“You’re a mind-reader! Every case reaches this stage. How long it lasts depends on luck as much as anything else. Admirable Adam! Everybody had a high opinion of him from Mablethorpe upwards.” He swallowed the coffee. “Some say he was kind. Others fair-minded. As far as I can see it was true. Dieppe and Pitt haven’t said Huth was kind, but he was going to give Dieppe a generous lump sum, and Pitt didn’t get the rocket he should have had for losing drugs. That’s generosity, too. And yet somebody hated him enough to murder him. I’d like to know why.”
*
Masters walked from Miss Krick’s door and crossed the foyer, leaving the lifts on his right. Just before he reached the swing doors he came to the single door labelled: “Mr F. Barraclough, Financial Director and Secretary Barugt Products Company.” Whereas Huth in his office had always been guarded by Miss Krick, Barraclough could get into his office without entering the open-plan area and going through the financial secretariat.
Barraclough was a young, balding man, with some remnants of dark hair left, and very large brown eyes. His smile was quick and easy when he saw Masters. He jumped to his feet and came round the desk to position a chair.
“I’ve not really been expecting a visit, but I’ve been hoping to meet you.” Masters immediately labelled the voice as a bit wowy, but pleasant enough. There was a slight thinness of vowel tone. “Have you resolved the problem?” Barraclough pronounced the “o” as if it were the word “owe.” Masters felt it gave him an insight into Barraclough’s character. What he mentally categorized as “trying to make it and damn near succeeding.” He thought Barraclough’s children would get it right.
Masters asked: “For any particular reason, Mr Barraclough?”
“Just curiosity.” Barraclough folded the yard-long sheet of fancy ruling he was working on and leaned forward on the desk. His navy blue suit was conventional, the tie quiet enough to cause no remark. He smiled, showing a side plate in his upper teeth. “Doesn’t everybody want to meet a detective from Scotland Yard?”
Masters said: “I could name a few who don’t.”
Barraclough laughed. “Ah, yes of course. Criminals. But what I meant was that in most people’s eyes you have a very interesting job. You know, I sometimes think I’d like to be up and doing instead of just sitting here juggling with figures.”
Masters said: “I find my job interesting, but then I think I have a better opinion of the force as a whole than some of the community at large seems to have.”
“Most of us think the world of the police. But I agree there are too many vociferous minorities about these days. And the police make a natural target, don’t they? Everything’s a farce. Look at that report in the paper yesterday. The mayor of some town or other who went to jail as a conchie in the war is going to lay the wreath on the War Memorial next month. To me that’s wrong. The permissives think it’s all right.”
Masters grimaced and lit his pipe. To his surprise Barraclough also produced a pipe. A shrinking violet of a pipe with an aluminium stem that seemed at odds with the old-fashioned tobacco jar which he took from a drawer. He said: “I have to keep it off the desk top. I use such dam’ great sheets of paper in my job.”
The air grew blue as they talked.
“How long have you been with the Company, Mr Barraclough?”
“Eight years. Long before A.A. took over. He made me a director six years ago, soon after he came.”
“You’ve stayed. A lot of your colleagues have gone.”
“Quite a lot.”
“Why? Did they fall foul of Mr Huth? I heard that some had been edged out.”
“Edged out — even nudged, but never pushed. I don’t know who told you, but I’m sure nobody but me can tell you what really used to happen.”
“I’d be interested to hear.”
“Why? Will it help you to get inside the skin of the case?”
“Perhaps.”
“As you know, we’re American-owned, but, on paper at least, completely autonomous. A.A. was an excellent businessman and first-class administrator.”
Masters raised his eyebrows, but didn’t speak. Barraclough didn’t miss it. He asked: “What’s the matter? Don’t you agree?”
“Shall we just say I’ve come across one or two things which I think might have been improved. But I’m not a businessman. I don’t know about these things, so I may be mistaken.”
“Of course you’ve found faults. A.A. knew they were there and could have put them right. Would have put them right if it would have benefited the employees, but he deliberately didn’t do so for a very good reason. He believed that in the circumstances it would have been a mistake to have an absolutely perfect set-up.”
“Why?”
“Because once an American-owned company in this country is as perfect and profitable as possible, the States take over direction. They know that once an operation is really established they can dispense with top management here and run the company by remote control from New York. It’s happening all the time.”
“You’re saying that a too successful businessman can work himself out of a job?”
“Right first time. As I say, it’s happened more than once. A.A. knew it, and deliberately set out to make slightly less profit each year than he could have done if he’d pulled out all the stops and decided to commit business suicide. His method of ensuring a shortfall was not to appear to be slacking, but to run a slightly imperfect machine working flat out.”
Masters said: “I should have thought that would have made a nasty grating noise that could be heard all the way from here to Washington.”
“A.A. knew where to put the right drops of oil to keep it quiet. This business of directors is a good example of what I mean. A.A. didn’t often make mistakes in picking the right men for the board. He never had need to dismiss any of them. Quite a few have gone, however, because he used to urge them to take other openings while they were still young enough to make the change easily.”
“For their own good?”
“And so that they shouldn’t go down with the ship should the evil day come. He stayed himself to delay it as long as possible and because he knew he would always be able to get a decent job. With any type of firm, not just a pharmaceutical company.”
“What about you?”
“Accountants are always in demand, fortunately, so A.A. never found another job for me and nudged me into it.”
“He did that? Actually found jobs for people?”
“More or less. He’d got his ear to the ground. If he heard that such and such a firm wanted such and such a man, and he thought we’d got somebody who could compete, he’d suggest it and back the application to the hilt. Few people except those actually involved ever got to know. A.A. didn’t want other firms to think he was using them for placing his own people. It would have looked bad.”
Masters said: “Would you call him a business wizard?”
“He kept everything very close. I told you he never said a word about his deals, and he rarely saw many people here.”
“I heard so.”
“But he piloted a clever course. He managed to be so successful that the Americans had no cause to sack him. At the same time he damped down his success unobtrusively. He could do it. You know one of the American failures or weaknesses is an almost pathological faith in capital investment. If A.A. was told to achieve an increased budget, he claimed the need for more capital expenditure. That took some of the gilt off the gingerbread. At home here, if the Ministry of Health requested price cuts, he’d agree without argument if our profits looked like going too high. Otherwise he’d fight like the devil, and win. He made it appear that his hand had been forced when it suited him.”
Masters was thinking that he would have preferred to meet Huth alive rather than dead. He said: “I’ve heard from all sides that he was a kind man.”
Barraclough thought for a moment. “Don’t misunderstand me. He was kind all right. But not so — what’s the word? basically? intri
nsically? — kind as one might have expected. His kindliness and thoughtfulness were a constituent part of his business acumen. They sprang from knowing what was the right thing to do from a business angle. They weren’t part of his own, inbuilt character. He put them in. Do you follow me?”
“Quite easily,” said Masters. “And I’m pleased to hear you say it. I’ve heard of at least one example when his action seemed out of character for a kindly man, but quite correct from the standpoint of business. Dr Mouncer hinted at what you just said.”
“Did he? I’m glad of that, because as long as I knew A.A. I was convinced that if ever he were to come up against it in business, he would be as ruthless as Hitler, and his kindness would fly out of the window. In fact, I think it’s true to say that he’s used kindness as a weapon. He came up the hard way himself, and I suspect he used consideration just when it suited him, and not unless. But in the old days it was his own personal fight. Since he’s been with Barugt it’s been what you might call a corporate fight, and deep personal feelings haven’t entered into it quite so much.”
“A very complex character.”
“In some ways. But he’ll be remembered as being astute and considerate. And he was. I know he didn’t do quite as much as he wanted for the staff, because to some extent his hands were tied by America. But he did his best, and that was dam’ good.”
They sat silent, digesting this. Masters was just about to speak again when the door from the secretariat opened. Masters could have sworn that it opened gaily. At any rate it opened wide, quickly, and then was held firmly from crashing back. Joan Parker came in. Masters didn’t know whether he would have described her entry as sailing in or waltzing in. Whichever it was it was smooth and graceful, with a slight swirl of a heavily pleated skirt. Miss Parker had her lovely head set well back, which gave her an air of distinction blended with aloofness. Her breasts were high, well pronounced and firm as those of a well-carved figurehead. It was obvious she didn’t see Masters there, placed as he was, and her first reaction on entering the atmosphere of Barraclough’s office was to exclaim: “Phew! What a fug!” and to open a window as she said it. When she turned round and realized he was present, Masters thought she hesitated just momentarily in her progress to the desk to put down the papers she was carrying.
She said: “Really, it’s too much. Two pipes going and no air in the room.” As if to support her complaint the disturbed smoke, writhed into twisted clouds, began to move slowly towards the window and then gathered momentum to float out into the bright sunlight. She gave Masters the impression that she mothered Barraclough, as a top-drawer social worker might hover over a poverty-stricken family, and wasn’t above ticking him off if she thought he deserved it. He almost grinned with delight when Barraclough confirmed the impression by saying: “Sorry, Joan,” and laying aside his pipe.
Miss Parker said to Masters: “We meet again! How you do get about! If many detectives smoke a pipe as foul as yours there’s small wonder police interviews are called ‘grilling.’ This office is like a kipper factory.”
Masters wasn’t for apologizing. He said: “Good morning, Miss Parker.”
Barraclough, embarrassed, asked: “Is it urgent, Joan?” Masters felt a momentary pang of jealousy at the intimacy of Barraclough’s address and his unthinking acceptance of having a girl so lovely at his beck and call.
“It can wait until later. It’s the critical-path diagram for BH 3096 with the revised figures.”
Masters didn’t understand. He felt out of it.
Barraclough said: “Rightyho, Joan. Leave it with me and I’ll have a look at it later.”
Miss Parker returned to her office without another word to Masters. He had about a second in which to appreciate her lithe movement. Then she was gone. He wondered whether he had ever encountered such youthful maturity — or was it mature youthfulness? He decided she combined the charm and grace of a poised woman with the firm, physical attractiveness of a girlish Atlanta. All he knew was that Joan Parker disturbed him, and he wondered …
“She’s a good P.A., too.” Barraclough was laughing at him. He hoped like hell he hadn’t been obvious. The thought that he might have been embarrassed him.
“I beg your pardon. I was daydreaming.”
“So that’s what you call it! I’ve been watching you. You seemed quite a long way away, though I’d put it at just the other side of the door.”
Masters merely said: “Maybe.”
Barraclough said: “I hope you were thinking of Joan only in connection with the case.”
Masters didn’t rise to this. Instead he asked: “Was Dr Mouncer aware of the way Mr Huth ran the Company?”
“He knew.”
“Did he approve?”
“Unreservedly.”
“Tell me how you can be so sure.”
“Dick Mouncer’s a clever man, but first and foremost he’s a dedicated doctor.”
“What’s he doing in industry, then?”
“He takes the view that as a doctor here he probably has more medical influence over more people than he would have in general practice. You know, being a dedicated medical man doesn’t have to mean treating measles and delivering babies.”
“I should have thought a doctor needed people to doctor.”
Barraclough shook his head. “Dick doesn’t need people. You may have noticed he’s a bit standoffish.” Masters thought, and how! “Here, he rightly claims to be the medical conscience of a big and important sector of medicine. And he refuses to involve himself with any thing but good medicine.”
“What do you mean by that? I take it you’re not suggesting some of your own products are not as good as they should be.”
“Heavens, no! Dick refuses to make a claim for our products, or allow even a suggestion to be made, that has not been fully substantiated by trials investigation, controlled proof, and then endorsed in practice. He accepts in vitro results only as far as they point the way for in vivo tests.
“Even when he’s got his proof he’s rabidly against making our claims too specific. When we know a certain drug will be effective in certain ailments he’ll never go further than saying it may be effective, or that it’s logical to assume it’ll be effective. His argument is that though as many as ninety per cent of patients with the same disease may be typical and will respond to the accepted drug, the other ten per cent will be atypical and will need other remedies.”
Masters said: “What was Mr Huth’s view of Dr Mouncer’s attitude?”
“A.A. thoroughly approved. We’ve got a dam’ fine reputation because of it, and it fitted in with A.A.’s ideas exactly. Don’t you see how it worked ideally for him?”
“You tell me.”
“Dick’s policy of using good medicine as good promotion, instead of vice versa, meant that we avoided any dramatic short-term rises in profits, which gimmicky promotion might have got us. But it also meant we had no depressions, and so we got a smooth, regular increase. The graph rose steadily year by year. A casual glance would show you immediately that the Company was doing well. It would also show you that the end was nowhere in sight. And that’s exactly the impression A.A. wanted to give.”
“Was Dr Mouncer one of Mr Huth’s choices?”
“One of his very best.”
“Why wasn’t Mouncer nudged out like the other bright boys?”
“Because doctors, like accountants, can always get another comparable job. Besides, Dick was more valuable than most for the reasons I’ve just given you.”
“And now he’s taken control.”
Barraclough grimaced. “For a few days only. He won’t be appointed chairman.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t want it. Even if he were asked he wouldn’t accept. He’s already asked the States not to consider him.”
“Not even for salary reasons? And power?”
“They neither of them matter a damn to Dick. Over and above what he’s got, that is.”
“Which is
not inconsiderable, I suppose.”
“He gets five thousand a year. A.A. got fifteen. But Dick’s a bachelor, with no family. No, there’s nothing odd about him at all, except that more money doesn’t interest him. It doesn’t, you know, with some people, after a certain standard has been reached. Particularly when you’re not allowed to keep much of it, Dick Mouncer isn’t going about hoping for a rise of five hundred at Christmas. Annual salary reviews don’t interest him. He’s got everything he wants in the way of comforts. The only thing he’d go over the wall for is a useful new drug. He can never get enough of those. And as for power — well, Dick had more real power than A.A.”
“How do you make that out?”
“A.A. laid down policy, but Dick could veto or permit the activity of practically any of the technical departments, what Publicity said, and what the reps could say to doctors. I tell you, he’s interested in medicine. He’s good at administrative work because he’s a naturally bright boy. But he doesn’t like it.”
Masters said: “I want to be quite clear about the premises on which you base your opinion. Is it observation of the man over the last few years?”
“It’s not just my opinion. It’s fact. I’ve already told you he’s informed the States he doesn’t wish to be considered for A.A.’s job. Some time ago he asked that the post of Medical Director should not be regarded as number two in the hierarchy.”
“Whom did he ask?”
“A.A. and our President on his last visit from America. He had no luck.”
“What was his reason?”
“He feels that, ethically, the business side should be divorced from the medical side. He wants to interest himself solely in the efficacy of the products and wants no hand in marketing them. His request was turned down on political grounds.”
“What political grounds?”
“One of the great things in favour of the real, research-based pharmaceutical companies is that top management includes, in reality as well as on paper, experienced doctors. If this wasn’t a fact, all our critics could claim we were a lot of laymen gulling doctors into using worthless drugs just for the sake of making fat profits.”
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