small quantity touch the taste buds at the back of your